Page 86 of Spearcrest Prince

Kay warned me he would ask, and Anaïs told me to my face she would say yes to whoever asked. But I never believed for even one moment this might happen.

My entire body shakes. I can barely control my voice.

“He’s doingwhat?”

Zach shrugs. “He’s in the dining hall right now, holding court to a whole host of Spearcrest king aspirants.”

I’m on my feet before Zachary’s even finished his sentence. Evan exclaims, “Sev—wait!” but I’m already bolting out of the rec room.

Underneath the bright chandeliers of the dining hall, sixth formers sit at the trestle tables or queue for their food. I don’t even need to search the crowd before I spot Parker Pembroke. The smugness radiates from him like a pungent stench.

I head straight for him. He looks up when I approach and beams.

“Everything alright, Montcroix?”

“Not really,” I bite out. “I hear you’ve been running your mouth and spreading rumours you shouldn’t.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, mate,” he says glibly.

“I’m not your mate.”

He shrugs.

“We’re not mates,” I repeat, “and we’re never going to be. Pitiful little baronets don’t belong amongst kings. So, is there a reason you should have my fiancée’s name in your mouth?”

Pembroke’s smile falters, but his eyes brighten. This, I’m guessing, is what he wanted.

“She doesn’t belong to you,” he says, trying to sound casual. “Neither does her name.”

For a moment, I’m more shocked than anything else. Shocked at his audacity, his recklessness.

“You must be truly fucking stupid to say something like this.”

Everyone at his table is watching us. Silence has fallen in the dining hall, thick and stifling. Students gather closer, watching the scene unfold.

“I’m not stupid,” Pembroke sneers. “And I’m not scared of you.”

I keep my voice low, hoping he’ll hear the warning in my tone. “Oh, you should be.”

“Why should I? Everybody knows your engagement means nothing. If you wanted to go with her, you would have asked her. If she wanted to go with you, she wouldn’t have agreed to come with me. So what’s the problem?”

“The problem, you clueless little rat, is that she ismyfiancée. My future wife. She’s not yours to claim.”

Pembroke lets out a high, fake laugh.

“Do you think I’m scared of you? What are you going to do, get your mates Kavinski and Knight to beat me up? Without them, what are you? Nothing. Just some French fuckboy.” He stands and leans against the table, an ugly smile on his face. “So if I want to talk to your fiancée, I can. If I want to take her to the party, drag her to a dark corner and bend her over to fuck her until she doesn’t even remember the name of Montcroix, I c—”

Pembroke doesn’t get to finish his sentence before I’m on him.

Chairs and tables go flying back, plates and cutlery shattering as they hit the floor. Everyone jumps back, the crowd forming a circle around Pembroke and me.

I crash my fist into his face. He moves his head, and I miss, punching the table behind him. The pain doesn’t even register. I punch him again, hitting him square in the face.

He scrambles back with a yell, and we both slide off the table as it tips and falls.

The rage coursing through me is maddening fuel, lending strength to each blow I rain on Pembroke. He flails, trying desperately to hit me back. His fist connects with my skull right over my eye, and I reel back.

My hand is around his collar, strangling him. He tries to hit me again, but I grab one of his flailing arms and twist it back. He lets out a high, wild cry of pain. I keep pulling on his arm, forcing him to twist his body until he’s on his stomach.

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