but to look up, my eyes settling first on the prince, bag already slung across his shoulder, and then on Mr. Sylaeia, waiting behind his desk.
‘We’ll be in the quad,’ Tammy muttered, ushering the others out. At the same time, Mr. Sylaeia gestured for us to come closer.
My hand gripped the strap of my bag until my knuckles whitened and in the back of my mind, I was aware that the last time I had been so close to this boy was at my grandmother’s funeral.
Were you still ignorant then?
Mr. Sylaeia turned away, using a rag to wipe his name from the board. ‘As Autumn knows, any Sage on the school campus are my responsibility. Therefore, Fallon, I ask that you ensure you maintain shields when using magic on site and respect the privacy of the minds of humans. The paperwork I have to fill out in the event of an accident is enough to send any man or Sage to an early grave and I would rather like to make it to forty.’ The prince nodded. My grip tightened. ‘And Autumn, I read this over the summer. I thought it might interest you. Enlightening interpretation of misogyny in The Taming of the Shrew.’ He handed me a thick paperback volume, well-used judging by the creases in the spine. I mumbled my thanks, placing it into my near-empty bag.
Sensing he was finished, I moved towards the door. But as I reached it, Mr. Sylaeia’s voice sounded in my head. ‘It will not be as bad as you think.’
I fought the urge to freeze, yet I could not stop myself from glancing back at him. He was not facing in our direction, but typing something on the computer in the opposite corner. I turned back, carrying on along the short corridor until I reached the door to the staircase.
He is a wise man, but this time he cannot understand.
‘Duchess!’
I concealed a sigh, pushing through the door. It swung shut after I had passed through but quickly opened again.
No, I am quite positive it will be far worse than what I imagine it to be.
‘Lady Autumn?’
I knew I could not ignore him for long, so I turned, taking my time so that I could compose my expression into something resembling polite interest.
‘Your Highness?’
He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and shook his head, seeming puzzled. ‘On your timetable, there is no mention of your title and Lady is not placed in front of your given name. They didn’t even have the courtesy to use House in reference to your surname. Is this a mistake you intend to have corrected?’
Throughout his short rant – and a rant it was, judging by the irritated tone he used – I stared at a stain in the faded brown carpet, worn by the hundreds of feet that passed over it during the working week.
‘It’s not a mistake, Your Highness.’ I brought my eyes up to meet his, holding his gaze for as long as I could stand to, so my meaning was clear.
‘Not … a mistake?’ He turned the words over on his tongue as though they belonged to a foreign language.
‘No. I prefer not to use my title and I would be very much obliged to you if you would respect that wish.’
I continued down the staircase, hearing him mutter ‘Obliged?’ to my retreating back. As I reached the landing halfway down, he suddenly sprang forward, leaning over the banister.
‘For Pete’s sake, do you mean to say that none of the humans here know who you are? How can they not know?’
I tugged the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder, picking my words with care. ‘I’ve never appeared in any of the gossip magazines, or anything these people would read. So they know me as Autumn, Your Highness. Just Autumn.’ I bobbed into a quick curtsey and fled, marching straight past the others outside, knowing that there would be plenty of willing girls prepared to act as a mentor in my absence.
The atmosphere in the textiles room was electric. Kable was a small, rural school and news could spread in a break time, meaning that the topic of conversation was focused solely on the prince; and if anybody had not known about his arrival before, they knew within sixty seconds of stepping through the door. The two girls sitting at the table nearest the entrance almost pounced upon any newcomer, pleading for more information which I was waiting for someone to realize I possessed. It helped that I sat on the table furthest from the door and board, meaning nobody took much notice of me. I hid behind my thick hair, hunched over my sketchbook whilst I outlined a design for a dress for the upcoming unit of work.
‘Autumn, you’ll know the answer to this.’ Christy swung around in her chair, pushing the pile of fabric she had picked from the resource cupboard aside so she could lean closer. ‘He spent three years studying in Australia, didn’t he? He must have with a tan like that.’
My pencil pressed so hard against the page that the lead snapped. I brushed it aside, mustering an offhand tone. ‘Who?’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘You know who.’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘And he had a girlfriend there, right? But they split up.’
My chair scraped back as I snatched my pencil and sharpener and headed towards the bin. ‘Christy, I suggest you read Quaintrelle or some other gossip magazine if you wish for the prince’s life story.’
‘Man, don’t get your knickers in a twist, I was only asking.’
‘But you know him better than the magazines, don’t you?’ Tammy asked and I was surprised at her perceptiveness – I didn’t think any familiarity had shown.
‘We played together as children when I visited court. But I have not been to Athenea since I was twelve, so I do not pretend to know him.’
The lead of the pencil snapped once more, this time following a violent twist of the sharpener.
‘So do we have to, like, curtsey to him?’ Gwen asked, and judging from the quiet that had descended, most of the class was listening.
‘You can if you like, but it is not obligatory.’
‘Okay then, if I married him, how rich would I be?’
I couldn’t help but crack a smile at Gwen’s question, lighthearted as always. ‘Extraordinarily rich.’
‘Well, Gwen,’ Mrs. Lloyd said, appearing at the door carrying a tall mug of tea, topped with a lid. ‘If you work a little harder this unit than you did in the last, you’ll be able to make your own wedding dress.’
‘I was thinking Kate Middleton-esque. But in black,’ Gwen mused, holding up the square sample of lace she had brought along.
‘You can’t have black for a wedding!’
