Chapter 1 - Levana
“Would you stop lookinglike Bennett Wilson has just kissed you?” Grace Evans nudged my elbow with hers, referring to the most classically tall, dark, and handsome boy at our school, outranked solely by his own ego.
Lifting my gaze from the leaflet spread open across my bouncing knees, I stuck my index finger in my mouth and gagged. My friend gawked at my reaction, making me laugh at her squinty eyes and pouty lips. “If this is what kissing Bennett,” I circled the air around my face, “looks like, then I need to check myself in at the nearest house for crazies.”
“Seriously?” Grace rolled her eyes. “I’m starting to believe all those wankers who call you a dork,” she muttered. “Who in their right mind prefers a visit to a dreary old castle over kissing Bennett?” A dreamy look passed over her face.
“Me.” I grinned, earning another indignant eye roll.
She knew I didn’t care what the others called me. While everyone my age was crazy about the latest social media trend or some other English fandom, I saw no reason to follow the unimaginative norms. If that wasn’t enough to ostracise me, being the only American in an all-British school had brought its fair share of taunts. Not like I wasn’t a typical teenager. I was. Only, I loved reading. History—something I discovered long before arriving in England—being my favorite book of choice. And right now, my heart was buzzing over the latest archaic find I was about to explore.
“Anyway, do you honestly think he’d want to kiss these?” I pointed to the metal braces I wore with pride. Bennett was the star rugby player and dated the clichéd mean girls. Tall. Thin. Superficial. I should add desperate to the description. Because they usually didn’t realize Bennett’s style of ‘screw them and leave them’ until it was too late.
Grace reached for my hand and squeezed it lightly. “Another year, and your perfect teeth will be breaking hearts. Kisses and dicks too.” My friend was charismatic as she was honest and why I loved her.
I was twelve when we arrived in England, courtesy of my parent’s divorce. While I desperately wanted to stay with my father, my mother ensured he never got custody of my sister and me. That hurt and not being allowed to interact with him made the pain worse. Ironically, Grace became my saving grace from sinking into teenage depression or turning rebellious. With her constant mothering despite being just two months older and her father stepping in to guide me in the absence of mine, I became a straight-A student. My favorite place was the library, my preferred pastime, keeping to myself.
“You need to get your head out of those books and find yourself a hot guy,” Grace’s sudden statement yanked me out of my thoughts.
“If that’s what it entails, yuck.” I tipped my chin at the two slobbering idiots swapping spit three seats behind us. “There’s nothing sexy about having a guy drooling over my mouth. I’d rather kiss a frog.”
She huffed. “They don’t turn into princes, Lee.”
“And who said anything about wanting a prince,” I scoffed. “When it's time, I want a man, not a boy.”
“Yeah, right, keep dreaming.”
“No, Gracey Pooh. I didn’t say I want a man now.” I jabbed a finger in her side, catching her ticklish spot. “We’ll be seventeen in a couple of months and there’s no written rule that we must kiss boys now. There’s plenty of time for that.”
She shoved my hand away with a sigh. “It would be something, though, wouldn’t it? To meet a real prince like Harry or William, maybe even have an unknown gran turn up out of the blue and announce that we’re real princesses.”
“Princess Dairiesis every little girl’s dream, Grace.” I laughed, referring to Anne Hathaway’s debut movie. “Those things don’t happen in real life either.”
“Sourpuss.” She squinted into the sunshine pouring through the window.
Sticking my tongue out at her, I turned away to admire the passing scenery. We were on a school trip to Winthrop Castle, situated on the outskirts of Jersey. The only castle in all of England that I hadn’t visited yet. I glanced down at the leaflet once more and scanned the written text beneath a picture of the castle. The family apparently believed in preserving as much of their history and despite several restorations, it retained most of its aged facades. Still, they hadn’t allowed visitors until this year when they opened a portion of the castle to school tours.
I couldn’t remember the first time I fell in love with everything period-related or that the more I learned, the more intrigued I became, enough to never trade my knowledge for anything. While I’d visited every architectural site in England, I was drawn to Winthrop castle for some inexplicable reason. Both Grace and her dad couldn’t understand my fascination and for the most part, neither could I. Maybe it was a case of always wanting what you can’t have. When I’d asked Mr. Evans to take me for a visit, he’d laughed. My persistence, however, had him relenting one Sunday morning.
I’d seen plenty of pictures and couldn’t wait to see the real thing. Unfortunately, Mr. Evans could only get us as far as the outskirts of the boundary wall. And while the prominent castle stood on a hilltop we could see in the distance, numerous tall trees on the property obscured most of the view. Disappointed, I’d stuck to reading what little history I could find, which only enhanced my curiosity. Not much was known of the recent family occupying the castle since they kept their affairs private and when our teacher announced we’d be visiting the castle, my joyous whoop received death stares from the less interested in our class.
As the bus crawled cautiously over the draw bridge that separated the enormous, moss-covered stone walls from the main road, excitement coursed through my veins. Behind the outer wooden gates slowly opening, I caught a glimpse of large iron gates flanked by giant gargoyle sculptures that might look scary at night, but they were a beautiful sight right now. My enthusiasm grew in leaps and bounds.
When I finally stepped off the bus, my head snapped from left to right, my eager eyes unable to focus on any one point. The view of dark stone meshed with occasional cream bricks from recent restorations was an edifice of steel-framed arched windows, towers, and steeples rimmed above by parapet walls and medieval crenelations—a feature of defensive architecture, and lush gardens below.
