Page 60 of Spearcrest Prince

I retreat into my own company, hiding away in the little art studio or remote corners of the library. My hours sink into my work: my paintings for the exhibition, which I need to win, and my essays and coursework for my A-levels, which I need to pass with flying colours. The only reason to stay here in Spearcrest is to secure the top grades I’ll need for my Japanese university applications, so leaving Spearcrest without them is just not an option.

Although I trust in both the quality of my art and my rudimentary Japanese (our father, having been born in France, never spoke it with us, but Noël and I both took lessons as kids), I’m not as confident with my academic abilities. Essays take me ages to write and even longer to write well. I find research a little bit boring, and my third A-Level option is maths: a versatile subject, but something that definitely doesn’t come easily to me. So I have no choice but to spend time studying when I’d rather be drawing. For a while, the library becomes my second home at Spearcrest.

I’m on my way there one Friday afternoon when I get a strange notification on my phone.

“Dinner at The Fable booked for 19:00.”

I stop in my tracks. Around me, snowflakes flutter past the poplars lining the path to the library. They land on my eyelashes and cheeks, refusing to melt as I frown at my phone. I click on the notification, but no information turns up.

“What?” I mutter to myself.

“Everything alright?”

I turn around with a start. Why do people never announce themselves in Spearcrest?

Sitting on the edge of a statue half hidden underneath tangles of creeping ivy and thorns, a young man is smoking a cigarette. The white smoke curls in the icy air, a stark contrast to his dark eyes and the black fuzz of his buzz cut.

Although I don’t know his name, I recognise him from the time Séverin unceremoniously had me brought to him in the rec room. He’s one of the other filthy-rich, unreasonably good-looking in Séverin’s gang of so-called Young Kings.

“What are you doing?” I ask, walking over to him. “It’s freezing out here.”

“Thinking,” he says with a shrug. “I like the cold. What’s up with you?”

“I just got a weird notification on my phone.” I drop my phone into the corner of my tote and shake my head. “It’s nothing, probably.”

“Is it the dinner thing?” he asks.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I draw closer. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“Sev got a text from his dad yesterday. Some dinner date thing. I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“He’s full of secrets when it comes to you.”

“There’s really nothing to say,” I assure him.

“Sure.”

We stare at each other in silence for a moment. I stick my hand out.

“I’m Anaïs, by the way,” I say.

I’m pretty confident he knows who I am. He nods and takes my hand in a bear-like grip. “Iakov.”

“Well, Iakov, did Séverin tell you what he’s going to do to get out of this weird dinner thing?”

Iakov lets out a low, deep laugh that sounds more like a growl than a sound of amusement. “Ha, no. He’s going.”

“Really?”

“Yea—why not, huh?” Iakov raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure he has better things to do.”

“He doesn’t.” Iakov’s deep voice is tinged with amusement. “Maybe he thinks it’ll be fun.”

“Maybe.” I’m unconvinced. Séverin doesn’t strike me as a dinner date sort of guy. “He’s probably just trying to get his parents off his back.”

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