Page 38 of The Prince of Power

Coraline takes a step into the open doorway, gesturing at a large room where extraordinarily pretty college girls lounged on ornate couches. “This is Damian’s consort quarters.”

I nod, trying to hide the shock making my heart pound. There’s around twenty of them, by the looks of it.

“Does the university know that this fraternity has consorts?” I find myself asking.

Coraline scowls. “Why, are you a cop?”

Heat creeps into my cheeks. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head to clear it. “I was raised Christian. I’m not used to…” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “This is all new to me.”

Her hard expression falters, but those gorgeous green eyes are still fixed on my face, looking skeptical. “To be clear, you’re not a consort yet. He has to make sure he likes you first.”

My stomach churns. These girls are gorgeous, with the kind of faces you see on your phone screen when you scroll social media. I know I’m pretty, but in a forgettable way.

I shouldn’t be insecure. I don’t even want to be here.

But the idea of being compared to these girls and found wanting? It’s an indignity.

“Alright,” Coraline says, “I’m going to lead you to your room. “It won’t be like this. You’ll soon see the value of rising up in the ranks.” She turns, leading me farther down the hall. The luxurious details begin to fade.

“Here,” she says at last, pausing in front of a plain wooden door. “Your quarters.” She opens the door with a flourish and the hinges creak.

I step inside, and I instantly see what she means. It’s small, dim, with a narrow bed covered in a faded quilt against the wall. A single window frames a view of the ocean beyond. The water glitters under the early evening light.

“It has a really nice view,” I mutter.

“Welcome to life as a servant.” Coraline laughs, clearly mistaking my ramble for sarcasm. “You’ll have to please the lord regent if you want something better.”

“So…” I lick my lips. “Are all these monarch terms for real? Is Damian the regent because…Ben passed away?”

Her jaw hardens. “It’s not my job to give you that information. Lucy will be by soon to answer all your questions.”

I nod, walk forward a few steps, and set my bags on the bed. “Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to show me around, Coraline.”

When I turn to her, she’s glaring at me. Did she think I was being sarcastic yet again? Without a word, she turns around and walks out of the room. Once the door clicks shut, I let out a breath as the quiet settles around me.

I take a glance around my room.

Something is odd.

It looks like it was made to look old and dingy. That quilt is a perfect example. It’s new. But the patterns chosen are a hodgepodge, like someone was trying to create an eyesore on purpose.

If Damian is trying to “haze” me with this room, he missed the mark. It might be dingy compared to the rest of the castle, but it’s still larger than my dorm room. And it’s my own.

A soft knock raps at the door. It swings open before I can answer. A girl with dark curls and sparkling eyes steps in, looking around.

“So this is where they put you.” She places her hands on her hips. “In the cupboards. Let me guess…Coraline gave you the grand tour? Nothing but warmth and charm from Damian’s High Consort.”

I smile, and she reaches out her hand. “I’m Lucy. Professional duster of fancy vases, sorter of old books, and Damian’s sister.”

“Damian’s sister?” I nearly shout.

She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Believe me, I’m fully aware of the irony. Damian thinks he’s so smart showing everyone how impartial he is. Hence—” she sweeps her arm in a circle “—I have the title of household servant. He had to make a statement about how serious he is about his position as the frat president. The future Prior of Thornecroft can’t show any nepotism.”

“Are you really a servant?”

She picks up a vase from my dresser and inspects it. “This is so ugly. Someone put this in here on purpose.” She glances over her shoulder, smiling. “No, I’m not really a servant. It’s sort of for show. The house has a big staff. But the lowly members of Thornecroft are forced to do manual labor. If we want to rise up, we have to impress the Big Five, or…” Her face falls. “Four now.”

I wonder if she knew Ben well. There’s melancholy in her eyes. More than I’ve ever seen from Damian or, sadly, even from Rhett.

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