Page 42 of Her Royal Highness
Flora waves her free hand at me. Her sunglasses are on top of her head now, those whisky-colored eyes narrowed as she approaches the stag. “It’s working, though, isn’t it?”
It is, I guess. The stag stays still, no more huffing breaths, and Flora straightens up a little. “There,” she says, smug. “Now all we have to do—”
Without warning, the stag charges, and Flora and I both scream, stumbling backward. She pinwheels into my arms, I clutch at her, and the next few seconds are a blur of falling, the smell of a big animal, and then, the sudden cold as we tumble into the river.
The cold is so shocking it punches my breath right out of me, and my brain does a mad scramble of panic betweengiantdeer!andantlers!Andomgomgsocoldsocoldalsowetwhywhywhy, andDROWNING!
Except... not drowning.
I put my feet down and realize that where we landed in the water is only just over my knees. My whole body is wet, though, hair included, and when I look over, Flora is sitting in the shallower water by the bank, her knees up, hair a wet, bedraggled mess over her face, sunglasses hanging crookedly from one ear.
The stag is nowhere to be seen, and Flora reaches up to flick her wet hair out of her eyes, her chest heaving as she scans the landscape.
Then she says, “You know what? It’s actually unicorns who are our national animal, not stags. Just remembered.”
Teeth chattering, I glare at her. “Well, maybe one will turn up.”
After we make our way out of the river, we start walking.
And walking.
I have no idea where we’re headed, really, since I wasn’t paying a huge amount of attention to our actual location on the drive up. Not that that would help, since I can’t remember if the school is to the east or west of where we are now. Stupid, probably, but then I’d assumed I’d have a compass and a map, and also a tent, and also all the things you need to survive a camping trip.
We crest another hill, and Flora stops at my side, looking down at her muddy trousers.
“At least we now definitely look like we’ve been in distress,” she says, and I whirl around on her.
“Wearein distress.”
The sun is slowly sinking down behind the clouds, and with the damp, it’s like the cold is seeping even deeper into my skin. We’re in the hills in the middle of nowhere, and oh my god, this is totally how I’m going to die, all because some spoiled princess wanted to get back at her mom.
“I thought you said you were done with trying to get kicked out,” I say through chattering teeth.
“I am. Mummy was very clear that I couldn’t be expelled. But!” She lifts one finger. “This isn’t me causing trouble. This is the school not being a safe place for me.”
She lowers her hand and shrugs. “Very different, obviously.”
I swear, if Flora could use her brain for something other than cooking up various schemes, she’d probably rule the world, but I’m too angry to be impressed.
“Do you understand that this isn’t just about you?” I ask her now, wrapping my arms around my body. Flora is standing just in front of me, and she wraps her arms around herself, too.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she replies through all that shivering, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and strangle her.
“Don’t be dramatic?” I echo. “You’re actually saying that to me? You, the girl who’s willing to bring down a hundred-year-old institution just because she doesn’t like living so far from home?”
Flora rolls her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. “All right, first of all, what do you even care? I’m the one with ancestors who went here. I’m the one whose family practically built this place.”
“Then why are you trying to destroy it?” I counter. “Dr. McKee is perfectly nice, and she loves Gregorstoun. Or is she just more collateral damage in your nonstop acting out?”
“Now you sound like my brother,” she mutters.
I snort. “Seb? He has his own medal in overly dramatic shenanigans, I’d guess.”
Flora’s pert nose wrinkles. “No, not Seb. Alex, my older brother. He’s always going on about how I make things harder for myself, that I’m my own worst enemy. Complete tosh, of course.”
“Actually that sounds very untosh to me,” I reply. Then I frown. “If tosh means ‘nonsense,’ which I’m assuming it does.”
There’s this look Flora does, somewhere between a side-eye and a smirk, and I get it now. “You’re picking up the slang at least,” she says, and I shake my head, irritated.
