Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,18

this has been a long-running argument between them.

Something must show on my face because Sakshi waves a hand at Perry and says, “We’ve known each other for donkey’s, haven’t we, Perry? Our families have houses next door to each other in Belgravia, but this is the first time we’ve gone to school together.”

“Bully for me,” Perry mutters, but I can tell there’s no real animosity there. For all that they keep sniping at each other, they do seem like really good friends, and I suddenly miss home more than I’d thought I would. Perry doesn’t look anything like Lee, but he makes me miss him all the same. Lee and Darcy, even.

Jude.

Ugh, no, Scotland is a No-Jude-Thoughts Zone. I’m here for school and finally seeing more of the world, something different from the flat plains of home.

“So you want to be a princess?” I ask Sakshi, but to my surprise, she shakes her head.

“It’s not that, exactly. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the title, the castle, the jewels, that will all be lovely. But the real goal is the opportunity. There’s so much I’d like to do for the world, and being a princess opens up those doors. It’s the best way to achieve my humanitarian goals.” Then she shrugs. “Also, he’s hotter than a bakery on the surface of the sun, so there’s that.”

“Unbelievable,” Perry mutters, but before Saks can reply, a woman walks into the room. She’s wearing a fairly boring gray suit, but her hair is almost as red as Perry’s, and it’s pulled back from her face in a flattering updo.

“Ladies!” she says brightly, clapping her hands together. Then her eyes land on Perry, and she frowns.

“Ladies and Mr. Fowler, perhaps I should say.”

Mumbling an apology around a mouthful of cake, Perry gets up, dragging his chair back against the wall before slinking out with a quick wave to me and Sakshi.

She sighs as he goes. “Hopeless Perry.”

“I hope for his sake that’s not an actual nickname,” I mutter, and Sakshi laughs, briefly touching my knee.

“It should be.”

The lady in the gray suit gestures for us to stand, and we do. Well, most of us do. I glance over and see that Flora takes her time unwinding from her comfy position on the sofa.

I also notice the way the lady in the suit’s eyes flick down to take in Flora’s lack of uniform, and the slight frown she gives.

But then she smiles at all of us, hands once again clasped in front of her. “Ladies,” she begins again. “I am Dr. McKee, your headmistress. Welcome to Gregorstoun. I hope you’ve all felt very welcome on your first official day.”

We all nod and make general murmuring sounds of agreement, and then a voice rings out, clear and posh, lilting and musical.

“I was not made to feel very welcome, Dr. McKee,” Flora says, and then she glances over at me, lips curling.

CHAPTER 10

We all stand there in the drawing room, focused on Flora, which is probably her idea of heaven. She seems like the type of girl who’s very invested in being the center of attention.

And I stand there and wait for the ground to swallow me up, or for guards to rush in and seize me for daring to call the princess a name.

But then, her lips still curled in that cat-that-got-the-canary smile, Flora looks at Dr. McKee and says, “Sebastian told me there were bagpipers on the first day.” She lifts one shoulder in an elegant half shrug. “I’m afraid I don’t feel welcome anywhere that doesn’t provide the appropriate fanfare.”

She winks then—actually winks! At a teacher! No, not a teacher, a headmistress—and giggles run through the room.

I sigh in relief, only to feel my shoulders tense right back up when Flora once again meets my eyes.

She winks again, but this time it isn’t cheeky or cute.

Shaking her head, Dr. McKee clasps her hands behind her back. “We’ll try to do better in the future, Miss Baird,” she says. “Perhaps someone can play the kazoo for you as you make your way to the showers in the morning.”

More giggles, and then she walks across the room to a heavy wooden door, opens it, and waves us inside.

“Miss Baird?” I ask Sakshi in a low voice as we trudge along with the herd of girls. “Not Your Majesty?”

“That would be for the queen,” Saks replies over her shoulder at me. “Flora’s an HRH.”

When I just stare at her, she clarifies, “Her Royal Highness. But in any