The Royal Makes an Entrance Part 1: Late and Fabulous
819 Words
The assembly hall buzzed with the kind of nervous energy that only came with mandatory school meetings. I slipped into a seat near the back, grateful to blend into the crowd of perfectly pressed uniforms and designer accessories. Headmaster Sterling stood at the podium, droning on about academic excellence and upholding Ashwick traditions.
“Now, as we begin another year of scholarly pursuit...” His voice carried that special brand of pompous authority that made my eyes glaze over.
The massive oak doors at the back of the hall creaked open, and conversations died mid-sentence. Every head turned as Prince Julian d’Aubigny strolled in twenty minutes late, looking like he’d just rolled out of bed with a supermodel.
His uniform was perfectly tailored but artfully wrinkled, tie loosened just enough to suggest rebellion without crossing into actual rule-breaking. What really caught everyone’s attention, though, was the champagne flute in his hand—actual crystal, filled with what looked suspiciously like Dom Pérignon.
“Your Royal Highness,” Headmaster Sterling’s voice carried across the suddenly silent hall. “How good of you to join us.”
Julian raised his champagne flute in a mock toast. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Headmaster. Please, continue. I was just getting to the good part about scholarly excellence.”
A few students snickered. Near the front, Alexander sat perfectly straight, his jaw tight with what looked like irritation. Or maybe admiration. With Alex, it was hard to tell.
Nick Sterling, the headmaster’s son, stood from his seat in the front row. Even from the back, I could see the tension in his shoulders as he approached Julian. Nick was gorgeous in that all-American way—warm brown skin, kind eyes, the kind of smile that made you want to trust him immediately. Total opposite of his father’s stuffiness.
“Julian,” Nick’s voice was low but carried in the acoustics of the hall. “Maybe we should step outside?”
Julian’s grin was pure mischief. “Oh, Nicky. Always so concerned with propriety.”
What happened next made the entire assembly gasp in unison. Julian grabbed the front of Nick’s blazer and pulled him into a kiss that was definitely not appropriate for school assembly. It lasted maybe three seconds, but those three seconds felt like an eternity of shocked silence.
When they broke apart, Nick’s face was flushed, and Julian looked supremely satisfied with himself. The headmaster looked like he might have a stroke.
“Gentlemen,” Headmaster Sterling’s voice was ice-cold. “My office. Now.”
“Of course.” Julian drained his champagne flute and set it on the nearest windowsill. “Lead the way.”
As they walked toward the exit, I caught fragments of their whispered conversation. Julian’s voice carried just enough for me to hear: “The bet’s still on, right? First to get the scholarship girl’s attention wins?”
Nick glanced around nervously. “Julian, not here—”
“Oh, come on. Alexander’s been eyeing her since chemistry class. I saw the way he looked at her during that whole maid fiasco.” Julian’s laugh was light and dangerous. “This is going to be fun.”
My blood turned to ice. They were talking about me. There was a bet. About getting my attention.
I sank lower in my seat as they passed my row, Julian’s eyes scanning the crowd with predatory interest. When his gaze landed on me for a split second, his grin widened like he could read my thoughts.
The assembly continued, but I barely heard another word. My mind was racing, replaying every interaction I’d had with both Alexander and Julian. Had Alex’s cruelty yesterday been part of some game? Was Julian’s dramatic entrance today somehow connected to this bet?
When the assembly finally ended, students filed out in excited clusters, their conversations buzzing with speculation about Julian’s public display and what punishment awaited him. I hung back, waiting for the crowd to thin before making my escape.
“Isabella.”
I turned to find Alexander approaching, his expression unreadable. Up close, he was even more intimidating—tall, perfectly groomed, with those sharp gray eyes that seemed to see everything.
“That was quite a show,” I said carefully.
“Julian does enjoy making an entrance.” His tone was casual, but there was something underneath it. Irritation? Competition? “I’m surprised you’re not more... affected by it.”
“Should I be?”
He studied my face like I was a puzzle he was trying to solve. “Most girls find him charming.”
“I’m not most girls.”
Something flickered in his eyes—interest, maybe, or challenge. “No,” he said slowly. “You’re not.”
Before I could figure out how to respond to that, he was gone, leaving me standing in the empty assembly hall with more questions than answers.
- Writer
