Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(37)

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.

“What I’m picking up is frostbite and probably tuberculosis or some other horrible disease.”

Tipping her head back, Flora sighs at the sky, her arms out to her sides. “This cannot be the worst thing that’s ever happened to you,” she says before looking back at me. “I mean, that fringe alone should qualify before this little incident.”

It takes me a second to work out that she’s talking about my bangs, and when I do, I tug at my hair, scowling.

“Again, not really sure insults are the way to go here given this whole ‘strand us in the wilderness and nearly kill us’ thing you’re currently responsible for.”

Heaving yet another sigh, Flora spreads her jacket on the ground and sits on it. “We’re not going to die here,” she insists, crossing her legs. “At most, we’ll give them a bit of a fright, Mummy will see this is not at all the sort of place where I belong, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

She gives me a look out of the corner of her eye. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Oh man, she has me there. No more Flora? A room all to myself, or heck, even a room with just a normal roommate who isn’t always five seconds away from some imperious bullshit? That sounds amazing. No more Flora, and I could have the kind of experience at Gregorstoun that I’d been longing for. What I’d planned on when I left home.

But I don’t think it’s as simple as Flora is trying to make it out to be. In fact, I think this little stunt of hers will just make life harder for everyone at the school, so I don’t break. Instead, I sit next to her, on the farthest edge away from her.

“I’m actually kind of getting used to you,” I tell her. I’m striving for breeziness, but it’s somewhat hampered by all the shivering and the fact that my nose has decided to rebel against the cold by getting deeply stuffed up.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” I hear Flora say, and I’m about to retort with a “Which part?” when she moves across the jacket, putting her arm around my shoulder and tugging me close.





CHAPTER 20





Her body is just as wet and cold as mine, but it’s still a little bit of a relief, the warmth of her against me, or maybe just the shield against the wind.

How does she still smell good even after hiking, falling in a river, and hiking some more?

Another princess privilege probably.

At least it’s not raining, but we’re still cold and wet and stranded. The hills and rocks that looked so nice earlier are seeming a little more threatening and foreign now that night is falling, and I really, really hope a stag is the only wildlife we’re going to experience out here. They don’t have wolves in Scotland anymore, do they?

“I am sorry you got mixed up in all this, Quint,” Flora says at last, and I look over at her, eyes wide.

“Are you actually apologizing for something?” I ask, and she sighs, her body still tight against mine.

“I simply thought you deserved some kind of explanation. It’s nothing personal.”

“Strangely uncomforting when I’m freezing my ass off in the middle of nowhere,” I mutter, and Flora shifts next to me. When I look over, she’s staring straight ahead.

Finally, she says, “It’s not ‘acting out,’ like you said earlier. Not exactly.”

I keep looking at her, even though the angle hurts my neck, and when she glances over at me, her face is so close I can see the light smattering of freckles across her nose.

“It was just very clear from very early on that I wasn’t going to be the kind of princess people wanted. You know, the . . . sweet one. With the bows and the bluebirds and all that. I got angry at people too easily, I got bored too quickly. And if I couldn’t be that kind of princess, I figured I might as well try to be another one altogether.”

She says that like it’s a normal thing to think. Like most people are aware of certain archetypes they have to be, and when they can’t fit into one, they choose another.

“That’s . . . insane,” I tell her, and she rests her cheek on her shoulder as she studies me, damp hair swinging. Her lower lip is already starting to jut out, a deep vee between her brows.

“You don’t have to pick some type to be,” I continue, shifting on the rock. It’s getting even colder, the wind downright whistling now like we’re heroines in a Bront? novel, stuck out on the moors or something. “You can just be you.”

Flora keeps staring at me, like she’s waiting for something, and I flick my hair out of my eyes. “What?”

“Oh, I was just waiting for the musical number I was sure followed a statement like that,” she says, and I look up at the sky, scooting a little farther away.