Page 96 of Spearcrest Prince

ThefirstMondaybackafter the break, we’re brought into the assembly hall for the final assembly of the year.

If there’s one thing they seem to love in British schools, it’s gathering students for assemblies—solemn affairs delivered by the headmaster himself, entailing long speeches about the importance of acknowledging the privileges we’ve been given here at Spearcrest. Making the most of the world-class education we’ve been provided, remembering to give back to the community and never forgetting those who are not as lucky as us.

It’s a nice sentiment when you ignore the sea of Chanel purses propped on the girls’ laps and the heavy Rolex watches glimmering on the boys’ wrists.

The assemblies are mandatory, so I sidle in with the rest of the Spearcrest students. My heart catches when Mr Ambrose announces this is our final assembly as a year group.

When I first arrived at Spearcrest, I imagined the year was going to stretch out interminably. I imagined the time between arriving here and getting on the plane to Japan would drag endlessly.

But it hasn’t. A couple of months, a flurry of exams, and then I’ll be gone from here.

I’ll never see any of these eerily beautiful Spearcrest kids again. I’ll never see their so-called kings, the audacious, arrogant, pretty boys who have taken it upon themselves to impose their self-titled monarchy upon others.

I’ll never see Séverin Montcroix, the green-eyed prince, the gilded heir.

And maybe that’s for the best.

I had a lot of time to think over the week-long break. Telling Sev about my plan, about the end of the engagement, was like letting go of a burden I didn’t know I was carrying. After I told him, after I gave him his ring back, I felt different.

Light, peaceful. Like myself again.

Then the sadness set in. But sadness is a part of life. I worked sadness into my sketchbooks, and I let it flow through me at night, crying in the darkness of my bedroom. That week, I spoke to Noël almost every day, though I never told him what happened.

He told me about Japan, about the local convenience store, the stray cat that sits under the fruit stalls. His studies, his job at his university. The little crushes he has on all the pretty boys and girls in his classes. Noël could hear the sadness in my voice, and instead of dragging the pain out of me, he soothed it with his calm voice, his stories—promises of our future together.

It’s a beautiful future. Far from the red-brick walls and rigidity of Spearcrest. Far from the galas and glitter of French high society, far from my parents’ demands and choices.

Far from Séverin and his green eyes and his laughing mouth and his kisses.

Polite applause brings me back to reality. The assembly is over, but we’re not being dismissed.

Instead, a woman steps up to the lectern next to Mr Ambrose. He raises a hand to silence the murmuring students.

“Can I please ask all students taking fine arts or photography this year to remain seated. The rest of you are dismissed and may leave promptly and quietly.”

Students glance at each other but obey, some sidling out silently, the rest looking restlessly around in their seats. A dull sense of doom settles over me. I don’t even need to look at the teachers’ grim faces to guess this is going to be bad news.

The woman next to Mr Ambrose steps forward. She’s wearing a pine-green pantsuit over a blouse of pearl-white silk and black pointy heels. Her hands are in her pockets, and her dark hair is in long twists. Her mouth is set in a severe line.

“Good morning, students. I’m Miss Izem. Some of you already know me, and for those who do not, I am the Director of Faculty for the Arts Department here at Spearcrest Academy.”

The two girls closest to me swap a puzzled look. I keep my eyes fixed on Miss Izem, avoiding the temptation to search the room for a glimpse of Séverin.

He’s definitely here—he walked in late with the rest of his royal friends to Mr Ambrose’s ire earlier.

But I don’t need to look at his face to know this is about him. He’s probably sitting there looking perfectly happy with himself. Whatever Miss Izem is going to tell us, I doubt he’s going to display remorse.

“It gives me no pleasure to make this announcement,” Miss Izem says sternly, “but you are all young adults, and I’m sure you’ll deal with this with maturity and poise. At the end of the last term, before the gallery was locked up for the half-term break, it would seem a student took it upon themselves to break into the gallery and destroy some displays.

“This will affect some of you more than others since not every display was equally affected. Your teachers and I know how hard you have worked on this project and how important the exhibition is to some of you, especially those of you wishing to pursue a career in the arts. Unfortunately, we have no way of finding out who created this damage. It’s most likely that the culprit for this heinous act of destruction and disruption is sitting here among us right now.”

She pauses and looks around the room.

“Here at Spearcrest, we pride ourselves on having taught you to a high academic level but also to a high moral standard too. We would like to believe that the person responsible for this will do the right thing and come talk to myself or Mr Ambrose. In the meantime, the department and staff will support you all in repairing damages and ensuring the exhibition still goes ahead. The annual exhibition is an important and beloved Spearcrest tradition. It shall remain so.”

With a final stern address from Mr Ambrose, who expresses his disappointment and sympathy, we are dismissed from the assembly hall.

I avoid the main doors—I have no wish to bump into Sev either intentionally or by accident—and head straight for the emergency exit leading to the other side of the building.

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