by Sofia Daniel
I stepped into my room. The bathroom door was open, and Rita’s bed was still made. She was probably in Hawthorn House with her upper-sixth year friend. I sat on the edge of my bed and put my head in my hands. What kind of game was Edward playing? When we were alone, he was the perfect gentleman, and he only participated a little when Henry and Blake got hot and heavy. Was he really trying to play things slow, or was he differentiating himself from the others by holding back?
Blinking out the confusion, I shook my head. He’d bullied me just as much as the others, and he’d been involved in framing me for the kidnapping. Nobody would be immune from my wrath, not even those who acted gallant.
Chapter 9
I had hoped to be able to send something useful to Jackie from yesterday’s date with Edward, but unfortunately I hadn’t discovered anything except his fascinating relationship with his employees. And the beautiful grounds. And a secret strength and kindness, hidden behind his hard exterior. As to whether I was glad I had found no dirt on him… I didn’t want to examine that too closely. Jackie forwarded me scanned plans of Elder House and key areas of the academy with red dots to indicate the locations of the cameras they had forced Carbuncle to install.
Later that evening, I sat between Edward and Henry in the common room, where the triumvirate held court at the sofas closest to the fire. Charlotte, Patricia, and Wendy sauntered into the room, holding marshmallows and long, metal prongs. This was the first time she had shown her face since the Correspondent had published the article on her brother’s gambling addiction.
They had also delved into the financial activities of her father. Over the years, he had placed several family properties for auction, selling them for less than their worth. With so many people fixated on money and status in Mercia Academy, and with her lie about her brother working for the Saudi Royal family exposed, I wasn’t surprised Charlotte had gone into hiding.
Patricia was the first to speak. “We brought marshmallows.” She fluttered her lashes at Edward. “I know they’re your favorite.”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Some things are better than junk food.”
“None for me, thanks.” Henry stretched out on his side of the sofa, taking up all the space.
Blake scooted toward Edward. “Sit with me, if you like.”
I narrowed my eyes. This was clearly a ploy to make me jealous. It was time to act, and I had a great idea. Rita had once told me that Blake liked to boast about his connection to the British Royal family. If I could prompt him into repeating his little speech, Jackie would have a nice little story, and I’d have my revenge. I locked eyes with Patricia and slid my hand on Edward’s muscular thigh. He kissed me on the cheek.
The other girl’s bottom lip wobbled. “Do you know what I hate the most?”
“What’s that?” asked Charlotte.
“Gold diggers who follow the examples of their trollop mothers.”
Wendy shook her head. “How true.”
“Wow,” I said. “You should be kinder to yourself, Pat—“ I tapped my bottom lip. “Sorry, I forgot your last name. What is it again?”
Patricia’s nostrils flared, and she pulled back her shoulders and stuck out her chest. I rolled my eyes. No matter how much she adjusted her posture, she would never have half of Charlotte’s assets. I was about to tell her as much, but she bared her teeth. “I was talking about you, whore.”
Edward sighed. “Must you make a scene?”
“Glass houses and all that,” added Henry.
I rubbed my temples. “Can you stop the name-calling? It’s tiresome and hypocritical.”
Charlotte reared back. “Who are you calling a hypocrite?”
“You, mostly.” I stood and let my voice carry, so everyone behind us in the common room could hear. I didn’t give a damn about these idiots, their marshmallows, or their petty jibes. My target here was Blake, and I needed to word things correctly to prompt him into giving his infamous boast. “Henry is the heir to the Bourneville fortune, and you’ve tried every trick at your disposal to get at him.”
“That’s not true,” she spat.
“Even I’ve noticed it,” drawled Henry.
Charlotte’s face turned purple. “What about you?”
“I’m not the one chasing after riches. Not like your little friend whose name I can’t remember.”
“It’s Patricia. Patricia Darnley.”
“Thank you, Darling.” The boys snickered at that. “You’re so desperate for Edward and his Duchy of Mercia wealth, you’re prepared to fight your best friend over him. What kind of girl does that?”
“A gold digger!” shouted someone from deep within the common room.
“Out of the mouth of babes.” I sat and held my breath, hoping Blake would take the bait.
“And there’s me, of course,” Blake drawled. “If anything happens to the Prince of Wales, my stepfather will become the King of England and make me a prince.”
“Not this again,” Henry muttered under his breath.
A tingle of excitement ran through my insides. Blake had fallen into my trap. Now, all I needed to do was give him the gentlest of prompts. “What’s that?”
Blake sat straighter in his seat, chocolate eyes shining. “It’s obvious, really. Her Majesty doesn’t have long for this world, and the next in line is always going overseas and sticking his neck out for all sorts of international causes. With the rise of terrorism, something might happen to him and voila!” He stood, stretching his arms wide. “My stepfather gets the throne, and I’ll be Prince Blake.”
“Sit down, you twat,” said Henry. “It’s just a title.”
Edward chuckled, blue eyes dancing with amusement.
Blake shook his head. “My stepfather says it won’t be. I’ll join the civil list and get my own wing in one of the palaces. If I endure a few charity events each year, I’ll be set. An entire life of luxury funded by the taxpayer.”
I rubbed my chin. This was excellent. I had one more question that if answered right would get him into a world of trouble. “Your stepfather, the prince, told you this?”
“Of course.” Blake rocked back on his heels. “He’s seen the writing on the wall, and he’s told me more than once that he’ll become the King of England.”
“That explains why the gold diggers want you.” I turned to Wendy. “Have you been setting your heart on becoming a princess?”
She curled her lip. “Oh, fuck off, you pathetic whore.”
Triumph flared through my insides. Blake had said enough to hang himself. I took note of the time on the mantle to tell Jackie where to find the clip and fluttered my eyelashes at Wendy. “Did I hit a nerve?”
Charlotte grabbed the bag of marshmallows and threw their contents at me before storming out of the room with her doppelgängers.
“If that’s your way of having the last word, I’ll debate with you any time!” Snickers filled the common room, and I picked off a marshmallow and stuck it in my mouth. “I should have asked her for a prong. These are much better toasted.”
Days later, I sat at the head table between Edward and Henry, staring at the next article of the Saturday Correspondent on Henry’s smartphone. A photo of Blake sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, smoking a joint, featured prominently on the page. Charlotte’s head was at his crotch, but her face was obscured. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to hide my reaction. Blake had to be in serious trouble.
The entire room was abuzz with excitement. Yet again a small crowd formed around a beaming Duncan’s table, who shouted out the headline, “Simpson-West plots Prince of Wales’ demise!”
The paper had printed a transcript of Blake’s speech, along with a link online where anyone could listen and verify that he’d actually spoken about how he would benefit from the death of a senior royal. A fourth year visiting his older sister pulled out his phone and broadcasted the recording to the room.
Charlotte trotted in with her two remaining doppelgängers. I gu
essed with the attention now on Blake, she felt safe enough to show her face in the dining room.
I reached for a pot, poured myself a cup of tea, and shook my head. “Someone’s embellished this. I don’t remember Blake saying that much. How’s he taking the news?”
“He’s left to see his mother,” replied Henry.
“Is she in the palace?”
“One of them,” he replied.
“Who could have done this to him?” I asked.
“I have an idea,” Edward’s gaze fixed on Charlotte, who stared back.
My brows rose. I picked up the milk jug and added a splash into my tea. Charlotte hadn’t even been holding a camera on that evening. But if this stunt earned her the animosity of the triumvirate, I would consider it a bonus.
“You could be right,” said Henry. “This is revenge for the time Blake posted that blow job on the projector.”
I winced at the remembered pain of Charlotte kicking me in the diaphragm. That had been almost as bad as the mugful of hot cocoa in the face. “What about the photo? She couldn’t have taken that.”
“If she set up her camera on the mantelpiece and waited for Blake to come in, she would have recorded the entire event.” One side of Henry’s lips quirked into a smile. “He could never resist fellatio.”
Edward snorted. “Good old Blake."
I raised the teacup to my lips and scowled. They needed to stop talking about Blake’s blow job escapades.
By the next day, news spread to the Sunday papers, who reprinted the article with a cropped picture featuring just Blake and the joint, and on Monday morning, Buckingham Palace issued a statement that Blake had been under the influence of drugs when he had made those boasts, and that they had not come from his stepfather as Blake had claimed. The statement concluded that he would receive counseling for his addiction.
At lunchtime, someone posted a video clip on the Mercia-Net of Blake’s stepfather, the prince, issuing a statement denying that he had discussed his brother’s death as Blake had claimed. Blake’s mother stood at his side, clad in vintage Chanel, exuding elegance and silent dignity. Her black hair was swept up in a chignon, highlighting similar, prominent cheekbones and eyes as dark as Blake’s. I chewed on my bottom lip, hiding my amusement. When Blake returned to the academy, he would be a pariah and too occupied with his own social ostracism to bother harassing the likes of Rita.
“The comments Blake made were his and his alone?” Henry spat. “Lying bastard! Do you remember that Easter we all spent in Scotland?”
Edward sipped his orange juice. “It’s etched in my mind. Didn’t His Highness say it the day after he caught Mrs. Simpson-West with the chauffeur?”
I gasped. “What?”
Edward pursed his lips. “The prince was so desperate to keep Mrs. Simpson-West in line, he blurted out that promise in front of us all, hoping she’d stay.”
I held my breath and stared into my plate of kippers. It was one thing to get Blake into trouble, but I didn’t want the royal family to fall into complete disgrace.
Blake didn’t turn up for school the next day. As I took a stroll through the grounds, I pulled out my phone and sent him another text asking how he was coping with the scandal. I held it in my hands for a few minutes, waiting for his reply, but none came.
I moved to search the internet to see if the papers had any update on the story and soon found a report of Blake being escorted by his mother into a rehab facility.
My throat dried, so I went to the tuck shop and ordered a service of orange juice before gulping it down in one. My fingers trembled as I held the glass. I hadn’t expected things to go that far. A bit of public humiliation and a harsh reprimanding from his parents was all I’d wanted from Blake, and now he was in some sort of institution.
I shuddered at the thought of the doctors giving him methadone or some other drug he didn’t need. Apart from that photo, I’d never even seen Blake take drugs, and the boys assured me he wasn’t an addict.
After returning to my room, I locked myself in the bathroom to call Jackie. “Emilia!” she slurred, sounding like she’d had too much to drink. “Do you know how much money we made from syndicating that photo and article?” Before I could answer, she said, “Enough to keep us afloat for a very long time, even if the Press Standards Organization decides to fine us for posting a lewd picture!”
“About that,” I asked. “Did you take it from the camera?”
“It was from the night you went out with Edward Mercia. Why didn’t you probe him on the dodgy goings-on at International House? Nobody but him seems to know what’s happening.”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m working on it.”
“Good. Rudolph says you need to top this and produce something explosive.”
My shoulders sagged. If the Correspondent made so much from Blake’s scandal, why was I now under even more pressure? “If I can encourage people to post about International House on the Mercia-Net, that should give you enough to write up a few articles, right?”
“Only when we find out why there’s suddenly a brand new house filled with people who don’t belong in a high school.”
I pursed my lips. With Edward being so cagey about the new students, I would need more than a bit of luck to crack that mystery.
The following Monday, Blake returned to the academy. He stepped through the dining room doors to a round of applause and cheers. His stony expression melted into a grin that froze halfway to his eyes. The members of the rugby team hoisted him on their shoulders and carried him to the head table, calling him a stud and a fucking legend. By the time they had bolstered his ego, his face brightened, and the smile turned genuine.
He stood on a chair at the head table, raising his arms and waiting for the wolf-whistles to subside. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he announced. “News of my addiction to alcohol and drugs has been greatly exaggerated for the protection of the realm.”
“He took one for the country!” yelled a voice from the back of the dining room.
“Nice one!”
All my previous concerns for Blake evaporated into the ether, and my lips tightened. I had meant to give him a taste of what I had suffered, not turn him into a living legend. When the triumvirate had framed me, all I received was a week’s imprisonment, cheese sandwiches, and a brutal, humiliating send-off by the same people who now saluted Blake for getting caught talking treason.
Henry shook his head. “They shouldn’t encourage him.”
Since that little stunt didn’t work, I would have to try something else.
My gaze caught Alice’s, who rolled her eyes. The last time we had gone out, I’d mentioned that Sergei would be playing at an exclusive singles’ event in London. What if I got Jackie to arrange an apartment with cameras and enough drink to make everyone spill their secrets? That would keep Rudolph off my back until I found something worth publishing about International House.
Chapter 10
The excitement about Blake’s return from an unnecessary trip to rehab died down by the next day, and his mood became somber. Perhaps getting the blame for something that wasn’t really his fault had given him something to think about. Or his stepfather had admonished him for embarrassing the royal family. Whatever it was, he now turned pensive and would spend moments staring off into space.
I stopped shunning him and acted the supportive friend. Partially out of curiosity about his fate, but mostly to see if there was any information I could gather for my next attack.
English lit was the last class of the day. As everyone got up to leave, I turned to Blake. “Want to go for a walk?”
He gave me a sad smile. “A date?”
“If you like.” I shrugged.
Blake nodded and placed his books in his satchel. I twisted around, reached into my pocket, and turned on the recording app on my burner phone. When we’d both finished packing, I looped my arm through his, and we walked out of the main teaching block and across the lawn to the music block.
<
br /> Throughout our journey, younger students whispered and gaped. A few mentioned Blake’s recent appearances in the papers and on the TV, but at a sharp look from him, they clammed up.
“How are you coping?” I asked.
Blake dipped his head. “The worst part about this mess is my stepfather. He’s denying ever saying the Prince of Wales might die before ascending to the throne, but Edward and Henry heard him.”
“Henry told me as much,” I murmured.
“Now the palace has labeled me a drug addict to save face.”
“Do they believe your side of the story?” I shooed away a little first year who jogged up with a scrap of paper for an autograph, dared to by his giggling friends.
“The aide I spoke to said it didn’t matter who said what. I shouldn’t have repeated it in public. He was livid that someone had placed a recording device in our common room and has written to the headmaster, demanding answers.”
My heart thudded in my chest, and I let out a long breath. Even if someone swept the room for hidden devices, they couldn’t be traced back to me. Not when they’d been set up by Mr. Carbuncle.
We rounded the building and walked into a courtyard with a circular lawn. Around it grew winter jasmine shrubs. A glossy evergreen plant laden with thick white flowers climbed over all the walls. It was the kind of garden that was pleasant in winter but would look spectacular in the summer.
I shook my head. “Everyone’s got smartphones these days. Even Charlotte.”
His handsome features twisted. “She did this.”
My brows drew together. As much as I wanted Charlotte shunned, it couldn’t be for something she hadn’t done. “Are you sure? What would she have to gain?”
“You heard me admit to broadcasting her blow job video. This is her revenge.”
“How did you even get hold of that recording?” I asked. “That evening, when I hid under the common room table, I dropped my phone the moment I realized what you two were doing.”
