Page 27 of Spearcrest Prince

I can’t quite put my finger on what it is about her that annoys me so much. But the more I look at her, the more I realise it’s not her appearance I dislike. She’s pretty enough—if she made an effort, she might even be beautiful.

No, it’s not her appearance. It’s her… air. There’s something about her that just feels otherworldly. Inquisitive yet indifferent. Distant. As if she’s not of this earth but some strange celestial being who looks down on the rest of us as if we’re all small and insignificant.

Her eyes land on me, and she gazes at me without fear, anger or concern. Just a vaguely questioning look.

If the other Young Kings notice anything off about her, they don’t mention it or act like it. Evan, who is copying the answers to his science homework from Zachary’s book, looks up and gives a small wave. Iakov is too busy frowning at his phone to even notice I’ve brought her over. Luca watches with the callous curiosity of a scientist observing the subjects of an experiment.

Zachary, though, sits up as soon as he sees her, smiling broadly.

“Bonjour, la future Madame Montcroix,” he says in a perfect French accent.

I suppress a shudder. “Ugh, don’t call her that.”

“Bonjour,” she answers politely, turning to look at Zachary. “Hi. I’m Anaïs.”

Zachary, too, ignores me. “Oh, enchanté, Anaïs. Je m’appelle Zach.”

I throw him a dirty look. “I’ve not brought her here for your amusement, Zachary.”

“Maybe so,” he says with a smirk, “but I’m amused nonetheless.”

“Why am I here, then?” Anaïs asks, turning back to me.

“Am I not allowed to see my own fiancée?”

She raises her eyebrows in a dubious expression. “You’re allowed everything, from what I understand. Those boys”—she points to the two Year 12s who are, wisely, retreating—“referred to you as a king. Do they not know we guillotined our monarchy in France?”

Zachary laughs delightedly. I glare at her.

“Don’t teach me about my own history, Anaïs. I’m as French as it’s possible to be—my family name goes back hundreds of years.”

“Your name is very old,” she says. “Its joints must hurt all the time.”

Her tone is so blank it takes me a moment to realise she’s being sarcastic.

Before I can make a trenchant reply, Evan looks up from his homework and says, “We don’t have a monarchy in America.”

For a second, everyone stares at him. He shrugs. “Just saying.”

“Thanks for the contribution, Ev.” I roll my eyes and turn back to Anaïs. “Has your teacher told you about the trip?”

She nods.

“How are you getting there?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Same as everybody else, I guess? Coach? Do English schools not use coaches?”

“This isn’t just any school,” I sneer.

“Oh, do students here travel in hot air balloons made of solid gold and pegasi fed on amethysts?”

Her tone is deadly serious. We all stare at her for a second. Then Iakov lets out a single bark of laughter that sounds more like the growl of a wolf than a sound of amusement.

“Obviously not,” I snap. “But the coach is uncomfortable, and it takes ages. We have permission to drive there, and since I have a car, I thought you could come with me instead of taking the coach.”

She’s silent for a second.

“No, thank you,” she says eventually.

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