Just Because You Live in a Tower Doesn’t Make You
a Prince
The ride isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
I mean, it’s not good, but that has more to do with the fact that I’ve been traveling all day and I just want to get someplace—anyplace—where I can stay longer than a layover. Or a really long snowmobile ride.
And if that place also happens to be warm and devoid of the local wildlife I can hear howling in the distance, then I’m all about it. Especially since everything south of my waist seems to have fallen asleep…
I’m in the middle of trying to figure out how to wake up my very numb butt when we suddenly veer off the trail (and I mean “trail” in the loosest sense of the word) we’ve been following and onto a kind of plateau on the side of the mountain. It’s as we wind our way through yet another copse of trees that I finally see lights up ahead.
“Is that Katmere Academy?” I shout.
“Yeah.” Macy lays off the speed a little, steering around trees like we’re on a giant slalom course. “We should be there in about five minutes.”
Thank God. Much longer out here and I might actually lose a toe or three, even with my doubled-up wool socks. I mean, everyone knows Alaska is cold, but can I just say—it’s
freaking cold, and I was not prepared.
Yet another roar sounds in the distance, but as we finally clear the thicket of trees, it’s hard to pay attention to anything but the huge building looming in front of us, growing closer with every second that passes.
Or should I say the huge castle looming in front of us,
because the dwelling I’m looking at is nothing like a modern building. And absolutely nothing like any school I have ever seen. I tried to Google it before I got here, but apparently Katmere Academy is so elite even Google hasn’t heard of it.
First of all, it’s big. Like, really big…and sprawling. From here it looks like the brick wall in front of the castle stretches halfway around the mountain.
Second, it’s elegant. Like, really, really elegant, with architecture I’ve only heard described in my art classes before. Vaulted arches, flying buttresses, and giant, ornate windows dominate the structure.
And third, as we get closer, I can’t help wondering if my eyes are deceiving me or if there are gargoyles—actual gargoyles—protruding from the top of the castle walls. I know it’s just my imagination, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t half expect to see Quasimodo waiting for us when we finally get there.
Macy pulls up to the huge gate at the front of the school and enters a code. Seconds later, the gate swings open. And we’re on our way again.
The closer we get, the more surreal everything feels. Like I’m trapped in a horror movie or Salvador Dalí painting. Katmere Academy may be a Gothic castle, but at least there’s no moat, I tell myself as we break through one last
copse of trees. And no fire-breathing dragon guarding the entrance. Just a long, winding driveway that looks like every other prep school driveway I’ve ever seen on TV—except for the fact that it’s covered in snow. Big shock. And leads right up to the school’s huge, incredibly ornate front doors.
Antique doors. Castle doors.
I shake my head to clear it. I mean, what even is my life right now?
“Told you it wouldn’t be bad,” Macy says as she pulls up to the front with a spray of snow. “We didn’t even see a caribou, let alone a wolf.”
She’s right, so I just nod and pretend I’m not completely overwhelmed.
Pretend like my stomach isn’t tied into knots and my whole world hasn’t turned upside down for the second time in a month.
Pretend like I’m okay.
“Let’s bring your suitcases up to your room and get you unpacked. It’ll help you relax.”
Macy climbs off the snowmobile, then takes off her helmet and her hat. It’s the first time I’ve seen her without all the cold-weather gear, and I can’t help smiling at her rainbow- colored hair. It’s cut in a short, choppy style that should be smooshed and plastered to her head after three hours in a helmet, but instead it looks like she just walked out of a salon.
Which matches the rest of her, now that I think about it, considering her whole coordinating jacket, boots, and snow pants look kind of shouts cover model for some Alaskan
wilderness fashion magazine.
On the other hand, I’m pretty sure my look says I’ve gone a couple of rounds with a pissed-off caribou. And lost. Badly. Which seems fair, since that’s about how I feel.
Macy makes quick work of unloading my suitcases, and this time I grab two of them. But I only make it a few steps up the very long walk to the castle’s imposing front doors before I’m struggling to breathe.
“It’s the altitude,” Macy says as she takes one of the suitcases out of my hand. “We climbed pretty fast and, since you’re coming from sea level, it’s going to take a few days for you to get used to how thin the air is up here.”
Just the idea of not being able to breathe sets off the beginnings of the panic attack I’ve barely kept at bay all day. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath—or as deep as I can out here—and try to fight it back.
In, hold for five seconds, out. In, hold for ten seconds, out. In, hold for five seconds, out. Just like Heather’s mom taught me. Dr. Blake is a therapist, and she’s been giving me tips on how to deal with the anxiety I’ve been having since my parents died. But I’m not sure her tips are up to combatting all this any more than I am.
Still, I can’t stand here frozen forever, like one of the gargoyles staring down at me. Especially not when I can feel Macy’s concern even with my eyes closed.
I take one more deep breath and open my eyes again, shooting my cousin a smile I’m far from feeling. “Fake it till you make it is still a thing, right?”
“It’s going to be okay,” she tells me, her own eyes wide with sympathy. “Just stand there and catch your breath. I’ll
carry your suitcases up to the door.” “I can do it.”
“Seriously, it’s okay. Just chill for a minute.” She holds up her hand in the universal stop gesture. “We’re not in any hurry.”
Her tone begs me not to argue, so I don’t. Especially since the panic attack I’m trying to fend off is only making it harder to breathe. Instead, I nod and watch as she carries my suitcases—one at a time—up to the school’s front door.
As I do, a flash of color way above us catches my eye.
It’s there and gone so fast that even as I scan for it, I can’t be sure it ever really existed to begin with. Except—there it is again. A flash of red in the lit window of the tallest tower.
I don’t know who it is or why they even matter, but I stop where I am. Watching. Waiting. Wondering if whoever it is will make another appearance.
It isn’t long before they do.
I can’t see clearly—distance, darkness, and the distorted glass of the windows cover up a lot—but I get the impression of a strong jaw, shaggy dark hair, a red jacket against a background of light.
It’s not much, and there’s no reason for it to have caught my attention—certainly no reason for it to have held my attention—and yet I find myself staring up at the window so long that Macy has all three of my suitcases at the top of the stairs before I even realize it.
“Ready to try again?” she calls down from her spot near the front doors.
“Oh, yeah. Of course.” I start up the last thirty or so steps, ignoring the way my head is spinning. Altitude sickness—
one more thing I never had to worry about in San Diego.
Fantastic.
I glance up at the window one last time, not surprised at all to find that whoever was looking down at me is long gone. Still, an inexplicable shiver of disappointment works its way through me. It makes no sense, though, so I shrug it off. I have bigger things to worry about right now.
“This place is unbelievable,” I tell my cousin as she pushes open one of the doors and we walk inside.
And holy crap—I thought the whole castle thing with its pointed archways and elaborate stonework was imposing from the outside. Now that I’ve seen the inside… Now that I’ve seen the inside, I’m pretty sure I should be curtsying right about now. Or at least bowing and scraping. I mean, wow. Just…wow.
I don’t know where to look first—at the high ceiling with its elaborate black crystal chandelier or the roaring fireplace that dominates the whole right wall of the foyer.
In the end I go with the fireplace, because heat. And
because it’s freaking gorgeous, the mantel around it an intricate pattern of stone and stained glass that reflects the light of the flames through the whole room.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Macy says with a grin as she comes up behind me.
“Totally cool,” I agree. “This place is…”
“Magic. I know.” She wiggles her brows at me. “Want to see some more?”
I really do. I’m still far from sold on the Alaskan boarding school thing, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to check out the castle. I mean, it’s a castle, complete with stone
walls and elaborate tapestries I can’t help but want to stop and look at as we make our way through the entryway into some kind of common room.
The only problem is that the deeper we move into the school, the more students we come across. Some are standing around in scattered clumps, talking and laughing, while others are seated at several of the room’s scarred wooden tables, leaning over books or phones or laptop screens. In the back corner of one room, sprawled out on several antique-looking couches in varying hues of red and gold, is a group of six guys playing Xbox on a huge TV, while a few other students crowd around to watch.
Only, as we get closer, I realize they aren’t watching the
video game. Or their books. Or even their phones. Instead, they’re all looking at me as Macy leads—and by leads, I mean parades—me through the center of the room.
My stomach clenches, and I duck my head to hide my very obvious discomfort. I get that everyone wants to check out the new girl—especially when she’s the headmaster’s niece
—but understanding doesn’t make it any easier to bear the scrutiny from a bunch of strangers. Especially since I’m pretty sure I have the worst case of helmet hair ever recorded.
I’m too busy avoiding eye contact and regulating my breathing to talk as we make our way through the room, but as we exit into a long, winding hallway, I finally tell Macy, “I can’t believe you go to school here.”
“We both go to school here,” she reminds me with a quick
grin.
“Yeah, but…” I just got here. And I’ve never felt more out
of place in my life.
“But?” she repeats, eyebrows arched.
“It’s a lot.” I eye the gorgeous stained glass windows that run along the exterior wall and the elaborate carved molding that decorates the arched ceiling.
“It is.” She slows down until I catch up. “But it’s home.” “Your home,” I whisper, doing my best not to think of the
house I left behind, where my mother’s front porch wind chimes and whirligigs were the most wild-and-crazy thing about it.
“Our home,” she answers as she pulls out her phone and
sends a quick text. “You’ll see. Speaking of which, my dad wants me to give you a choice about what kind of room situation you want.”
“Room situation?” I repeat, glancing around the castle while images of ghosts and animated suits of armor slide through my head.
“Well, all the single rooms have been assigned for this term. Dad told me we could move some people around to get you one, but I really hoped you might want to room with me instead.” She smiles hopefully for a second, but it quickly fades as she continues. “I mean, I totally get that you might need some space to yourself right now after…”
And there’s that fade-out again. It gets to me, just like it does every time. Usually, I ignore it, but this time I can’t stop myself from asking, “After what?”
Just this once, I want someone else to say it. Maybe then it will feel more real and less like a nightmare.
Except as Macy gasps and turns the color of the snow outside, I realize it’s not going to be her. And that it’s unfair
of me to expect it to be.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and now it almost looks like she’s going to cry, which, no. Just no. We’re not going to go there. Not when the only thing currently holding me together is a snarky attitude and my ability to compartmentalize.
No way am I going to risk losing my grip on either. Not here, in front of my cousin and anybody else who might happen to pass by. And not now, when it’s obvious from all the stares that I’m totally the newest attraction at the zoo.
So instead of melting into Macy for the hug I so desperately need, instead of letting myself think about how much I miss home and my parents and my life, I pull back and give her the best smile I can manage. “Why don’t you show me to our room?”
The concern in her eyes doesn’t diminish, but the sunshine definitely makes another appearance. “Our room? Really?”
I sigh deep inside and kiss my dream of a little peaceful solitude goodbye. It’s not as hard as it should be, but then I’ve lost a lot more in the last month than my own space. “Really. Rooming with you sounds perfect.”
I’ve already upset her once, which is so not my style. Neither is getting someone kicked out of their room. Besides being rude and smacking of nepotism, it also seems like a surefire way to piss people off—something that is definitely not on my to-do list right now.
“Awesome!” Macy grins and throws her arms around me for a fast but powerful hug. Then she glances at her phone with a roll of her eyes. “Dad still hasn’t answered my text—
he’s the worst about checking his phone. Why don’t you hang out here, and I’ll go get him? I know he wanted to see you as soon as we arrived.”
“I can come with you—”
“Please just sit, Grace.” She points at the ornate French- provincial-style chairs that flank a small chess table in an alcove to the right of the staircase. “I’m sure you’re exhausted and I’ve got this, honest. Relax a minute while I get Dad.”
Because she’s right—my head is aching and my chest still feels tight—I just nod and plop down in the closest chair. I’m beyond tired and want nothing more than to lean my head back against the chair and close my eyes for a minute. But I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep if I do. And no way am I running the risk of being the girl caught drooling all over herself in the hallway on her very first day…or ever, for that matter.
More to keep myself from drifting off than out of actual interest, I pick up one of the chess pieces in front of me. It’s made of intricately carved stone, and my eyes widen as I realize what I’m looking at. A perfect rendition of a vampire, right down to the black cape, frightening snarl, and bared fangs. It matches the Gothic castle vibe so well that I can’t help being amused. Plus, it’s gorgeously crafted.
Intrigued now, I reach for a piece from the other side. And nearly laugh out loud when I realize it’s a dragon—fierce, regal, with giant wings. It’s absolutely beautiful.
The whole set is.
I put the piece down only to pick up another dragon. This one is less fierce, but with its sleepy eyes and folded wings, it’s even more intricate. I look it over carefully, fascinated
with the level of detail in the piece—everything from the perfect points on the wings to the careful curl of each talon reflects just how much care the artist put into the piece. I’ve never been a chess girl, but this set just might change my mind about the game.
When I put down this dragon piece, I go to the other side of the board and pick up the vampire queen. She’s beautiful, with long, flowing hair and an elaborately decorated cape.
“I’d be careful with that one if I were you. She’s got a nasty bite.” The words are low and rumbly and so close that I nearly fall out of my chair. Instead, I jump up, plopping the chess piece down with a clatter, then whirl around—heart pounding—only to find myself face-to-face with the most intimidating guy I’ve ever seen. And not just because he’s hot…although he’s definitely that.
Still, there’s something more to him, something different and powerful and overwhelming, though I don’t have a clue what it is. I mean, sure. He has the kind of face nineteenth- century poets loved to write about—too intense to be beautiful and too striking to be anything else.
Skyscraper cheekbones. Full red lips.
A jaw so sharp it could cut stone. Smooth, alabaster skin.
And his eyes…a bottomless obsidian that see everything and show nothing, surrounded by the longest, most obscene lashes I’ve ever seen.
And even worse, those all-knowing eyes are laser-focused on me right now, and I’m suddenly terrified that he can see all the things I’ve worked so hard and so long to hide. I try
to duck my head, try to yank my gaze from his, but I can’t. I’m trapped by his stare, hypnotized by the sheer magnetism rolling off him in waves.
I swallow hard to catch my breath. It doesn’t work.
And now he’s grinning, one corner of his mouth turning up in a crooked little smile that I feel in every single cell. Which only makes it worse, because that smirk says he knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having on me. And, worse, that he’s enjoying it.
Annoyance flashes through me at the realization, melting the numbness that’s surrounded me since my parents’ deaths. Waking me from the stupor that’s the only thing that’s kept me from screaming all day, every day, at the unfairness of it all. At the pain and horror and helplessness that have taken over my whole life.
It’s not a good feeling. And the fact that it’s this guy—with the smirk and the face and the cold eyes that refuse to relinquish their hold on me even as they demand that I don’t look too closely—just pisses me off more.
It’s that anger that finally gives me the strength to break free of his gaze. I rip my eyes away, then search desperately for something else—anything else—to focus on.
Unfortunately, he’s standing right in front of me, so close that he’s blocking my view of anything else.
Determined to avoid his eyes, I look anywhere but. And land instead on his long, lean body. Then really wish I hadn’t, because the black jeans and T-shirt he’s wearing only emphasize his flat stomach and hard, well-defined biceps. Not to mention the double-wide shoulders that are
absolutely responsible for blocking my view in the first place.
Add in the thick, dark hair that’s worn a little too long, so that it falls forward into his face and skims low across his insane cheekbones, and there’s nothing to do but give in. Nothing to do but admit that—obnoxious smirk or not—this boy is sexy as hell.
A little wicked, a lot wild, and all dangerous.
What little oxygen I’ve been able to pull into my lungs in this high altitude completely disappears with the realization. Which only makes me madder. Because, seriously. When exactly did I become the heroine in some YA romance? The new girl swooning over the hottest, most unattainable boy in school?
Gross. And so not happening.
Determined to put an end to whatever this is, I force myself to look at his face again. As our eyes lock and clash, I come to realize that it doesn’t matter if I’m playing out some grand romantic cliché.
Because he isn’t.
With just one look, I see that this brooding boy with his guarded eyes and defiant attitude isn’t the hero of anyone’s story. Least of all mine.
