Playboy Princes (Royals of Arbon Academy, #2)(27)

“One other thing that we need to discuss, Ms. Spencer,” he finally continued when Mattie made no move to leave. “Several complaints have been made against you from other students. Now, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that, er, scholarship students have a higher level of expectation around conduct”—Mattie snorted—“and that it’s a serious breach of contract if you’re found to be disrupting the Arbon way of life.”

I blinked at him a few times, trying to understand just what exactly he was saying. I mean, sure, I was well aware of the fact that the rules were a whole lot stricter for me than anyone else. But…

“I’m sorry, what?” I frowned. “What complaints? From whom?”

Dean Morgan sighed, looking uncomfortable and annoyed. “Several students have alleged that you’ve been conducting yourself in a manner less than becoming of an Arbon Academy student.” He paused, his mouth tightening. “Ms. Spencer, we take the betrothals of our royal students very seriously. Any attempts to interfere—"

"Hold up," I snapped, cutting the dean off mid-sentence. "I'm not even going to poke at the fact that you're all so casual about students being betrothed like we're in medieval times. But whose relationship is this actually about? I'm dating Alex." I swallowed back bile at that statement. "Who I was led to believe lost his fiancée in a tragic accident several years ago." Blergh. More bile. "So how exactly my relationship with him is damaging anyone’s engagement, I don't…" I trailed off as the pieces clicked in my brain. Then I laughed. "Of course. Claudette. She thinks I'm chasing Rafe?"

It made sense, in a bitchy, mean-girl bullying kind of way. I’d just never realized things like this happened outside of old teen movies.

The Dean’s face flushed, and he adjusted his tie. This whole topic was so incredibly juvenile I’d bet the dean of the most prestigious university in the world never would have imagined himself dealing with it.

Nonetheless, here we were.

"Ms. Spencer." Dean Morgan sighed again. "Claudette and several of her peers have expressed concerns that you—"

Mattie's chair scraped back, the sound of wooden legs on marble floor ear piercing. "I'm going to stop you right there," she announced, her tone harsh. "Claudette Bixel is nothing more than a lying, cheating, bully. Her concerns are totally unsubstantiated, and I will put money on it that none of her peons have any proof that Violet is acting inappropriately." She paused dramatically, and Dean Morgan just glared back at her. "I didn't think so. To clear things up, Violet and Rafe hate each other. Claudette is the one who's been sniffing around Alex like a cat in heat."

I gave the dean credit, he didn’t even blink at that statement. He just nodded, adjusting more papers because he was clearly a touch uncomfortable with this topic of conversation.

“Please, just make sure to stick to the rules. Don’t upset the way things are run here, Ms. Spencer, and we’ll all get along just fine.”

I heard the undercurrent of his warning. Just as Alex had said, there was more at play than a spoiled—possibly murderous—Australasian heir who wanted his own way. There was old-school money and power behind these betrothals, and they did not want anyone fucking with that.

Or fucking an heir they weren’t betrothed to, apparently.

Then again, no one seemed to give two craps about the royals fucking around—so long as no pregnancies resulted from those affairs—so maybe this standard only applied to me.

“Understood,” I finally managed to bite out, somehow not adding “Dean Fuckhead” after that.

He cleared his throat. “Excellent. Also, I’ve changed some of your schedule around to make life easier.” He shuffled the papers again, and at this point I figured he was just fucking with me. But no, he was actually searching, and he managed to fish out a single piece of cream paper.

“It’ll be sent to your palm reader as well, but here’s the paper copy so you can keep track. You have a few new classes.”

He waved me off then, already reaching for a pen as he filled in some bullshit form. My hands shook as we stood, and it was from pure fury at the audacity of this asshole. Change my schedule?

What the fuck did that even mean? Why?

This couldn’t be good.

Mattie and I didn’t say anything until we were out of his office and far from the prying ears of his staff.

“Show me the schedule,” she said shortly, hand held out.

I shoved the crumpled paper at her, not able to look at it myself because I was already an eighth of a second from punching a wall. Or a dean.

“Motherfucker,” she muttered, eyes running across the writing. “He’s basically shifted you into every one of Alex’s classes—” She broke off. “And a private study hall on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

My teeth clicked together as my jaw clenched. “Who wants to bet there is one other fucker in that private study group. They’re not even pretending to give me an education anymore. Alex is a third year and studying totally different subjects for fuck’s sake.”

Arbon really was going to do everything to assist Alex in his quest to make me his baby maker.

“What do I do?” I murmured to Mattie, aware that there were multiple students lingering in the halls around us. Classes were due to start soon.