LUCIEN

  His first night in the Top Boy suite was not as comfortable as he imagined.

  Lucien lay flat on his back, one arm slung over his forehead, staring at a ceiling he couldn't see. The cornices curled in ornate patterns above him. The crystal chandelier that seemed so fascinating when he and Sinclair first went in seemed invisible now.

  All he saw was Corin.

  It wasn't the hug... It was the almost.

  The way he had leaned in. The way she hadn't stepped back. The warmth of her breath against his mouth. The split second where he had stopped being strategic and started being something else.

  He had nearly done something he couldn't undo.

  Corin had always been immovable in his mind. Precise and composed. Built from something harder than the rest of them. Even after the accident at the fundraiser and after falling to second place.

  She never broke.

  Tonight, she nearly did. She would not admit it, not to anyone, and especially not to him. But he saw it in her eyes. The light had slightly dimmed. The way she savoured a blow from her father as if it were the only version of warmth she'd ever known... it haunted him...

  His jaw tightened in the soft light.

  It wasn't his place. He did not need to fix it, to interfere and decide what was wrong. But he couldn't forget what she looked like in the infirmary. It hit him harder than any slap could have.

  He dragged his arm down to cover his eyes.

  "Fuck, Lucien," he muttered into the quiet.

  Sinclair was right. "I'm going crazy."

  Sleep never came for him. When morning did, it arrived merciless and bright.

  His fingers pressed the bridge of his nose. As if that could stop the sunbeams from assaulting his eyes. The drapes were left open last night. He was too distracted to mind them and now he was paying for it.

  It took a while to get up and make himself at least decent for class. He almost forgot to put on his tie pin until it gleamed on his desk. An expensive reminder that today was his first day as the Holder. He stared at it for a long second before fastening it.

  In the hallway outside the Top Boy suites, he fumbled with his tie, fingers clumsy, mind still elsewhere.

  "She'll make a fuss over that. You know what she's like."

  Lucien looked up.

  Alistair Ascor stood a few steps away, immaculate as ever. Not a crease out of place. Not a hair astray.

  Alistair stepped forward without waiting for permission and adjusted Lucien's tie with swift, efficient movements.

  It had been awkward when Corin did it.

  This was worse.

  Alistair's fingers were steady. He was unbothered by their proximity, or the sheer strangeness of the intimacy, considering they weren't even friends.

  He leaned back slightly and studied Lucien's face, then his hair.

  "You look dreadful," he said mildly, running his own fingers through Lucien's fringe in an attempt to tame it. "Did something happen to you last night?"

  "What?" Lucien's response came too fast. Too sharp.

  Last night was a fragile thing. He barely understood it himself. For a brief, irrational second, he wondered if Corin had told him. Out of the three, she seemed to get along with Ascor the most.

  "You look like you lost sleep," Alistair clarified. "Are the linens not soft enough for your taste?"

  Lucien forced a small exhale. A joke, perhaps. Only, Alistair's expression didn't shift. Too calm.

  Lucien said nothing.

  Alistair fixed the gold pin straight and stepped back. "The Holder tie pin," he said lightly, "is a lot heavier than it looks."

  His hand tapped Lucien's chest. Harder than necessary.

  "Don't break your neck, Green."

  Then he turned and began walking toward the stairs.

  Lucien loosened the tie the moment his back was turned and followed.

  The dining hall hummed louder than usual.

  Conversations dipped when he entered.

  "Hi, Lucien," a cluster of girls near the entrance called, smiles too bright, eyes flicking to the gold pin.

  He offered a sheepish nod.

  "Morning, Green."

  A few Upper Sixth boys greeted him with polite, measured looks—each one landing on the insignia at his chest before moving on.

  It was unsettling how something so small commanded so much attention.

  He instinctively veered left toward his usual corner table.

  Alistair caught him by the sleeve.

  "Where do you think you're going?"

  Lucien frowned. "That's my—"

  "The Holder sits next to her."

  Lucien muttered a few saints under his breath. Another peculiarity of this whole Holder business was the fact that he was now Corin's de facto fiancé.

  "Victor didn't."

  He never saw him, not even once beside her. He always sat across from her during meals.

  "You're not Victor. Quickly now."

  Alistair steered him firmly toward the right side of the hall.

  Toward her table.

  Corin was just arriving. She wore a darker shade on her lips than usual. Rich, deep rouge. She looked striking.

  The girls around her were already whispering about it.

  "It looks so good on her."

  "She's starting something."

  "I'm buying that shade this weekend."

  Even the lower forms nearby were conspiring to do the same.

  Lucien knew better. It was not a fashion choice.

  Rothwell slid into the seat beside her a moment later. Despite sinking to the bottom of the rankings, he retained his place at her side.

  Lucien tilted his head slightly toward Alistair. "What about him?"

  "Head Boy privileges," Alistair murmured, his tone hinting at a slight edge of annoyance. Usually so composed and indifferent, it was surprising to see him show even a flicker of emotion.

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  Lucien had never sat beside Corin at breakfast. The closest he had been was across from her, on that first humiliating morning when Victor forced him into the spotlight.

  He took his seat now.

  There was an obvious gap between them.

  "Morning," he greeted quietly.

  Corin didn't look at him. She tapped the empty space of the chair beside her twice.

  It wasn't a code he recognized. But still, he moved closer.

  The gap disappeared.

  The wait for pancakes stretched endlessly. When the trolleys arrived, Mr. Church led them personally.

  Lucien had only recently discovered that Mr. Church was not merely a waiter but the head of Billard's household staff—something between steward and butler. He served this table and no other.

  "Good morning, Ms. Clarendon," Mr. Church said, serving her first.

  "Good morning, Mr. Green," he added smoothly, placing a plate before Lucien.

  "Thank you for the champagne," Lucien replied, whispering close. "It was wonderful."

  "Marvelous, sir," Mr. Church beamed. "Should you desire another bottle, do let me know. We could include it with your regular meals."

  "Oh—no. That won't be necessary."

  Rothwell's mouth twitched. Lucien might have refused him the wrong way; perhaps he should have bowed or offered some other gesture. Here in Billard, there were too many customs he was unaware of. Being poor and all, he was the only one who didn't know them.

  The rest of them ate their refined breakfasts. Fruit compotes, delicate pastries and perfect portions.

  Lucien stuck to bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

  His comfort.

  "May I interest you in our special breakfast, prepared for you, sir?" Mr. Church asked, returning with a tray that mirrored Corin's plate exactly.

  "I'm all set. Thank you."

  "Very well, sir."

  Mr. Church inclined his head toward Corin. "Enjoy your meal, Ms. Clarendon."

  "Thank you, Church."

  "And yours as well, Mr. Green. Are you certain I—"

  "That's all right. Thank you, Mr. Church."

  The exchange lingered just a touch too long.

  None of the top boys spoke. But Rothwell's barely concealed scoff carried across the table. He clearly had a problem with Lucien, but he would rather stab his scones than tell him outright.

  Lucien chewed his bacon open-mouthed, a display that clearly enraged Rothwell. When Corin threw him a sharp, warning stare, Lucien snapped his jaw shut.

  Victor arrived then, late and sulky.

  He dropped into the seat beside Alistair with a faint wince that didn't escape Lucien's notice. He didn't bother calling the servants for a plate. He reached over and tore a piece of bread from Alistair's instead.

  "One thing about you, Lucy," Victor drawled, grabbing Alistair's orange juice next, "is your consistent love of pancakes. It's almost admirable."

  Lucien kept his eyes on his breakfast.

  Victor had always worn his tie perfectly. His shirt, however, depended on his mood. Some days handbook neat. Most days, like today, untucked.

  The piercings in his ears caught the light.

  Sinclair once said he was tolerated because of his position as last term's Holder.

  Now that the title was gone, the uniform committee across the table looked visibly irritated.

  "You want to take those off," Corin said calmly, "or would you prefer I do it for you?"

  Victor grinned. "You're going to strip me in front of everyone?"

  Lucien was pretty certain she was not talking about his shirt.

  Alistair extended his palm to him. "Give them up, Victor. The things in your earlobes."

  They held each other's gaze for a long, loaded second. To Lucien's surprise, Victor removed them without protest.

  Alistair took the small metal pieces and dropped them straight into Victor's orange juice.

  The splash was soft.

  "Prick," Victor muttered under his breath, biting into bread instead.

  Corin continued eating as if nothing had happened.

  Lucien tried to chew his eggs. Every bite stuck in his throat. Sitting beside her felt heavier than the pin on his chest. He wasn't sure which one was more likely to choke him.

  He just finished taking a sip of his coffee when Corin turned to him without warning.

  There was a blini balanced delicately between her fingers, topped with cottage cheese and a precise mound of caviar.

  "If you think about it," she said mildly, holding it up between them, "this isn't much different from a pancake."

  The table went still.

  Rothwell's fork paused midair. Alistair's expression did not change, but his shoulders straightened a fraction. Even Victor stopped chewing.

  "Go on," Corin said. "Eat."

  Lucien felt every pair of eyes lock onto him. This was not a scene one witnessed at breakfast. Not here. Not with her.

  He had just refused Mr. Church's refined offering. He was not foolish enough to refuse Corin Clarendon.

  There was a bread knife within her reach.

  He leaned closer, his eyes never breaking from hers. He could not see the blini, only her expression—sly and cold, as if she were feeding him poison. Lucien opened his mouth.

  The blini disappeared in a single bite.

  Corin wiped his lips with her thumb.

  Lucien gripped the fabric of his trousers under the table. An accident, he thought. Probably a bit of caviar had strayed, or maybe he was drooling.

  He chewed slowly. Confused which one he was trying to savour, the blini or...

  The taste kicked in. Lucien didn't usually care for elaborate food. He preferred things simple, predictable. But this—

  It was absurd how good it tasted.

  Corin had just ruined pancakes for him.

  "So?" she asked.

  The sound that came out of him was dangerously close to a squeak.

  "Good."

  He cleared his throat. Swallowed hard.

  "It's good."

  Corin nodded once and returned to her own plate, like that meant nothing. As if that single gesture had not destabilized the entire hall's breakfast morning.

  He was glad when the phones started beeping at the same time, drawing eyes away from their table. He checked on his. No notification.

  Patrice arrived then and handed Corin a white envelope. She turned to Lucien and passed it to him. The paper was thick and sealed in red wax, on the front, in a lovely handwritten script:

  Mr. Lucien Green

  "Your invitation."

  Lucien looked around him and realised what the notifications were. He was the only one who got an actual envelope.

  "Is it your birthday?" he asked, breaking the seal and reading. "Oh. Chairman Clarendon." He was not at all amused to see his name on the paper.

  "You have one week."

  "One week for what?"

  Around them, conversations restarted slowly. Carefully. Victor let out a low whistle through his teeth.

  "Well," he murmured, reaching for his now-contaminated orange juice and reconsidering it. "It's going to take Lucy here more than seven days, don't you think?"

  "That is none of your concern, Victor." Corin dismissed him.

  Lucien found another piece of paper inside. It looked like a schedule: Fitting, table etiquette...

  "Waltz?" Lucien asked, side-eyeing Corin.

  "Don't ask. Just show up on time. You have been excused from all club schedules starting today." Corin dabbed her lip with a napkin and stood.

  ***

  Lucien was still staring at the schedule. The first session would be tomorrow morning. As he turned into the hall for his first class, he stopped, catching a familiar voice.

  "What brings you by? The rest of what I'm wearing?"

  Victor stood with his hands in his pockets, careless as ever. In front of him was Corin.

  She stepped closer.

  Her hands were suddenly on him.

  Lucien should have moved. Spying on people had not been his intention. But this was Victor and Corin, and they hated each other.

  "We could get a room, if you want," Victor said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You let Faust sleep with you when you're upset. Is it my turn today?"

  The paper in Lucien's hand began to crumple. He didn't realize he was doing it until the edge bit into his palm.

  Corin shoved Victor against the wall and pressed harder against his ribs. Victor flinched, breath hitching. He looked in pain.

  "Your father still knows where to hit you," she said steadily. "Where no one can see."

  "Why do you care?"

  "I don't."

  "And you think I'm stupid?" he shot back, brushing her hands away. "Suddenly you fancy painting your lips in deep rouge."

  His hand rose, fingers reaching for Corin's cheek as if to touch her lips.

  Lucien took a step forward. Don't be stupid, he cautioned himself, but every muscle in his body tensed, suddenly protective. Corin slapped Victor's hand away before he could touch her mouth.

  "We both have monsters for fathers. Yours has always been more subtle," Victor said, his fingers grazing her lapel. "You've really done it this time, haven't you?"

  "We're not the same."

  "Aren't we?"

  Victor grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed her hard. He smeared the lipstick across her mouth, careless and triumphant.

  "Look at that," he muttered, brushing his thumb over her lip and finding the wound. "Thought so."

  Lucien moved this time.

  But Corin was faster.

  Her knee drove upward with brutal precision.

  Victor's scream echoed down the corridor as he folded onto the floor, curling in on himself before Lucien could even step in.

  "Damn you!" Victor choked. "You brat!"

  Footsteps approached. Students drawn by noise. Corin didn't seem to hear them. She kicked Victor again, cold and deliberate.

  Lucien shrugged off his coat and draped it over her head. He pulled her back before the others could see her.

  "Who—"

  "Just walk, Corin."

  "Lucien?"

  He steered her down the corridor and into the nearest empty room he could find. The lavatory.

  "Don't move," he told her.

  He checked each cubicle, kicking the doors open one by one to make sure they were empty before locking the main door behind them.

  Only then did he turn to her.

  He removed the coat from over her head and gently adjusted her fringe, pushing it back into place.

  Corin's gaze shifted sideways. The sight of the urinals made her question Lucien's sanity.

  "You brought me to the lavatory?" she said, glaring. "The boys' lavatory at that."

  "Well, I couldn't exactly go to the girls'," he replied, slipping his coat back on. It smelled faintly of her now. Lilies. "I locked the door. Don't worry."

  Corin folded her arms.

  The phrasing echoed in his head. I locked the door.

  He cleared his throat. "I mean—"

  She had already turned to the mirror.

  He watched her fingers grip the marble counter as she examined her reflection. The smear. The split at the corner of her lip.

  "Do you need me to call Patrice to help?" he asked.

  "No," she said, cleaning the stray marks from her skin. She didn't reach for a fresh tube. Instead, she used her fingertip to catch the remaining pigment on her lip, expertly blending it until the deep rouge masked the cut again.

  "I don't care what you heard," she said, meeting his gaze through the mirror. Unbothered.

  "Didn't hear anything." It was a lie, of course.

  "Good."

  "Are you okay?"

  Corin turned slowly. "You should ask Victor that."

  Lucien stepped closer.

  She leaned back against the counter.

  "Right," he said quietly. "You just ensured he's the last of the Vandercourt line."

  Her eyes dipped briefly. A small smile curved her mouth.

  "You're smiling."

  "No, I'm not."

  "You're evil."

  She laughed. It was soft and lovely.

  Lucien went still.

  His eyes stayed on her for a few seconds, saving the moment in the attic of his mind, right there on one of his special shelves.