by Sophie Lark
She’s already dressed in tight leather pants and a half-dozen layered necklaces. She looks antsy and excited. I know she’s got a crush on some beefy British Enforcer, and she’s hoping to make a move on him tonight.
“You go ahead,” I say. “I’m not even close to ready.”
The real reason is that I want to walk down with Leo, just the two of us. But I don’t want to say that to Chay.
“You mind if I borrow your speaker?” she asks. “We wanna have music.”
“Help yourself,” I say.
“I should have snuck one in too,” she grumbles. “I was scared to break the rules. The acceptance letter was so terrifying . . . I wish I brought more clothes, too.”
“You only got one bag—where would you have put them?”
Chay already brought twice the clothes of anyone else. Her suitcase was bursting at the seams. She didn’t bring a single pair of pajamas, in favor of stuffing dozens of vintage band Ts into her bag, plus eight different pairs of heels. She wears stilettos to class every day, along with an assortment of studded bracelets and chain belts that clink when she walks.
“I could have worn at least five more outfits if I layered,” Chay says mournfully. “I could have gotten on that boat wrapped up like an onion.”
“You would have died of heatstroke,” I remind her. “It was boiling that first day.”
“Worth it!” Chay says vehemently. “Anyway, I’ll take this down now, if you don’t mind.”
“Go ahead,” I say.
Chay grabs the speaker, and I head down to the showers.
I spend a lot more time than usual getting ready for the party.
I wash and dry my hair, which takes fucking forever. It’s three feet long, poker straight, and fine as spider silk. When it’s clean and loose like this it glides across my skin and glimmers with a metallic sheen whenever the light hits it.
I put a sheer smoky shadow around my eyes that makes my irises look more gray than blue. Then I turn my brows into dark slashes, line my eyes with a cat-like wing, and lift my black lipstick to my lips.
I hesitate.
Without acknowledging the reason why, I put the lipstick back in my bag, leaving my mouth bare.
Then I spritz myself with perfume and put on my favorite necklace.
Leo gave it to me when we were only eight years old. The chain is so fine you can barely see it on my skin. The pendant is a tiny crescent moon.
He only wears one piece of jewelry himself: a gold St. Eustachius medallion from his father.
When I’m finally ready, I head down to the gnarled olive tree at the northwest corner of the Keep. That’s where Leo and I always meet, because it’s exactly halfway between our dorms.
He’s already standing there, chatting with Miles and Ozzy. His face is glowing with pleasure, and I’m sure he’s telling Miles that he was picked as Captain. Not that it’ll be news to Miles—he’s always first to know anything that happens on campus. He probably knew Leo got it before it was even posted.
“Hey, Black Swan,” Miles says, slipping something into my palm. I look down, seeing my favorite chocolate bar—Dairy Milk Marvelous Creations. It’s the weirdest candy ever created—pop rocks and jelly beans mixed with chocolate. I’m obsessed with it.
“What the hell, Miles?” I laugh. “I can’t even find these in America.”
“You don’t want to know what I had to do to get that,” Miles says darkly.
“If you murdered less than three people, it was worth it,” I say, ripping it open immediately and taking a huge bite. “Oh my god,” I moan. “I’ve missed you so much . . .”
Leo shakes his head with a revolted expression. “That candy is a war crime,” he says. “Worst thing Britain ever did to us.”
“Maybe you’ll like it now,” I say, shaking it in his face teasingly. “You’re not as picky as you used to be—I actually saw you eating salmon this week.”
“I was desperate,” Leo says, with a long-suffering expression. “But I’ll never be desperate enough to eat exploding chocolate.”
“Can I try it?” Ozzy says, looking wildly curious.
“Of course,” I hand it over.
Ozzy takes a bite, chewing cautiously. After a moment, as the chocolate melts on his tongue and the pop rocks begin to erupt, he shivers like an electric current just ran up his spine. “God no!” he shouts, handing me back the rest of the bar.
“It’s great, right?”
“I hate it . . . and I love it,” he says gleefully.
“You coming down to the beach with us?” Leo says to Miles.
“Maybe later,” Miles says. “Got some stuff to do first.”
Leo doesn’t bother to ask what kind of stuff. Miles delights in being elusive.
“See you later then, maybe,” Leo says.
“What about Ares?” I ask Leo.
“He didn’t want to come. Said he was studying.”
“You think that’s what he’s actually doing?”
“I dunno.” Leo shrugs. “He might just want to be alone in the room for once. Kingmakers isn’t the easiest place for an introvert.”
“Tell me about it,” I say, thinking of Chay’s incessant commentary. I’ve come to like her more the longer we’ve been roommates. She’s blunt and funny and doesn’t hold a grudge about anything. But I do wish she didn’t feel the need to tell me every single thing that happens to her over the course of the day.
I can’t say I’m sorry that it’s just Leo and me walking down to Moon Beach. As we slip between the twin figures guarding the stone gates of campus, I catch Leo’s eye drifting down to the exposed flesh not covered by my corset top. It’s been a while since Leo saw me in anything besides our school uniform. He pulls his gaze quickly back to the rocky path in front of us, but I know he was looking at me in a way he never used to back in Chicago.
Neither of us is speaking. There’s a strange tension in the air—like a breeze you can hear but not quite feel on your skin, not just yet.
Something is going to happen tonight. I’m sure of it.
I don’t have any reason to believe it, but my heart is racing all the same. Leo looks lean and powerful, stalking down the path in the moonlight. He’s almost vibrating with energy.
You would think I’d be used to his beauty, having known him all my life. But instead, it’s the opposite—he’s my standard of what a man should be. Tall, muscular, walking with the rangy grace of a lion. His amber-colored eyes and his deeply tanned skin make him look exotic, like he could be from anywhere. His skin and hair glow with health and vitality. His teeth gleam every time his full lips part in a smile.
“What are you staring at?” he laughs.
“I’m looking at you,” I say honestly.
“How come?” Leo asks.
I take a deep breath, trying to make myself brave enough to say what I want to say.
“I feel like things have been different since we came to Kingmakers,” I say.
Leo looks at me, serious for once. “Different between you and me?” he says.
“Yes.”
There’s a long silence, in which my heart beats so hard against my ribs I think I’ll have a bruise inside.
“I think you’re right,” Leo says softly.
We’ve stopped walking and we’re standing in the middle of the path, facing each other. There’s only a foot or two of space between us. The night feels suddenly twenty degrees warmer. Enough that my skin starts to sweat ever so slightly.
I’ve never seen Leo look at me this way. He looks . . . almost scared. Leo’s never scared.
His tongue moistens his bottom lip, and he opens his mouth, about to say something. Then someone hollers, “LEO!”
Matteo Ragusa and Emile Girard come jogging down the path, followed close behind by a couple of girls from our year.
“Did you see Bram pitch a fit that he didn’t get Captain?” Matteo says gleefully. “He punched a hole through a window and cut his arm open, the dumb shit. Had to go to the infirma
ry and get stitches.”
Leo pulls me close for a moment, murmuring in my ear, “I want to finish our conversation later.”
Then he releases me, laughing loudly and saying, “God, what I’d pay to have that on video.”
“Not like he was gonna get it anyway,” Matteo says. “His grades are shit.”
“He’s a good shot, and he did well in our scuba classes,” Emile says.
“Not well enough, obviously,” Matteo laughs.
We continue on down the path as a group, Matteo and Emile flanking Leo, and me trailing along behind between the boys and the girls. Leo glances back at me several times, but Matteo and Emile are both yammering away at him from either side.
I’m half-disappointed and half-relieved. My nerves were so acute that I almost felt like I was going to puke. It might be better to get a drink in me before we try talking again.
It takes the better part of a half-hour to walk down to the beach. We have to cut across a vineyard, then scramble down a steep slope to find the path down to the beach. There’s no streetlights anywhere on the island, so all of this is done in the dark, all of us tripping over unseen rocks and clumps of grass along the way.
We can hear music playing long before we arrive. Chay is making use of my speaker, running through one of my playlists. I can hear the crackling of a bonfire and the steady wash of waves on the shore. Some of the kids are already shouting and laughing, sounding tipsy though the party’s only just begun.
As soon as we step foot on the sand, several people shout Leo’s name and rush over to talk about the upcoming competition. The Freshmen are excited—if anyone can make us win, it’s Leo. The Sophomores and Juniors at the party openly laugh at our hopes.
“You’re gonna get fucking slaughtered,” Matteo’s brother Damari informs us.
“Maybe.” Leo grins. “But I like my chances better than yours.”
Calvin Caccia crosses his arms over his chest, frowning. He was chosen as Captain for the Juniors. And he probably feels some extra rivalry with Leo since he’s in line to become an Italian Don himself, in New York instead of Chicago. The Gallos and the Caccias have done business together in the past. Calvin and Leo will likely have to contend with one another outside of Kingmakers. How they fare against each other in the Quartum Bellum may set the tone for those encounters.
“Why is that, exactly?” Calvin says in his rumbling voice.
Leo shrugs, smiling easily. “I always bet on myself.”
“Would you like to place a bet on the first event?” Calvin says. His blocky face is stern and unsmiling. Leo grins back at him, totally undeterred.
“What kind of bet?” he says.
“My team places higher than yours in the first competition,” Calvin says. “Loser comes to breakfast naked the next day.”
Leo laughs. “That’s a win-win for you, Calvin. Either you beat me, or you get to see me naked.”
The corner of Calvin’s mouth quirks up in the ghost of a smile and he holds out his large, calloused hand to shake. Leo returns his grip just as hard.
“As if you needed any more pressure on you,” I say to Leo, after Calvin has ambled off to refill his drink.
“I like to keep things interesting,” Leo says. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s immediately interrupted by several fresh classmates who want to speculate on the upcoming events.
Leaving them to it, I head over to the bonfire to get a drink. Chay is messing with my speaker, trying to change the playlist.
“It’s repeating the same six songs,” she says. “How do I get it to—”
“You’re not on the full list,” I say. “You’re just doing Most Frequently Played. Here, let me—”
The system is ancient. It was almost impossible to find a stereo that ran off batteries. Kingmakers has a huge generator that operates the electric lights and other systems that need power, but there’s almost no outlets anywhere on campus. That’s to help discourage students smuggling in phones, tablets, and so forth. We have to write all our assignments by hand, and the only news we get is via phone calls and letters from home. Even the phones are a single bank of repurposed booths that can only be used to call out on Saturdays and Sundays—no calls can come in, except through the main office.
“There,” I say, once I’ve switched over the playlist.
Immediately, my favorite song begins to play. I’ve heard it a thousand times, but I never get tired of it.
“Thanks!” Chay says.
“No problem. You been down here long?”
“About an hour. Sam isn’t here yet.” Chay pouts.
“Did he say he was coming?”
“Yeah. He comes to all the parties. He was the one who threw the rager in the Gatehouse last week.”
“Nice,” I say, trying to be polite. I don’t get the appeal of Sam Underhill. He’s your typical class clown personality, always willing to make a fool of himself for a laugh. Chay seems to love it, though, so I guess it works.
I can feel eyes on me, and I glance up, thinking it’s Leo.
Instead I see Dean Yenin standing on the other side of the fire staring at me. The moment he catches my eye, he starts walking over to me. I have a strange impulse to flee, but I hold my ground.
Dean doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of me, his chest only inches from mine, so I have to tilt my head back to look up into his face. When Dean isn’t smiling, he looks furious, and I can feel Chay watching us curiously, unsure if Dean wants to hit on me or fight me.
“I was waiting for you,” Dean says in his blunt way.
I can feel myself blushing, hard as I try to fight it. I hate that he can embarrass me like this. I usually have such good control of my reactions.
“Dance with me,” he demands.
“I’m not going to do that,” I say.
“Why not?”
“You know why.”
We can both see Leo off to our right, still surrounded by friends, laughing and joking. He won’t stay distracted for long if Dean tries to waltz me around in front of him. I know Dean hates Leo. I’m not going to let him use me to start some kind of a fight.
“He has nothing to do with this,” Dean says.
His hand snakes out and grabs my wrist, with that strange, alarming speed he seems to possess. I have to twist my wrist hard to break free of his grip, and the moment I do, I hurry away from him, before he grabs me again, before he can make a scene in front of all these people.
My face is flaming, and I don’t understand what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. I thought Dean and I had reached a kind of reasonable equilibrium. We finished our banking project with minimal conflict. In fact, we got a perfect score. I thought that was proof that if we couldn’t be friends, we at least didn’t have to be enemies.
But now he’s trying to stir up some kind of shit with Leo again.
Then I remember why.
The Captainship. It was announced today—Dean must be pissed that Leo got it instead of him. Makes sense. I can’t imagine Dean is going to enjoy taking orders from Leo. Same with Bram.
Leo’s going to have a tough time winning when half his team is in mutiny.
I want to talk to Leo about that—about a lot of things, actually—but there’s so damn many people crowded around him, I can’t do more than catch his eye, to which he gives me a warm and apologetic smile.
Usually I don’t mind that Leo is so popular. I want him to get all the love and attention in the world. But right now I feel anxious, our unspoken and unfinished moment gnawing at me.
“It’s all war games!” Matteo is saying, swinging his arms around so wildly that his drink sloshes out of his cup, dousing his sleeve. “The upperclassmen will have more experience, obviously, but if we can—”
I never hear Matteo’s brilliant plan, because Gemma Rossi pushes her way into the center of the group, clutching two red plastic cups in her hands.
“Leo!” she says. “I heard you made Captain! Congratulations! Gu
aranteed we’ll win with you leading us!”
She looks up at him, batting both eyelids as hard as she can. She stepped on my foot on her way by, and I’m seriously regretting not tripping her as I’d considered doing. With her hands full, she would have fallen flat on her face.
“Let’s all toast Leo!” she chirps, thrusting one of the drinks into Leo’s hand.
Leo shoots me a look, knowing that I’ve got a massive eye roll just waiting to be deployed. But I don’t let it loose. I don’t feel sarcastic or amused at the moment. I just feel . . . anxious.
Everyone holds their makeshift drinks aloft—the dusty bottles of homemade beer brewed at the castle that are supposed to be for teachers but are frequently stolen by students. The wine made at the vineyard south of campus, the bottles stamped with the Visine Dvorca label. And the cocktails mixed with smuggled liquor that students snuck in their suitcases or bought at outrageous prices from the fisherman who go back and forth with supplies for the island.
I don’t have a drink. Leo holds out his cup to me, but I shake my head. So he toasts himself along with everyone else, drinking down whatever Gemma brought him, grinning as everyone cheers for him.
Leo lowers his cup, licking his lips with relish.
“I’m telling you, it all comes down to Game Theory,” Matteo says.
“No, it’s pure fitness—” his friend argues.
At that moment, the music cuts out abruptly. It resumes a moment later, but it sounds garbled and dull.
I look around to see if Chay is fucking with the speaker again. Or maybe it’s the long-awaited Sam, who has arrived at last and is chucking a football back and forth across the sand with Kasper Markaj, with no regard for who or what lies between them.
Chay is nowhere to be seen, and neither is the stereo—the pile of driftwood that held it aloft now holds nothing at all.
Swearing under my breath, I stalk over to the fire so I can see what the hell happened.
Following the sputtering sound, I find my speaker half-buried in sand. Some idiot must have knocked it over—definitely Sam, I bet.
I pick up the speaker, stopping the music so I can remove the outer shell, take the batteries out, and clean all the sand out of it. I should never have lent it to Chay in the first place. If it gets broken, how the hell am I going to practice in the mornings?
