Page 29 of Go Luck Yourself
Wren softly clears her throat next to me.
I pull in a deep breath and cross the room.
“Prince Lochlann.” I stop in front of him. “I’m pleased to be here.”
Well I’ll be damned, that almost sounded genuine.
I recognize the two women with him from the files Wren sent me: Lochlann’s younger sisters, Fionnuala and Siobhán, both at Trinity College in Dublin, twenty and eighteen, respectively. Fionnuala is studying political science; Siobhán is undecided. Fionnuala likes singing and animal rescues; Siobhán likes fashion and football. Their mom died when all three of them were young, and their dad had a heart attack five years ago, which was when their uncle became king because Lochlann was deemed unfit. The press have come up with dozens of reasons as to why, but no real cause was officially given.
And I also know a smattering of useless tidbits about Lochlann now. He’s a year older than me, twenty-two; he is indeed studying art history at Cambridge, which does not congeal in my brain—he’s the heir of St. Patrick’s Day, and he’s in theart historytrack? He also has a degree in business from Trinity that he got atsixteen,some kind of prodigy. His list of likes was as vague as the ones for his sisters: painting—which, duh, art history—and whiskey. If that’s what we’re doing, my whole personality is writing and self-doubt.
The only one from their immediate family I don’t see is the King.
It also hits me how empty this foyer is. If we were five days out from Christmas, our palace would be in utter chaos—staff running everywhere, preparations in tumult. But the castle is silent, and all the rooms that open off this one are empty, no flurrying bedlam of an imminent Holiday.
Did they clear everyone out for me?
Why?
Lochlann stands in the position of figurehead with ease, that wide, placid smile on his face, the same one from his headshot. Performative. I get it; I’m performing, too.
But god if it doesn’t spike my animosity.
His gaze holds on mine for one too-long pause before he extends his hand towards me. We’re supposed to be playing up a charade of already knowing each other—and he might have known who I wasanyway—so he doesn’t introduce himself, just says, “Hello again, Prince Kristopher.”
I shake his hand.
Cameras flash. My smile stays amiable.
His grip tightens. He has calluses on his fingers.
I squeeze right back.
“I don’t think you’ve met my sisters.” Lochlann extricates his hand from mine and motions to them. “Princess Fionnuala. Princess Siobhán.”
Fionnuala has short hair, red like her brother, and she’s almost as tall as he is, but less filled out in a simple black dress, with even more freckles splattered across her pale skin. Siobhán has long blonde curls and a compact stature, wearing a bright pink dress all sleek and fitted, and she’s smiling sincerely where Fionnuala is fuming. I recognize that expression; she hates me for what I did to her brother.
Well, that’s fair. Honestly, if someone had done to Coal what I did to Lochlann, I’d hate them, too.
I nod at his sisters and look back up at Lochlann. “Christmas is excited to see the full breadth of St. Patrick’s Day.” I toss out one of the many phrases I wrote that Wren approved as decently polite. “I’m eager to spend these next five days in your Holiday.”
“Yeah, we have quite a full schedule arranged for this visit.” Lochlann winks at me. “If I remember, you’re quite the fan of schedules, eh, boyo?”
My smile flickers.
Lochlann throws his arm around my shoulders and spins us to face the journalists. My muscles arrest at the feel of his body pressed to mine, but I hardly get a beat to react.
“Let’s buck off this formality a bit,” he says to the paparazzi. He smells like that cologne again, spicy and expensive, with the same undercurrent of chemical bitterness. “A few weeks ago, Prince Kristopher and I had a wee bit of a misunderstanding at our school. Wouldn’t you say so, boyo?”
Stop it with the fucking boyo.“A gross misunderstanding. Yes.”
“Oh, gross indeed. Now, what’s the real reason you’ve come to my Holiday?”
His gaze burns the side of my head.
Panic seizes me. Did he guess that I’m here to investigate him and his family?
But he’s beaming down at me.
