Page 20 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

I think he joined this class to work on his comic drawings, but the little shit would never admit such a thing.

“Like da Vinci,” Mr. Jenkins answers, “or Picasso.”

“Wildly different examples,” another student says.

“And I expect you to explore your options before settling on a technique,” Mr. Jenkins responds. “You’ll turn in one painting on the last day of class. It’ll be your entire grade.”

Margo groans. “Is this based at all on skill?”

“Yes and no,” Mr. Jenkins answers. “Whether you start working on that final piece today or a week before it’s due is up to you. Take time to improve upon skills or learn about your partner…” He shrugs. “Turn to the person beside you and introduce yourself. You’re going to get quite familiar with their face.”

I watch Margo look in the opposite direction, but her neighbor has already paired with someone.

I clear my throat, pulling my lips up in the best imitation of a true smile. “Buckle up, love,” I say. “We’re going to get quite… familiar.”

She swallows, and my pants tighten again. Damn her.

This is pure revenge—I’d do well to remember that. Toying with her, baiting her along…

She stares at me, the fear flashing across her eyes. That’s what I want: the fear.

But first…

“Scared?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“You should be.”

“Please don’t make my life hell in this class,” she whispers.

I lean closer to her, not sure I heard her correctly. She should know better than to ask for favors. It makes me want to give her the opposite, time and again. We could do this all year. She’ll ask and I’ll deny.

Just like she denied me of my dreams seven years ago.

The old fury that I used to keep locked away stirs in my chest. It demands justice. Repentance. Vengeance.

I lean back on my stool, kicking out one leg. Around the room, people are dragging their easels to get a clear line of view of their partner. I just stare at her, trying to resist the urge to drag her out of the room and show her what hell is like.

Instead, I ask, “Why?”

She blinks at me. Owl. “B-because.” She looks away. Toward the teacher.

“What does Mr. Jenkins have to do with anything?”

She turns bright red. It’s fascinating to watch, really. The color crawls up her neck, over her jaw, and devours her face.

“I asked you a question, Sheep,” I say, tilting my head.

“Is this part of the game?”

“Yes.”

She shakes her head, appraising me. “You’re too curious, Caleb. I think that means you lose.”

I laugh. It’s been a while since someone has surprised me. But that’s the thing about Margo: she’s full of fucking surprises.

She doesn’t say anything, and her lips press together.

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