Page 82 of Spearcrest Prince

“Well… okay.” My voice is low, the heat emanating from him melting my vocal cords. I lean into him without even realising. “Is there anything else you want to ask?”

He licks his lips slowly. I hold my breath, wondering if he’s tasting the ghost of the kiss that hangs between our mouths. But then he shakes his head and stands. “No. Nothing. If somebody asks you, just say no.”

“Pardon?”

He pushes his hair away from his forehead. “If somebody asks you to go to the party, just say no, alright?”

His audacity almost makes my heart stop. My voice shakes when I speak. “I’ll say no if I want to say no.”

“And if you want to say yes?”

“Then I’ll say yes.”

Ask me, I want to shout at him,just ask me.

He glares at me, takes a deep breath. The flush in his cheeks darkens. His eyes glitter with a dangerous spark. “The party is in Spearcrest. If you go with someone else, it’ll look bad on me.”

“Who cares?” I get to my feet, sick of him looking down on me, sick of this uneven power balance he seems hellbent on establishing between us. “We both agreed this engagement is a fake thing, an act. We shook hands as allies, remember? You do what you want, I do what I want. Who cares what other people think?”

“This isn’tyourschool!” he exclaims, a strange emotion tightening his voice. “You don’t have a reputation to uphold. You don’t have to deal with the repercussions of your actions.”

“We’re in college,” I say coldly, “not a mediaeval royal court. Why are you taking this so seriously?”

“Just because you’re too high and mighty to care about the world around you doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.” He suddenly straightens himself up. “I know we made a deal, and I’m not going back on it. You can do what you like in private. But if somebody asks you to this stupid party, say no. I’m not asking you—I’mtellingyou.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” I say. To my embarrassment, I feel a lump in my throat. “I’ll say yes to whoever I want, and I’ll do whatever I want. In fact, I’m going to say yes to the first person who asks me to that party, even if it’s the devil himself.”

“The devil himself is exactly who you’ll be dealing with if you do this,” Séverin bites out.

“I’m not scared of him,” I say. “Or you.”

“You should be.”

Séverin storms out, slamming the door shut. Behind him, a complete vacuum of emotion remains.

I glare after him, trembling from head to foot, adrenaline coursing through me. Does he really think I would fear him when he’s too much of a coward to ask me to some party?

Séverin didn’t come here because he doesn’t want me to go to the party with somebody else. He came here because he wants to go to the party with me. He just didn’t have the guts to do it.

Part of me wants to follow him and tell him I see right through his fiery exterior and into the soft glowing ember of tenderness within.

But it’s not my job to force this immature idiot to grow up and face his own feelings. It’s not my job to make him realise that the hierarchy he’s created for himself in this school has become a self-made prison.

Once my heartbeat stills, I try to get back to my work, but I’m too restless to paint.

I set my canvas aside. The accidental line made by my brush when Séverin burst into the room is a dreary reminder of what happened. I wash my brushes, my knives and my palette, dry them, pack them away and leave the art studio.

Thenextday,I’msitting on a bench outside the main campus, sipping tea from a paper cup and chewing absent-mindedly on a sandwich. It’s bitingly cold outside, so the grounds are pretty empty. But I like the dust-grey sky, the trees surrendering the last of their leaves to the sharp wind, the frosty grass glittering in dulled sunlight.

I sit with my phone in my lap, staring at Noël’s face in its little circle.

Should I ask him for advice? He’s always been my first choice whenever I’ve needed counsel in the past. His advice is measured and calm.

It’s rarely what I want to hear, but it’s always wise.

I type some words in the new text bubble but delete them straight away. How would I even phrase this? How would I begin to explain this stupid, petty argument to begin with?

As open-minded, emotionless and non-judgemental as Noël is, there’s no chance I can tell him about the things Sev and I have done. Not when I’m still planning to abandon him and our engagement at the end of the school year.

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