Chapter 5
Andrea’s second week as Queen began with a sharp reminder of the power she was now expected to wield.
The halls of Blackthorn Academy echoed with muffled voices as Andrea made her way to class. She was halfway to her destination when she caught the unmistakable sounds of raised voices—a sharp taunt, followed by a low, mocking laugh.
Curiosity pulled her toward the sound. Peering into an empty classroom, she froze. Two red-tied students had a white-tied freshman backed into a corner, their postures predatory.
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” one of the red-tied students sneered, leaning in close. “Loners aren’t meant to talk back.”
“Maybe we should remind him,” the other added, his grin sharp and mean.
Andrea stepped into the room, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Stop it. Right now.”
The bullies turned, their sneers faltering when they saw her standing in the doorway. For a moment, they looked like they might laugh, but then their gazes fell to her hands—still wrapped in bandages from the thorns that had drawn her blood during the Draw. Their expressions shifted from contempt to unease as recognition dawned.
“This isn’t your business,” one of them said, though his voice wavered.
Andrea stepped forward, her pulse hammering in her ears. She didn’t feel powerful, but she didn’t let it show.
“Everything in this class is my business now,” she said, her voice steady. “That’s how this works, isn’t it? Or would you prefer to explain to everyone why you’re ignoring the hierarchy?”
The bullies exchanged glances, their confidence visibly unraveling. Finally, one of them muttered something under his breath and turned to leave. The other followed, their retreat quick and wordless.
Andrea exhaled slowly, the adrenaline fading just enough for her to notice the freshman still standing frozen in the corner. His wide eyes darted between her and the doorway, as though unsure if she was friend or foe.
The boy gave her a shaky nod before bolting, his notebook clutched tightly as he disappeared down the hall.
“Impressive,” Sophie’s voice said from behind her. Andrea turned to see her roommate leaning casually against the doorframe, though her expression was anything but casual.
“Thanks,” Andrea replied, her voice quieter now. “I couldn’t just stand there.”
Sophie’s eyes narrowed, her tone grave. “That kind of intervention has consequences.”
“Good ones, I hope?”
Sophie glanced down the hall where Victoria stood surrounded by her gossip circle, her sharp eyes already fixed on Andrea.
“Some will respect you for it,” Sophie said. “Others… will see it as weakness. A true Queen, they’ll say, wouldn’t dirty her hands protecting Leftovers.”
Andrea swallowed hard, a new chill settling over her. “Let them talk.”
“They will, believe me,” Sophie said quietly, her gaze unwavering. “And they won’t stop. Anyway you must be careful who you align yourself with. Every offer comes with strings.”
By lunch, Victoria had already spread three different versions of the morning’s events, each painting Andrea in a worse light than the last.
“I heard she’s trying to build an army of scholarship students,” Victoria’s voice carried across the cafeteria. “Probably planning to overthrow the whole system. Though with the way she’s collecting Sinclairs, maybe she has other plans for gaining power, if you know what I mean.”
Andrea gripped her lunch tray tightly, the whispers surrounding her like a rising tide. She could feel the weight of their curiosity, the speculative glances cast her way as the Sinclair brothers seemed to orbit her every move.
Before she could find the words to respond, Damien Sinclair approached her table, his presence silencing the murmurs instantly.
“Riley,” he said formally, setting down a thick folder with precision. His voice was smooth, measured, and entirely businesslike. “I’ve been reviewing candidates for the Wellington Prize research project. Your academic record is… exceptional.” His sharp gaze flicked briefly to Victoria’s table before returning to Andrea. “I believe we could produce something remarkable together.”
Andrea froze, her heart skipping a beat. The Wellington Prize was a prestigious academic opportunity, practically a golden ticket to Ivy League schools. It was everything she had worked for, everything she needed for her Harvard dreams.
Yet, as enticing as it sounded, Sophie’s quiet warning echoed in her mind:
Be careful who you align yourself with. Every offer comes with strings.
Her hesitation didn’t escape Damien’s notice. He adjusted his tie, his expression unreadable.
“Think about it,” he said, his tone calm but firm, leaving the folder on the table before turning and walking away.
Andrea stared at the folder, her thoughts spinning. Around her, the hum of whispers began to swell again, but before she could get lost in them, she shook herself and stood, determined to finish her day without more interruptions.
The interruptions found her anyway.
As Andrea walked through the courtyard, the late morning sunlight casting warm hues across the manicured lawns, Liam Sinclair materialized seemingly out of nowhere. His golden hair caught the light, and his signature easy grin made him look effortlessly charming.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, falling into step beside her as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
Andrea gave him a sidelong glance. “Coincidence?”
“Destiny,” Liam countered, placing a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “Though I suppose it doesn’t hurt that I saw you leaving the dining hall.”
Andrea couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “What do you want, Liam?”
“Want?” He feigned offense. “Can’t I just enjoy the company of the Queen of Hearts?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he gestured ahead.
“Actually, I was heading to the rose garden. You should join me. Great place for a break. Quiet, peaceful… romantic.” His grin turned wicked.
Andrea hesitated but shook her head. “I have class.”
“Class will wait. Roses won’t.” Liam winked before walking backward down the path, his confidence unshaken by her refusal. “Think about it, Queenie!”
Later that afternoon, Andrea passed the main fountain on her way to her next class, and there Liam was again, lounging against the stone edge, tossing a small coin into the water.
“Make a wish?” he asked, his tone conspiratorial.
Andrea crossed her arms. “Do you ever go to class?”
“Rarely,” Liam said with a laugh. “Though if you joined me, I might make an exception.”
She ignored him, brushing past as his laughter followed her, playful and maddening.
By the time Andrea reached the library that evening, her patience was wearing thin.
She welcomed the quiet sanctuary of the shelves, her mind desperate for a reprieve. But as she turned a corner near the history section, she nearly collided with Aiden Sinclair.
He leaned casually against a shelf, his hands shoved into his pockets, his expression shadowed with that familiar mix of defiance and curiosity.
“Queen Riley,” he said, his tone neutral but edged with something darker.
Andrea frowned. “Is there something you need, or are all of you just determined to get in my way today?”
Aiden let out a low chuckle, but there was no humor in it. “You’re getting comfortable,” he said bluntly. “That’s dangerous.”
Andrea’s eyes narrowed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Means you’re walking around like you’re untouchable.” Aiden stepped closer, his presence heavy and storm-like. “You think just because you’re Queen, everyone’s going to fall in line? Newsflash, Riley—this place doesn’t work like that. People are watching you. Waiting for you to slip.”
“I’m doing what I think is right,” Andrea shot back, heat rising in her chest.
Aiden’s gaze flicked to the far end of the library where two older students lingered, their attention focused on Andrea. His jaw tightened.
“Then do it smarter,” he muttered under his breath.
Andrea followed his gaze, catching the faintest glimpse of the students as they quickly disappeared around the corner.
“What’s your problem?” she demanded.
Aiden looked back at her, his expression unreadable. “No problem. Just don’t make it worse for yourself.”
Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving Andrea standing alone in the quiet library, her mind racing. Was that a warning? Or a threat?
For about an hour Andrea sat at a corner table in the library, trying to focus on her assignments, but the tension of the day lingered like a shadow she couldn’t shake.
Gabriel appeared without a sound, sliding a folded piece of paper across the table. He didn’t meet her eyes, his expression carefully neutral as he set the note in front of her. Then, as quietly as he came, he was gone, disappearing into the rows of towering bookshelves.
Andrea hesitated before unfolding the note. The words were brief but carried a weight that made her pulse quicken:
Avoid the track tonight. There’s been talk of an accident.
The questions churned in her mind as she packed up her things, resolving to take his advice.
That evening, Andrea changed her routine without a word, steering clear of the track. But curiosity gnawed at her, and she found herself wandering toward the field’s edge. From behind a hedge, she caught sight of the faint silhouette of someone sitting in the bleachers.
It was Gabriel. His head was bowed over his notebook, the soft scrape of pencil strokes audible even from her hiding spot. He wasn’t just sketching—he was keeping watch.
Before Andrea could decide what to do, she noticed another figure nearby. Aiden stood at the far end of the track, his dark silhouette partially obscured by the shadows. Unlike Gabriel, his stance was less subtle, his hands jammed in his pockets as he leaned against a post.
Andrea’s chest tightened. After their sharp exchange in the library earlier, she hadn’t expected to see him here. Was he watching her—or someone else?
When their eyes briefly met, Aiden’s expression was unreadable. Then, as if sensing something she couldn’t see, his gaze shifted toward a group of senior students loitering too close to the track. They muttered among themselves before slipping away under Aiden’s sharp glare.
The day culminated in Andrea’s much-anticipated meeting with Nathaniel Sinclair.
The student council office was as imposing as its occupant. Heavy crimson curtains framed the tall windows, and the desk between them was polished to a gleam. Nathaniel sat behind it, exuding calm authority as he gestured for Andrea to take a seat.
“Hello, Andrea,” he said smoothly, his voice low and even. “Must say—your actions today were… interesting.”
Andrea sat stiffly, folding her hands in her lap. “Interesting?”
“Protecting the weak,” he elaborated, leaning forward with his fingers steepled, “is admirable. Noble, even. But it also paints a target on your back. You’re making yourself vulnerable.”
She bristled at the implied criticism. “I’m not going to stand by and let people abuse their power.”
Nathaniel’s sharp smile didn’t falter. “And that’s precisely why you need my support. Let me sponsor you, Andrea. With my protection and resources, no one would dare to move against you.”
Her pulse quickened. “And what would you expect in return?”
“Your loyalty,” Nathaniel said, his tone as smooth as glass but as sharp as a blade. “Complete and absolute.”
Andrea held his gaze, feeling the weight of the choice before her.
When returned to her room exhausted from navigating the day’s power plays. The door was slightly ajar – her first warning. Inside, everything seemed normal until she reached her desk.
The framed photograph of her mother, the one taken on their last day together before Andrea left for The Blackthorn, lay shattered. The image was torn precisely down the middle, separating mother and daughter. And there, placed with deliberate care among the broken glass, was a playing card.
The Ace of Spades. What looked like blood stained its surface in a pattern too precise to be accidental: a crown, dripping red.
The message was clear. The game was no longer just about school politics. Someone was playing for keeps.
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