13

Asher ducks their head with a smile. "Thank you."

Dominique pipes up. "I heard," he says, "that the parents aren't too happy about Mr. Blanchard's leadership. Apparently he's not academically rigorous enough."

Beaumont snorts. "How do you find out and remember all that, and yet you never remember what time it is?"

"Because this is actually interesting," Dominique says as though that's patently obvious.

With a flamboyant gesture, Pascal dismisses you all for lessons, but the trip is the only thing on anyone's minds. In the afternoon, you troop over to Vercher House to get yourselves ready.

You're to wear your uniform for the dinner, unlike other occasions when evening wear will be expected; still, you have leeway to make your outfit your own.

You unfasten a couple of shirt buttons, and pull your shirt closer around your body. Adjusting your skirt, you shift it so it shows more of your thighs. It's not as outrageous as it could be, but you'll certainly draw extra attention.

When you emerge into your suite, Asher is waiting in the sitting room, dressed impeccably in their dress livery. Their pale hair is carefully smoothed back, and they look like they don't know what to do with their hands.

"Oh! Hello," they say, getting to their feet. "You look—that is, you look…

A flush spreads across Asher's cheeks, and they rush to hold the door open for you as you head out into the evening air.

The sun has nearly set; a faint stain of crimson peeps over the line of mountains. Carriages snake along the drive in a long convoy; Degen calms one of the more restive horses. You spot Gabi and a cluster of other students ahead, filing two by two into their carriages.

Dominique catches your eye and hurries over. He's wearing a very fine ruffled coat in pale gray wool, and his wavy hair bounces with his stride. "Shall we travel there together?" he says.

You and Asher step into the carriage, and Dominique follows, settling opposite the two of you. As the carriage starts moving, Dominique eagerly peers out of the window.

"I love going to Gallatin, it's so nice to be out and about," he says. "Though everyone will want to get to know you. None of the rest of us will get a look in."

He speaks without rancor, and flashes you a smile over his shoulder.

Dominique settles down and pulls up his feet, crossing his legs. In the dim shadows of the carriage, you can see his broad smile.

"You should enjoy the perks!" he says. "I wouldn't want to be a prince. So much hard work. So many people watching you all the time!"

Dominique turns his bright face to Asher.

"What about you?" he say. "Are you looking forward to tonight?"

Asher looks surprised to be spoken to, but smiles politely. "I've heard Hyacinthe van Clare is studying at Gallatin," they say. "The dancer, you know? I wonder if there'll be a recital."

Dominique clasps his hands. "Oh, yes, Hyacinthe's a phenomenal dancer," he says. "Really quite formal. But I love ballet, even if I don't understand what's going on half the time."

"Oh, I know exactly how you feel!" Dominique says. "Don't you love going to a gallery and seeing what people have made out of nothing?"

Asher starts to say something enthusiastic, but the carriage begins to slow, then halts. The driver thumps the roof. You have arrived at Gallatin College.

Next

Asher emerges from the carriage first, and helps you down the steps. Dominique follows. You're faced with a vast stone archway leading to a quadrangle glowing with electric lamps. A coat of arms bearing a scroll and a swan sits above the arch; beneath it is a carved inscription reading Truth is found in gentility.

Servants usher you into an auditorium whose high buttresses soar overhead. Students dressed in gray and red uniforms sit upon wooden benches; on the stage, beneath another swan-bedecked coat of arms, sit the Gallatin teachers.

At the center of the stage stands a tanned man with curly hair who looks to be in his late twenties, wearing a deep navy suit. "Welcome to Gallatin College," he says. "I'm grateful to you for attending. I'm Mr. Raphael Blanchard, Headteacher of the college."

Pascal ascends the stage and they briefly clasp hands. Vere, Clemence, and the rest of them settle comfortably with the Gallatin staff. Anthony leans back in his seat to talk to, or at, his colleagues, while Chiara laughs as she pats the arm of a Gallatin teacher.

"Head Prefect Trevelyan will now give a welcome speech," Mr. Blanchard says, and applause rings out from the gathered crowd.

A student wearing glasses joins the teachers on stage, carrying a sheaf of papers. He surveys the crowd, then launches into the speech.

Next

Trevelyan is a tall, square-jawed boy whose dark wavy hair shines in the candlelight. His brown skin is bare and unadorned. "What I'm supposed to tell you," he says, "is that Gallatin College has welcomed aristocracy and royalty alike to our humble walls over the centuries. But…"

He deliberately casts aside his notes. Mr. Blanchard looks alarmed, but he remains still.

"Are we truly humble, even at Gallatin?" Trevelyan continues. "Almost every one of us is wealthier than ninety percent of Westerlin. False modesty only serves to hide that. And as for royalty…"

He flings out an arm in your direction, and everyone turns to look at you.

"…is having a prince come here for dinner even something to be proud of, when attending a school with the rest of us is an act of political manipulation?"

There's a dramatic pause.

Trevelyan sweeps onward. "In any case," he says, "I hope that at this dinner, we can impress those who consider themselves our superiors with our intellect rather than groveling at their feet. Thank you."

The speech is finished. Mr. Blanchard's expression is uncertain. He hesitates, evidently weighing up how to handle this.