Page 97 of Spearcrest Prince

Once I’m standing outside, I glance around. Students are trickling out of the building, scattering off in various directions. I have a free period and every intention of heading straight to the arts building, but I wait for a few minutes, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.

The brisk wind brushes through my hair, dragging goosebumps across my skin.

I’m tempted to go check out the gallery, but I can already guess my display was affected by the mysterious assault. For all his over-emotional antics, Séverin isn’t stupid. He wanted to hit me where he thought it might hurt—so he chose my display.

My display and my chance at winning the award.

Winning that grant would have made life in Japan easier, but Sev is wrong if he thinks money matters to me. If it did, I wouldn’t be running away from my parents. I wouldn’t be pursuing art. If I need money, I’ll do what normal people do and work for it.

Destroying my display means nothing. I’ll start again. There was only one important piece in that display: my painting from the balcony. I love that painting with all my heart. The dreamy colours, Sev’s beauty captured through the lens of my emotions that night.

This painting doesn’t feel like just a painting. It feels like the last remnant of what I had with Sev. A reminder of what could have been between us.

But that painting is safely tucked away in a corner of the art studio I work in. I’d wanted to put some finishing touches on it, so I’d left it there to dry.

That painting is the heart of my display. So long as I have it, I can rebuild everything else around it. So long as I have it, everything will be alright.

I believe that all the way to the art building. Then I enter the smallest of the art studios to find Séverin waiting there. He’s pacing up and down the room, glancing distractedly out of the window.

I freeze in the doorway and take an involuntary step away.

Even though I haven’t made a sound, Séverin turns. He raises a hand as I back away.

“Don’t.”

I hesitate. The wild urge to flee courses through me, the way it always does when I’m around him. But running from him has never solved problems—it’s only ever created them.

So I take a deep breath and walk into the studio, closing the door behind me.

Chapter 34

La Clémence

Anaïs

SéverinandIfaceeach other across the room.

The smell of paint and varnish and linseed oil mingle in the air. That strong, heady smell I love so much. It’s strange being face-to-face with him here, in my territory, the place I feel safest in. I stare at him, waiting for him to speak, already half-knowing what he’s going to say.

He looks beautiful and tragic and tormented. Purple shadows gather under his eyes. Loose strands of his dark hair keep falling on his forehead, no matter how many times he keeps pushing it back. His uniform is a little rumpled, the chains around his neck tangled.

“Anaïs.” My entire body stiffens. He’s calling me by name. That can’t be a good sign. “I have to tell you something.”

I raise a hand. “No, you don’t. I don’t—” I catch my voice. Saying this feels like a lie, even though it’s not. “I don’t care about the exhibit.”

His mouth closes, and his jaw tightens, muscles jumping there. “You don’t?”

I shake my head. He came here clearly expecting me to be hurt, to be angry. But I feel none of these things. I just want this conversation to be over. “It’s only worth forty per cent of our final mark. It’s fine. I’ll make up for it.”

He shakes his head slowly. His eyes are wide and anguished and glittering like jewels. “What about the award? The grant?”

“It’s only money.” I try to smile, but it feels forced, almost painful. “I’m rich, remember?”

“Oh.”

The sheer strength of the emotions pouring from him fills the room with invisible heat. It wraps around me, suffocating me. How can I remain cool and composed when his emotions burn like red-hot flames whenever he’s near me?

“Look, Séverin.”

---