CHAPTER THREE

Autumn

Dropping into a crouch, I steadied myself as I made a less-than-graceful landing in the school parking lot. I straightened up, brushing myself down, gazing toward the entrance. I must have made good time; the school seemed to be quiet. Deciding I had better go examine the damage done to my hair, I set off in the direction of the girls’ restroom. Astounded stares followed me—from a few of the new students, judging by their height and white socks, still adorned with frills, hair pulled back into regulation buns. They gawked as I walked past, shuffling back as though I carried an infectious disease, but I knew better: if they weren’t local, this could be the first time they had seen a Sage, let alone seen one fly.

Bless their oversize school jumpers.

Yet as I skirted the edge of the school, I began to feel uneasy. Pent-up nerves I had stifled all summer began to surface, reminding me of just what I was returning to. I was also drawing more unwanted attention. Girls, almost always girls, were watching me with disdain as I passed by, their lips curled until they turned and muttered furiously to their friends, glancing at me when they thought I was not looking.

Feeling self-conscious and a little sick, I wrapped my arms around my middle, knowing that the sword balanced on my hip and the barriers around my mind and the magic in my blood couldn’t protect me from the words that would come.

Spotting the restroom, I dived into it, noticing that for once it did not smell like an ashtray. Neither did it smell of blood, although only a Sage would ever be able to detect that scent. Instead, it reeked of bleach, an aroma that was not much more pleasant.

I gripped the sink tightly, staring into the mirror, endlessly analyzing my hair and makeup. If it wasn’t perfect, they would notice. They always noticed. They would not notice the pimples on Christy’s forehead, or the sunburn across Gwen’s collar, but they would notice my fallen eyelash, or the chipped nail polish on my right thumb, or the scent of the cheap perfume I was now using because I had spent the money I had saved up from work in London.

I sighed. I had to get a grip, and fast. The new school year was beginning and it was my duty to protect all the humans in this school, even if the dislike was mutual.

I needed to be vigilant: I had heard the whispered rumors while I was in London. We all had. The Extermino were getting larger and bolder, and their attack on my town had proved it . . . why else would they bother with a tiny rural outpost?

And then what of the rumor about the dark beings of the second dimension: people were saying the vamperic kingdom had kidnapped a human girl. The second dimension was the only one where the existence of dark beings was kept secret from the humans . . . keeping a human hostage threatened to out us all, and then what? Even in the other eight dimensions, the dark beings lived uneasily. The Damned had lived through years of genocide by the humans just because they used blood magic and there were hardly any of them left; the elven fae suffered because of the climate change the humans were creating; and we, the Sage, were constantly having to negotiate other dark beings out of difficult situations because a diplomat had said something stupid.

Yet at the moment, unrest gripped the dark beings in a way I had never known in my short life.

I sighed once again, pressing my forehead to the mirror that on this rare occasion was not covered in lipstick graffiti. Things were changing; any dark being could feel that. We were losing ourselves, drowning in velveteen tradition and microchip technology, caught between one world and another—figuratively, of course, because each kind of being firmly belonged in their own dimension, whether the humans liked sharing or not.

Change was brewing, and I feared this was just the calm before the storm. If things did get bad, no amount of treaties could protect us from our enemies . . . ourselves, the Extermino . . . the humans.

Shaking my head, I realized what I was doing and pushed aside all depressing thoughts as my grandmother had taught me to do. Dwelling on what has and will come to pass is as good as kicking the stool from beneath the future, she always said.

Assuming that the buses would not be far away, I made my way back out after sweeping one last coat of mascara over my lashes. I cursed myself as I left, wishing I had kept my phone with me rather than casting it to school within my bag—now locked in my homeroom. At least then I could have texted one of the others.

Wandering around, parting the crowd, and doing my best to ignore the stares of the younger students, I did not notice when my feet came to rest at the foot of a dull bronze plaque. It stood beneath a large cherry blossom tree, planted in the center of the concrete-and-plastic-clad courtyard we called the quad. The words on it were clear for all to see and each and every letter reminded me of why there were no Sage in the area.

THIS TREE IS PLANTED IN LOVING MEMORY OF KURT HOLDEN,

WHO DIED ON APRIL 23, 1999.

STUDENT, FRIEND, AND BROTHER.

TAKEN TOO EARLY BY MAGIC.

I knew the story. Everybody knew the story. He was killed by accident when the guardian at the time failed to use proper shields when using magic. The school ceased to host a guardian for years, until the rumors about the Extermino had started and they decided they needed one again. Six months later, fresh out of the Sagean St. Sapphire’s School and still grieving the loss of my grandmother, I arrived.

But everybody remembered my predecessor’s failure . . . and they assumed I was the same.

“You can’t change what happened, you know.”

I sighed, a small smile just upturning the corners of my mouth. “It doesn’t hurt to wish I could.”

I turned and came face-to-face with the one of the few people who had never uttered a bad word against me: Tammy. Nevertheless, she contradicted everything I said, thought my taste in everything from music to boys was strange, and hated my ability to read her thoughts. We were apples and oranges, but she didn’t judge and I appreciated that.

I gave her a quick hug. She withdrew before my hands had even met behind her back, a very visible shiver passing up her spine.

“So how was your summer?” I asked, rueful, knowing I would not have to ask that question if I had spared the time to meet up with her.

“I have so much to tell you.” She didn’t wait for me to answer, but continued, her words merging into one excited gush. “I kissed someone.” She snatched the sleeve of my blouse, tugging me beneath the privacy of the tree, lowering her voice. “I didn’t just get my first kiss though.” She pointed to the top button of her blouse, resting on her totally flat chest and petite frame.

I inhaled a sharp breath, sensing images from her consciousness of what she and this guy had been up to.

“And look.” She swept aside her tight, dark brown curls from the back of her neck, revealing several blotchy red marks, coated in what looked like powder. “I tried covering them with foundation, but it hasn’t really worked, has it? It just felt so, you know, nice, when he kissed my neck, I didn’t want to stop him.”

“Sure he wasn’t a vamp?” I asked, intending it to be a joke.

She shot me one of her glares and a sarcastic smile, her shoulders hunching like they always did when she was getting defensive. “I think I’d know a vampire if I met one.”

“Not necessarily,” I replied, but let the subject drop as I heard the high-pitched cackle of Gwen and the quieter chuckles of the other two, Tee and Christy, as they weaved their way between the benches toward us. Gwen’s dark hair shone against the late summer sun, a grin spread across her face from ear to ear as she made squeezing—and not very subtle—motions with her hands in the air, opening her mouth to speak as she got close.

“So how is our deflowered girl today then?”

Tammy blushed bright red. “I didn’t actually do it with him! Honest!”

“Sure.” Gwen nodded, proceeding to make crude gestures with her fingers that I hoped the younger students could not see.

“I didn’t! Gwendolen, stop it!”

Gwen stopped immediately and scowled as she always did when someone used her full name.

The two of them descended into bickering, their circle closing. I gladly stepped back, focusing on filtering the chaotic thoughts of hundreds of teenage humans and allowing the barriers I had relaxed over the summer to rebuild, brick by brick, back around my mind. I did not even notice my eyes close as my thoughts cleared and I was able to break past the excited chatter of students and the coffee-fueled grim resolve of the teachers. I felt my consciousness skim the green pasture of the fields that surrounded the school and rush like a torrent down the rolling hills toward the river that separated me from home. In the town, perched on the mouth of the river, the cobbled streets were lined with tourists and a second ferry had been laid on to cope with the rush. On the railings that lined the embankment, the gulls waited like vultures, knowing an easy feast was on its way.

The sound of my name forced me to release the image my conscious had formed, and like the tide rushing out to sea, I returned, opening my eyes.

A hand much darker than my own tugged at my fingers, and round brown eyes stared up at me from behind a mass of tightly curled black hair, partly twisted into braids.

“Tee,” I said, greeting the younger student beside me. The girl, barely twelve, wrapped her wiry arms around my middle, clutching me like I was a sister—sometimes I felt like I cared for her as though she were a sibling. I might be inadequate at preventing the bullies from taunting me, but I hadn’t been able to stand the racist remarks that were casually thrown at Tee by the older students. In return for my sticking up for her, Tee’s cousin, Tammy, had sought me out as a friend and steered me toward Christy and Gwen.

“How was your summer?” I asked as Christy stepped around the chattering group, joining me.

“Quiet with lots of rain,” Christy replied, referring to the particularly bad summer we had endured—endless storms, broken by odd days of sunshine like the one we were lucky enough to be experiencing, lightening the blow of returning to a school regime. Tee nodded in agreement, lips raised at one corner into a glum expression I was sure I shared.

“I keep telling you, I didn’t do it!”

A shiver traveled up my spine. My gaze darted to the blossom of the autumn-flowering cherry tree, eyes trailing the frail pink petals as they descended, spiraling in slow circles toward the ground. A breeze stirred my hair.

“Gwen, I don’t want to talk about it.”

I wrapped my arms around my middle, feeling the chill the breeze brought tease out the goose bumps along my uncovered wrists. Above, the sun was snuffed as low, callous clouds clawed their way across the blue sky, leaving behind an ashen trail that betrayed them as coming from the direction of the sea.

Tee shuddered. Tammy untied her school jumper from around her waist and slipped it on.

“Tammy, you don’t need to—”

“Gwen, shut up!”

“I was only—”

“No, look at Autumn!”

The outlines of the tree and the people blurred, air gathering where there should be white shirts and bark. Only the falling blossom remained crisp: a rotating plume, falling, slow, slower, slow enough that I felt I could reach out and catch each petal from the air.

“Shit! Autumn, say something!”

I could hear every step of every student, falling into a rhythm, regular. The rise and fall of my chest filled in the pause between each beat, struggling to remain steady. My hand tightened, a finger at a time, around the hilt of my sword, tips tracing a ridge, feeling the grip worn from the years of practice mold to the shape of my palm. Between the metal and my flesh, sparks sprang, words forming on my lips as I prepared to cast.

“Autumn!”

In my empty hand I held a heart, grip tightening and slackening to the rhythm of its pumping, knowing that the beat I felt belonged to something—something that wasn’t human; something that was nearing, fast.

Death danced on my lips and I allowed my magic to drain from my system into shields around as many of the students as I could manage. Then without tearing my eyes away from the falling blossom, I let go of the sword and slipped a small knife out of the scabbard instead. I gripped it in my right hand, curse balanced in the left; waiting.

Panicked, fearful babbling faded away, leaving only the thumping heartbeat of whomever—whatever—was coming.

I didn’t have to wait long. I heard breath behind me; felt another’s magic; heard a voice.

“Duchess.”

I spun around, lifting the dagger until it rested beneath the defined jawline of a man not much older than me. But it didn’t get any further.

Half-formed on my lips, a curse that would kill was snatched away by the wind that whipped past, replaced with a sharp intake of breath; then a silence that was only broken by the clatter of my dagger striking the ground. Thrust forward, my hand hung in midair, fingers sprawled from where I had let the blade fall.

I wet my lips, shock turning to realization. The seconds fell and neither of us moved. After a minute, it occurred to me to drop into a deep curtsy, onto one knee, aware of how high my skirt was hitching; aware of how the trees whispered treason.

“Your Highness,” I managed, eyes fixed firmly on a blossom petal, partly crushed below the edge of my shoe.

“Duchess,” he repeated quietly so only I could hear. I raised my head, risking a glance, but did not allow our gazes to meet.

Always remember your place, Autumn. Etiquette, child, is everything.

My mind fought with itself. He should not be here. He has no reason to be here. But I could ignore neither the leather satchel resting at his side nor the planner in his other hand, the school logo printed on the hard front cover. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but I knew the sixth form didn’t have to. A lump formed in my throat.

“Do you always greet people like that, or am I the exception?” His accent, Canadian, rang over the whispers of the students around us—they weren’t stupid. They read the magazines and watched the news. They knew who was standing before them.

“My apologies, Your Highness, I was not expecting you.”

“No, forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I nodded to the ground, feeling the urge to reach out and snatch up my dagger. I knew better.

The bell sounded, yet nobody moved. The Athenea. Not now. Not here. Movement only began as teachers started to cross the tarmac, late and unhurried as they always were to homeroom. If they were surprised by the scene before them, they didn’t allow it to show.

“Good, I see you’ve met each other.”

The sound of the headmaster’s voice straightened me up; fingernails buried into my palms to help me keep control.

“Autumn, this is—”

“I shouldn’t think either of them needs an introduction, Headmaster,” a second teacher said—Mr. Sylaeia, my English language and literature teacher, as well as my homeroom teacher. “They will have met at court.”

Mr. Sylaeia, unlike the other teachers, didn’t hide his surprise, his untrimmed eyebrows arching as they moved from the dagger on the ground, to me, to the tanned arms of the man in front, clad only in fadedjeans and a white V-neck T-shirt.

“I’m afraid the weather here isn’t quite on a par with what you will have experienced in Australia, Your Highness. I would recommend a coat in the future,” Mr. Sylaeia said.

“Please, call me Fallon,” the prince replied, his eyes never leaving me as my mind reeled, unable to comprehend what I knew was happening. I stared straight past him to Mr. Sylaeia, mental barriers opening just enough to allow him to speak in my mind—he was half-Sage, and although he did not bear the scars, he possessed many of our abilities.

“You understand what is happening,” he said. It was not a question.

“Why?” I replied, releasing the dread in my chest which wormed its way between my ribs, slowing my breathing.

“His parents desired for him to spend a year as a guardian within the British education system. He requested a state school.”

“There are thousands of state schools. Hundreds without any guardian at all.”

He held my gaze and his silence told me there was more but that I wasn’t going to be privy to it.

“Autumn: Fallon will be spending a year here studying his A2 levels. I would like you to mentor him in his first few weeks and make him feel welcome here at Kable,” said the headmaster.

I can’t do that, I thought. But I nodded, just once, keeping my lips pursed to prevent myself from revealing the wrong answer.

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, Headmaster, I believe my homeroom group is waiting for morning roll call. Autumn, Fallon; after you.” Mr. Sylaeia motioned toward the two-story block that housed English, and I sped in front of them both, feeling my expression crumple into one of despair when I entered the dimly lit stairwell that led up to my homeroom. I moved as though in a dream, climbing the staircase without noticing where I placed my feet, unable to believe that what was happening was anything but a nightmare.

But this was reality: one of the Sagean royal family, a prince of Athenea, was here, at Kable, to study.

From the bottom step there came a burst of giggling as Christy, Gwen, Tammy, and Tee followed us up. It didn’t take much brainpower to work out what the source of their amusement was. There was a reason this particular member of the Athenea was continually featured in magazines.

I swept into the classroom, ignoring the startled year sevens, whose frightened eyes moved from me to the prince, causing one tiny girl, who simply didn’t look old enough to be in secondary education, to actually pick up her seat and move around the desk, settling back down right beside her friend.

The older girls reacted in the complete opposite way. I saw their eyes graze over his scars, burgundy red, and his shirt, short sleeves clinging to muscular arms, and then to me, as I slipped into a chair at my usual desk, indicating for the prince to take a seat, too. He sat down opposite, facing me. Seeing an opportunity, Christy snatched the seat beside him and Tammy sat down next to me; not to be outdone, Gwen stole a chair from another desk and placed it at the side of the table, and within a minute, Tee had invited her best friend over, so that our little table designed to seat four was accommodating seven. I was a little shocked, and bitter . . . they didn’t usually make this much of an effort to be around me.

Their interest, along with that of the rest of the class, was subtle at first, as they buzzed about their summer holidays to one another before they started introducing themselves, chatting over each other to ask him questions.

“So you’re from Canada, right?” Christy asked. “Your Highness,” she added.

“Please, just Fallon. Not quite. Athenea, my country, is part of Vancouver Island but we are a nation of our own, separate from Canada.”

“So, do you, like, speak Canadian?” Gwen asked, twiddling with a strand of her dark, dyed hair. His eyes widened and I couldn’t prevent a smile from creeping onto my lips—to hide it, I began fiddling with the ring of keys attached to a loop in my pocket, searching for my locker key.

“Er, no, we speak Sagean, and English. Some of those born farther east speak French,” I heard him say as I got up and weaved my way between the tables to the stack of square lockers in the corner of the room.

It is important in life that you are patient with those not blessed with your intellect.

But Grandmother, they ask such simple questions! I am quite sure I will die of boredom if they do not stop it.

“I’ve never heard Sagean,” Gwen continued, her voice meek and devoid of the flirtatious tone it had possessed before.

“So’yea tol ton shir yeari mother ithan entha, Duchess?”

I froze, hearing my language spoken for the first time in months. Pulling the locker door open, I glanced at him. He stared at my back, his finger curled and pressed to his lips, as though pondering.

Why is he asking that? Does he not know the nature of the area? I do not speak my mother tongue because there is no one to speak it to.

I turned again to my locker. “Arna ar faw hla shir arn mother ithan entha, Your Highness.”

I finished, knowing I spoke in staccato and that my words did not roll from one into another like they should; Sagean felt strange to my mouth, like a second tongue was trying to grow from beneath the first.

“Of course,” he replied as I retrieved my bag and clicked the padlock shut. When I turned back, his cool eyes—cobalt blue—hadn’t left me. Placing my bag onto my chair, I met his gaze, raising the walls around my mind even higher to ensure he would not know what I was thinking.

I know you know, I thought. I know you know about her. And I hate you for it.

Responding to Mr. Sylaeia’s request for help handing out the new timetables, I retreated from where the girls twirled their hair and requested translations into Sagean. They giggled and commented on his accent; the fact he was a Sage, and that they feared the Sage, was forgotten.

I handed around the sheets, and friends squealed or groaned as they compared schedules, exclamations of disgust erupting from those who had drawn the less popular teachers. Two year ten boys cheered, celebrating that they no longer had to study history, and the three girls in year eleven, compared their free periods, excitedly discussing how once the eldest learned to drive, they would go into town instead of studying.

I neared the bottom of the pile, coming across the cluttered timetable of “House of Athenea, Prince Fallon,” which was followed by a long list of prefixes and titles, the first being “H.R.A.H.”: His Royal Athenean Highness.

Why didn’t the school tell me he was coming? I thought, but answered my own question almost instantly. Because I never would have come back to school. They know my attendance is bad . . .

He barely had any free periods, which was unusual for a year thirteen, and when I counted up his subjects, I realized why.

English literature, French, history, math, chemistry. Five. But nobody takes five subjects at A2. He must either be mad or prepared to work insanely hard.

Knowing others were waiting for their timetables, I placed the sheet in front of him. Beneath his was my own timetable, which I set on the desk while I handed the remaining few out. But before the paper had even touched the wood, Tammy had snatched it up, comparing it with her own.

“We’re in everything together,” she informed me when I sat back down. I felt very enclosed and, with a glance around, realized most people had moved at least a foot or two nearer to us; to him. “Apart from GCSE French and your A-level English Lit.” She sighed. “You’re crazy, doing both GCSEs and A-levels.”

I acknowledged that information with a nod, busy writing my name on the front of one of the homework planners Mr. Sylaeia was handing out.

“You’re taking A-level literature, Lady Autumn?” the prince asked.

Tammy offered him my timetable and he took it. Still filling in my details in my planner, I watched him through my eyelashes, noting the fact he had switched to using a formal address rather than my title.

“In that case, I believe we have that class together.”

My pen paused partway through writing my address on the inside cover. I looked up, forcing a disinterested smile, as though this was not strange; as though a prince attending a tiny, rural state school was the norm. I resumed writing, retrieving my timetable and copying it up into the diary.

“Don’t have many frees, do you?” Gwen commented, leaning over his shoulder and getting as close as she dared without touching the vine-like scars trailing across his tanned skin. Her hair fell on his shoulders and he shifted away from her in his chair, running a hand through his own flaxen hair.

My lips parted. That, I did not expect. Gwen seemed affronted, but, blessed with people skills I could only envy, she didn’t allow it to show for long as she twisted behind her and started an animated conversation with the three year twelve girls, who repeatedly looked at the prince.

My attention was snapped away as Mr. Sylaeia retreated behind his desk, writing his name up on the whiteboard. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome, and welcome back to Kable. I am going to be your homeroom teacher this year, and will take attendance every morning, so we will be getting well acquainted. For those of you who don’t know, I am Mr. Sylaeia; that’s how you spell my name, right there.” He slammed his marker pen against the plastic board. “I’m half-Sagean and I’m told it’s a pain to pronounce, so you may call me Mr. S. if you wish.”

He put the pen down and picked up a piece of paper with a list of words on it, and squinted at the top. “So we have a new student in our midst today. Some of you might know him. It’s . . . er . . . A-athana? Athena? I don’t know, tricky name, that.” He lowered the paper and squinted over at the prince. “They have a whole load of weird letters before your name. H.R.A.H., anybody? Anybody got any idea what H.R.A.H. means?”

By this time the class could barely contain its glee and burst into raucous laughter, in which the prince more modestly joined, tipping his chin toward the ground as he blushed.

“I jest, of course. But yes, Fallon is joining us this year as another guardian to protect our school, and we should all feel very lucky to have two such powerful young Sage keeping watch over us in these dangerous times.” The laughter had died down to a somber silence now, and Mr. Sylaeia embraced it. “On a serious note: some of you may have heard about the recent local Extermino attack, and about others around the country. No doubt most of you have heard the rumors about the young kidnapped human girl, Violet Lee. You may be scared, or unsure of what this means for you. These emotions are all expected, but this doesn’t mean you should lash out, or be anything less than the decent human beings I know you all are . . . so please, respect the privacy of our Guardians, do not view them through the light of how many letters come before their names, or view them as so very different from you. If you can let them get on with their jobs, then with fate’s grace, we will have a great year.”

Then with fate’s grace, I thought, we might survive this year.

I fastened the buckles on my bag, careful to avoid raising my eyes. The reality still hadn’t sunk in and I didn’t wish to hasten its arrival. I felt as though I could look up and he would not be there; everything would be normal and this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach would disappear.

“Autumn, Fallon; could I speak to you both for a moment?”

This time I had little choice but to look up, my eyes settling first on the prince, bag already slung across his shoulder, and then on Mr. Sylaeia, waiting behind his desk.

“We’ll be in the quad,” Tammy muttered, ushering the others out. At the same time, Mr. Sylaeia gestured for us to come closer.

My hand gripped the strap of my bag until my knuckles whitened, and in the back of my mind, I was aware that the last time I had been so close to this boy was at my grandmother’s funeral.

Were you still ignorant then?

Mr. Sylaeia turned away, using a rag to wipe his name from the board. “As Autumn knows, any Sage on the school campus are my responsibility. Therefore, Fallon, I ask that you ensure you maintain shields when using magic on site and respect the privacy of the minds of humans. The paperwork I have to fill out in the event of an accident is enough to send any man or Sage to an early grave and I would rather like to make it to forty.” The prince nodded. My grip tightened. “And Autumn, I read this over the summer. I thought it might interest you. Enlightening interpretation of misogyny in The Taming of the Shrew.” He handed me a thick paperback volume, well-used judging by the creases in the spine. I mumbled my thanks, placing it into my near-empty bag.

Sensing he was finished, I moved toward the door. But as I reached it, Mr. Sylaeia’s voice sounded in my head. “It will not be as bad as you think.”

I fought the urge to freeze, yet I could not stop myself from glancing back at him. He was not facing in our direction, but typing something on the computer in the opposite corner. I turned back, carrying on along the short corridor until I reached the door to the staircase.

He is a wise man, but this time he cannot understand.

“Duchess!”

I concealed a sigh, pushing through the door. It swung shut after I had passed through but quickly opened again.

No, I am quite positive it will be far worse than what I imagine it to be.

“Lady Autumn?”

I knew I could not ignore him for long, so I turned, taking my time so that I could compose my expression into something resembling polite interest.

“Your Highness?”

He adjusted his bag on his shoulder and shook his head, seeming puzzled. “On your timetable, there is no mention of your title and Lady is not placed in front of your given name. They didn’t even have the courtesy to use House in reference to your surname. Is this a mistake you intend to have corrected?”

Throughout his short rant—and a rant it was, judging by the irritated tone he used—I stared at a stain in the faded brown carpet, worn by the hundreds of feet that passed over it during the working week.

“It’s not a mistake, Your Highness.” I brought my eyes up to meet his, holding his gaze for as long as I could stand to, so my meaning was clear.

“Not . . . a mistake?” He turned the words over on his tongue as though they belonged to a foreign language.

“No. I prefer not to use my title and I would be very much obliged to you if you would respect that wish.”

I continued down the staircase, hearing him mutter “Obliged?” to my retreating back. As I reached the landing halfway down, he suddenly sprang forward, leaning over the banister.

“For Pete’s sake, do you mean to say that none of the humans here know who you are? How can they not know?”

I tugged the strap of my bag higher on my shoulder, picking my words with care. “I’ve never appeared in any of the gossip magazines, or anything these people would read. So they know me as Autumn, Your Highness. Just Autumn.” I bobbed into a quick curtsy and fled, marching straight past the others outside, knowing that there would be plenty of willing girls prepared to act as a mentor in my absence.