Royals (Royals #1)(24)

But Seb is not rolling his eyes at me. His eyes are rolling back into his head because he’s passing out.

I watch as Scotland’s most eligible bachelor slides off the edge of my mattress and crumples to the floor.

My very own Sleeping Beauty.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter as I look at the unconscious body slumped on the carpet. He’s over six feet tall and definitely outweighs me, so it’s not like I can help him up. Is there someone I should ring for?

I look around the room, either for a phone or for some kind of old-fashioned bellpull. They have to have someone who deals with this kind of thing, right? Was Glynnis around? Because I do not want to explain to Ellie why Seb was in my bedroom at night.

I’m just about to panic when there’s another knock at the door, this one softer than Seb’s, and for a second, I hover between my bed and the door, not sure what to do.

Then the knock comes again, and I dash to the door, opening it just a crack.

The douche guy from the farm, Miles, is standing in the doorway. He’s changed clothes since I saw him earlier and is wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt now. But he’s standing up so straight and looking at me so coldly that he might as well be wrapped in nine sweaters and maybe some tweed.

“I’m looking for Seb,” he says, lips quirking with irritation. “He’s not in his room, and my inner best friend alarm sensed he might be here, making bad choices.”

I open the door wider, letting Miles take in the fact that the man who’s second in line for the Scottish throne is currently out cold on my floor.

“Ah,” Miles says. “Alarm still functioning, then.”

I have to say, for a guy who just came to a strange girl’s room to find his bestie passed out, Miles is pretty chill about the whole situation. It takes both of us, but we manage to maneuver Seb up off the floor, draping his arms over our shoulders.

“Luckily,” Miles says once Seb is more or less on his feet, “his room isn’t far.”

Patting Seb’s face—okay, patting is a nice way of putting it, it’s basically gentle slapping—Miles says, “Gonna need you to wake up a bit, Seb. Use your feet. One, two, one, two, one in front of the other.”

Miraculously, Seb does as he’s told, and the three of us shuffle out the door.

It’s dim in the corridor, and between the crazy-patterned carpet, the paintings and paneling on the walls, and the doors all being identical, I get a weird sense of vertigo, like I’m in a funhouse. How does anyone find their way around this place?

Also, Miles’s definition of “not far” does not line up with mine. We half carry, half drag Seb down this corridor, then turn into another. At one point, we go through an arched doorway, and the hall we step into looks exactly like the one we just walked down.

“Where are we going?” Seb asks blearily. He slurs it, really, so it’s more “Whuurwegoooin’?” but Miles clearly speaks Drunk Seb.

“Bed, my good man,” he replies. “Your own this time.”

Seb nods slowly. “Solid plan, Monters.”

Just when I think my upper body strength might desert me completely, Miles pauses and opens a door that leads into a chamber a lot bigger than mine, but still a little drabber than I’d expect to see in a castle. The colors are muted burgundies and golds, and I feel like we just stepped back in time or something.

“I could have you thrown into the dungeon for this,” Seb slurs out, but Miles just laughs, patting Seb’s cheek.

“Keep threatening, mate. Maybe one day it’ll actually happen.”

Seb swings his head toward me, his blue eyes hazy. “Would never,” he tells me in what I think he thinks is a whisper. “Can’t do without Monters.”

“Clearly,” I reply, watching as Miles lowers Seb to sit on the edge of the mattress. I wonder how many times he’s done this over the years because even though Seb is just as tall as Miles and probably a fair amount heavier, he pulls off the maneuver smoothly, like he’s very used to it.

Seb flops back onto the bed, feet still on the floor, and heaves a sigh. “I did it again, didn’t I?” he asks the canopy, and Miles pats his leg.

“Not as bad as usual. No one got punched, no arrests, not even a camera phone picture.”

“Oh, I took one as we were walking down the hall. Was I not supposed to?” I say, widening my eyes, and Miles shoots me a dirty look. Honestly, how does he do that thing with his mouth where it’s like his face eats his lips in sheer disdain? Is there a course in that at whatever fancy boarding school they go to?

“That was a joke,” I tell him. “We colonists do that sometimes.”

I’m clearly not worth Miles’s time because he turns away, looking back at Seb.

“Sleep it off,” he says, and Seb nods as though that’s a sensible idea.

“Bed,” he mutters, sinking back down. “Bedfordshire.”

“Even so,” Miles says, and after a second, Seb’s eyes drift closed.

I’m just about to back up from the bed and start heading for the door when Seb suddenly sits up slightly, eyes popping open. “Ellie’s Sister!” he calls, and I sigh, waving one hand.

“Daisy,” I remind him, but he just fixes his bleary blue eyes on me. “Ellie’s Sister,” he says. “I’m sorry. About the part where I kissed you and suggested we shag. It was ungallant and . . .” He struggles, lifting one hand in the air and pointing, like the word he’s looking for is right in front of him.