Her Royal Highness (Royals #2) - Rachel Hawkins Page 0,20

will be your roommate.”

I can’t help but glance down the table at Flora, who’s already looking back at me with a bored and vaguely irritated expression.

Me and Veruca Salt? Out in the wilderness together?

“Of course, the Challenge won’t begin for another month,” Dr. McKee goes on with a smile. “So you’ll have plenty of time to plan out your strategy along with the rest of your schoolwork.”

The rest of the meeting is reminders about rules, instructions on how to best balance “academic life with social pursuits.” And then we’re dismissed back to our rooms to “have some downtime” before school officially starts tomorrow.

I wave good-bye to Saks as I head up the stairs, my limbs heavy and my eyes gritty. All I can think about is flopping onto my bed and sleeping, even though it’s barely 5 p.m.

But when I get to my room, Flora is already there, standing by the foot of her bed, looking out the window.

She’s also on her phone, even though one of the lectures we just got involved turning our phones over to the main office. We can have them on weekends, but not during the school week, something I remind myself to email Dad about.

But then, I guess rules don’t apply to Flora.

“Well, she’ll have to get over it,” Flora is saying now, one arm crossed over her stomach as she keeps looking out the window. “I told her that was one of the requirements of me going to school here.”

There’s a pause, and she glances over her shoulder at me, lips pursing briefly. Then she turns back to the window.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m safe as houses up here, and you didn’t have to have security detail. Neither did Seb. So why am I the exception? And I warn you, if you say it’s because I’m a girl, I’m going to leak it to the papers that you slept with a blankie until you were eleven.”

I don’t want to eavesdrop, but you kind of can’t not when you’re sharing a room with someone, and curiosity has me edging a little closer to the window to see what she’s looking at.

It’s the guy from earlier, the red-faced one in the dark suit, and he’s putting suitcases in the trunk of a black SUV. He’s got a cell phone pressed to his ear, too, and as I watch, he drops a suitcase, flinging his free hand up in the direction of the school, and, I’m guessing, Flora.

Her lips curve in a slow smile as she lifts her hand to wave at him, but he’s not looking.

Then, sighing, Flora turns away from the window, flouncing onto her bed. She’s got the same boring white sheets and green blanket I do, and I can see she’s added some throw pillows. She’s also completely taken over the top of the dresser, and I frown as I look at the expensive scented candles, framed photos of Flora and a bunch of similarly gorgeous girls in big hats and gorgeous dresses, and . . . a porcelain hand?

Apparently a ring holder, since all the fingers are decorated with various sparkly pieces.

While Flora keeps chatting on the phone (To a prince, a part of my brain whispers, who will one day be a king, and who is her brother because she is a princess, you are living with an honest-to-god princess), I unzip my duffel and pull out the big Ziploc bag I brought with my favorite rock samples.

Yes, maybe it’s a wee bit dorky to have favorite rocks, but whatever. I found some of these on trips with my dad, and others are from gem and mineral shows I’ve dragged him and Anna to. They’re a nice reminder of home.

Moving over to the dresser, I don’t look at Flora as I begin moving some of the candles to the side closer to her bed.

“Alex, let me call you back,” I hear her say. “I have a turf war to attend to.”

Great.

I ignore her, though, keeping my focus on my task as I place my favorite piece of hematite an inch away from her stupid hand statue.

Leaning against the dresser, Flora studies me.

“Are you a witch?” she finally asks. “Into crystals and all that?”

“No,” I answer, putting my citrine just to the left of the hematite. “I’m a geologist. Or I’m going to be.”

“A witch would be preferable,” she says. “Or at least interesting. What’s your name, anyway, O roomie of mine?”

“Millie,” I say, finally looking up at her. I wonder if