Nervous energy had me picking at the stitching of my chair while I waited for Dean Morgan to finish his call in the next room. I'd hoped I might find Wainwright in the Dean's office, but I'd been sorely disappointed.
Still, Dean Morgan could make this meeting with Alex happen, so I was simply going to pull up my big girl panties and face the father of the guy I'd killed.
I was confident he didn't know. Surely if he did, I would no longer be enrolled. Certainly I wouldn't be enjoying all the freedoms I currently was. But guilt weighed heavily on my shoulders nonetheless. Was Dean Morgan in the Society? Did he know Brandon had sided with Uriel?
The door clicked open, and Dean Morgan hurried in with a tense, distracted look on his face. "What can I help you with, Miss Spencer?" he asked, sounding annoyed as hell to be dealing with me. "I was of the understanding that Prince Rafe had already fixed your schedule to your liking."
There was an edge of derision in his tone that immediately flared my anger to life. Like I'd asked to change my schedule because Ifeltlike it. Like I'd missed a month of classes because I waslazy. What in the actual fuck?
All my nervousness flew straight out the window as cold rage flooded through me.
"Alright, fuck this," I said with a sigh. "Let's just drop the bullshit, shall we?"
Dean Morgan's eyes bugged out, and his jaw damn near hit the floor. Apparently he wasn't used to that kind of language from ballot winners. Well, guess what? I didn't give a flying fuck.
"I know all about the 'lottery' being rigged for genetic marriages, and I know you and Nurse Reller were fully aware of it, helpfully pushing all the poor, clueless orphans into the arms of their prince charmings. I even know you've been complicit in tampering with girls’ birth control along the way, so seriously? Save the shocked act for someone who gives a damn." I drew a breath, then carried on before the Dean could splutter any pointless denials. "I'm here for just one reason, and then you can go back to turning a blind eye to all the nefarious crap going on under your fucking nose. Clear?"
Dean Morgan's eye twitched, but I kept my stare flat and confident. He didn't scare me.
He stared back at me for a long moment, like he was deciding whether I was serious or not, then finally inhaled deeply. "Very well, Ms. Spencer. What can I do for you?"
His tone was all acid and resentment, but he'd made his choice. He had to have learned by now I was no ordinary, timid student who would be cowed by the title on his door. Nope, not me.
"I understand Alex arrived back to the academy today," I announced, keeping my spine straight and my eyes hard. Guilt had started seeping into my mind, as the longer I faced Dean Morgan, the more time I had to remember how I'd killed his son just two weeks ago and he probably had no idea.
Fucking hell, I had a lot of bad karma to balance out after this treaty was—hopefully—signed.
Dean Morgan's lips pursed. "And?"
"And I need to speak with him," I elaborated. "Preferably before Rafe and Jordan return from their team meeting." I gave him a tight smile. My princes had been called into a meeting with their team to debrief on the day's games before the formal dinner, and I'd been left with Mattie as my backup. Of course, they'd intended for us to sit directly outside the team’s training rooms like good little puppies, and I'd dragged her away for this quick visit to the dean the second the doors had closed.
By Mattie's guess, we had maybe half an hour. Forty-five minutes at best. After all their warnings not to "run off" without sufficient back up—Mattie didn't count—I doubted I could get away with another incident. If we weren't back before their meeting let out, I suspected I'd be sitting at dinner with a pair of stinging ass cheeks. And not in a good way.
Strangely enough, I almost expected that kind of punishment more from Jordan than Rafe. My New American prince was hiding all kinds of dangerous layers, and the flash I'd seen this morning—when he’d all but threatened the guy who saw us kissing—was just the tip of the iceberg.
Dean Morgan took his glasses off and polished them, then placed them back on his face and clasped his hands in front of him.
"I can tell you where to find him," he replied in a cool tone, giving me a hard look, "but I want you to tell me something in exchange."
Curious, and cautious, I gave a noncommittal nod.
"Ms. Spencer, I hope you'll permit me to also speak frankly, as time is of the essence. I understand that you spent some time as a guest in the Red East faction of the Society." He cocked a brow, and I gave a bitter snort.
"Aguest. Sure. What's your question, Winston?" I dropped his formal title in a clear deviation from polite etiquette. This prick had manipulated dozens of girls—and some boys—into what was, at best, arranged marriages without one party ever knowing about it. At worst, human trafficking.
His nostrils flared with irritation. "Was my son there?"
I froze, the prickles of guilt now full-blown stabbing pain. "Yes, I saw him there," I replied with a slow nod. It was the truth, after all. And as much as I hated Brandon for what he’d done to me, I couldn't leave his father to suffer, never knowing what'd become of him. Or at least not without giving him a hint. "There was a lot of fighting the day we escaped," I offered in a gentler tone of voice, "if he was on the wrong side—"
"He wasn't," Dean Morgan snapped, cutting me off. “He wouldn’t side with those extremist psychopaths. I raised him to respect the monarchies.”
My brows rose at the lie. Or maybe he believed it? "All I'm saying," I rephrased, licking my lips, "is thatifhe was on the wrong side, I don't know how many of Uriel's followers made it out alive."
The Dean's face was tight, his frame radiating tension, but he just stared at me for a long moment before giving a short nod.
"Very well. King Alex of the Australasias is in the visiting monarch's wing. Fourth floor of the Westervelt Tower. I'll call ahead and advise him that you're on your way."
I let my breath out in a rush. "Thank you," I said sincerely.
