If I’d never been pushed out by Dray, literally shoved down onto the snow at VeVille that very first day at the academy, would I have learned the game better?
Maybe all those years on the outs of the inner circle has damaged my hand in the game.
Father cares about my grades at the academy, and that’s where I put in most of my effort. Not that it was ever much.
But all this time, Mother cared most about my tactics among aristos—and truly, that skill will be more useful to me than the classwork I struggle with.
Mother doesn’t hide the disappointment, thejudgement.
Her chin is lifted, and when it is, it looks extra sharp; a jaw like a fistful of knives. Her inky eyes bore into Abigail rushing ahead up the corridor.
And she doesn’t speak a word as she steps through the open door to my bedchamber, leaving me to trail behind her.
The weather outside has iced me to the bone.
I’m shivering by the time I’m kicking off my shoes at the door—
And I bolt, rigid, as the rotary phone on the side table chimes.
Mother moves for the phone.
Panic flurries like a plague of moths in my belly.
Please don’t be Eric, please don’t be Eric—
The steeliness of Mother’s mood clings to her. She snatches the receiver and brings it to her sharp profile.
Her greeting is as cold as my prickled flesh, “Olivia’s line.”
My heart is pinned to my spine, struck silent. I’m rooted to the spot, just two steps in from the doorway.
Mother’s voice softens, “How are you, dear?”
I loosen a breath.
Dear.
Can only be Serena.
The who isn’t the mystery.
It’s the why that hums through me.
Serena has pretty much blanked me since Rugby Sunday. So why she’s calling me now, that is a fucking mystery—but then, so is the behaviour of every viper in this den of serpents I live in.
I feel like a worm among them, sort of the same, mostly not, and hoping they don’t see that I’m not one of them.
An exhale deflates me before I peel off my sweater. It’s sopping wet, and so it slaps when I toss it onto the sideboard.
The pillow and bag are set down by the door, abandoned there, and now, the rush of water comes from the ensuite.
It’s the only good news I’ve had today—Abigail is running me a bath.
“Olivia is unwell.” Mother’s soft voice lures my gaze back to her. “I will tell her you called.”
My frown lands on the phone before she lowers the receiver, and it clangs as it slots in place.
Mother spares me a cold look before she makes for the door.
