Page 14 of The Prince of Broken Crowns

I drop my phone as shock whips through me. They took my scholarship away? Are they kidding me? I can’t afford to pay for class. And it’s bullshit because I know people who have been on probation who have gotten scholarships there.

Everything I worked so hard for is crumbling into a pile of dirt right in front of me, like the layer of dust coating the shaggy orange carpet. Well, maybe it’s not crumbling. Perhaps I’m being shoved in a different direction.

Getting up, I go to my room, pick up the envelope, and tear it open. Inside is a piece of paper trimmed with inky gold and shimmering glitter.

Dear Maddison Averly,

We are pleased to accept you into the Royal Academy, where our goal is to give you the best education possible. We’re ranked as the best college in the entire country. Upon accepting this invitation, you will be given an advisor to guide you through the next four years until graduation.

I stare at the letter for a while, wishing I had someone to talk to about this. When I was younger, I used to talk to my aunt Ellie about my problems. Before she moved out of the country, she’d stop by and visit at least once every two months. Her visits were something I looked forward to because she’d bring me food and sometimes even a present, like the necklace she gave me. It’s a crown-shaped pendant with a black diamond embedded into it. It’s old and scratched up, but I still love it.

“Where did you get this?” I’d asked because it was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.

“I’ve had it for a while,” she replied. “But I don’t wear it anymore, so I thought you’d like it.”

I was beyond excited as I fumbled to get it on. “Thank you, Aunt Ellie.”

“One day, I’m going to get you out of here, Maddy,” she said as she helped me clasp it.

“How?” I wondered, wishing she could do it but feeling hopeless that something that wonderful could ever happen.

“I’m not sure yet,” she told me. “But I promise you I will.”

I haven’t heard from her in about a year, and the last time she checked in, the conversation was short. She sounded nervous, telling me that she might be canceling her phone service, and she’d let me know if she did. Being uneasy wasn’t completely uncommon for her, and I often wondered—still do—if she did something illegal for work since she was always so vague about her employment.

I’ve tried to call her a few times, but the number has been disconnected. I attempted to get her new number from my mother, but it was clear she had no clue her sister had changed her number.

Still, feeling desperate, I dial the last number I know belonged to her.

“I’m sorry, but this number has been disconnected,” the recording tells me with a beep.

Gritting my teeth, I hang up the phone. If I could get a hold of my aunt, I know what she’d say.

“Take it, Mads,” she’d tell me. “Because opportunities like this are a rarity in this world.”

Before I can chicken out, I pick up the law firm card and dial Bethany’s number.

“Hello, Bethany Mapleton, how may I help you?” she answers.

I summon a deep breath, knowing what I’m about to do will change the course of my life forever. “Hi, this is Maddison, and I’d like to accept the offer.”

It should feel fantastic, and yet, even after all my research, doubt plagues my mind that this is too good to be true.

But I have no other choice except to hope it’s just that.

Maddison

Never in a million years did I think I’d be sitting in a cab, driving up the paved road that leads to the castle-esque building I’ve seen from a distance but never up close. And up close, it’s breathtaking, with towers, ivory columns, and a gated entrance. Just behind that is an expansive stairway that stretches up to the entrance of the school, and peaking up toward the sky is the widest set of doors I’ve ever seen.

And don’t even get me started on the landscape, with grass and trees so flourishing they look artificial. Benches line the quad, along with statues and fountains, and the parking lot looks straight out of some fancy car show—every vehicle probably costs six figures. I’m quite literally the only person rolling up in a taxi, and the only reason I could afford that was because I was able to work an extra shift yesterday, and my boss gave me an advance. I would’ve preferred the bus, but it’s a three-mile walk from the nearest bus stop to here, and while I’m up for that kind of walk any other day, I didn’t want to haul all of my luggage. Moving forward, though, I’ll have to because I’m still working weekends at my old job. But honestly, I can just run to the bus stop, which will help me keep in shape for tryouts.

After signing the contract to attend here, I did more research and discovered they have walk-ons for the cross country and the track team as long as I can make time, which I should be able to. I just need to get into excellent shape, more than I already am.

“Are you sure you’re at the right place?” the cab driver asks as he parks the cab in front of the curb at the gated entrance. He’s a younger guy with a scruffy beard and tattoos on his knuckles, and he smells of old cheese for some reason.

“Yep,” I reply evasively, wondering how bad this will be if even the cab driver thinks I don’t belong here.

What the hell are the people who go here going to think?

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