"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

My grandmother's feather quill (yes, you read that right: a feather quill pen, as if we were at fucking Hogwarts) hovered above whatever paperwork she was signing, and she assessed me with a singular arched brow, her mouth set in a tight line.

Rolling my eyes, I repeated, "Pardon me, Your Majesty, can you repeat what you just said?"

She too rolled her eyes, which felt a thousand times more insulting coming from her. She set her quill into its ink pot and folded her hands on the table. "I said I would like for Alexander to go with you to Paradise."

"That's what I thought." My laugh was humorless. "Absolutely not."

Darkwood tilted his head. "What is Paradise?"

Clearing his throat, Logan decided to add, "Your Majesty, if I may, I don't believe this will be a good idea--"

"I have spent years crafting my reputation there; he is going to ruin it."

"That's the argument you're going with? Not that he's going to endanger your very existence?" hissed Logan. "Your Majesty, please, he'll just attract danger."

"Is Paradise a school?"

"She's just going to say 'you attract danger regardless, so what does it matter if he comes along?' Come on, Cross, think a little."

"Your reputation is already shit--"

"Did people really name a town Paradise?"

"Yes, and it needs to stay that way. Being associated with the Logan Cross has already ruined enough--"

"Ruined what?" interrupted Logan. "Your hermit-state-of-life?"

"Oh, that's rich coming from the dude who never even stepped foot in an afterschool event until three months ago," I shot back. "Mind you, my CW reruns are exactly what's been keeping me alive. Who's going to know I'm in the state of Montana if I'm not out and about?"

"So, Paradise is a town in Montana..." murmured Darkwood.

"What're you even trying to argue here, Sparrow?"

"I'm trying to say that I have kept a very low profile--"

Logan made a noise in the back of his throat.

"--and if you throw Darkwood into the mix, everyone's eyes will be on me."

"So, like I said," Logan translated. "You're going to be in danger."

"It'll be safe enough," said my grandmother in a voice firm enough that it killed any and all protest. "I've already investigated, at length, the logistics of such a decision."

"Not that it's to anyone's surprise, but I'm not that particularly concerned about safety." I crossed my arms. "I care about blowing my cover, especially if it means I'll have to transfer schools. Darkwood's been publicly linked with our family for month now. If he comes to Paradise, won't it automatically alert the world, including my peers, to the secret academy the princess of Cimeria has been attending?"

"Indeed, it would. Why ever would you think I'd send him as himself?"

Good point, Grandma.

 She scoffed under her breath. "Don't worry, little bird, your inane plan to reveal yourself at graduation remains intact. The royal crown can spare a bit of change to create a second fake identity -- one that won't link to you at all." Then, very casually, she slipped in, "Besides, with the Blackwell Guard there, safety won't even be an issue--"

"Why--" I bit back my shock and anger, barely remembering that I had an audience. "Why is the Guard going to be in Paradise?"

"A perk of your engagement, is it not? Might as well put them to use."

Might as well make the most of your sacrifice, is what I heard.

"It's just as well. Those robbers at the gas station might not have been assassins but they were a danger nonetheless. Logan is just one man. Having a team of others just like him will boost your chances of survival."

"You know what else boosts my chances of survival?" I jabbed a thumb at the black-haired boy on my left. "Having Darkwood stay here. You know, in the country he performed high treason to return to."

"Hey," Darkwood protested, kicking the back legs of my chair from where he stood. "Those days are behind me."

My grandmother blinked. "Have you considered that Alexander might want to go?"

"Of course he wants to stay here--" I half-laughed when Darkwood interrupted.

"How long would they be gone for?" 

I turned around and shot him a foul look, fully expecting to see his tell-tale smirk plastered on his face. He never was one to pass up the opportunity to annoy me. But there was no smile -- Darkwood was seriously pondering the queen's suggestion.

"Until December. Park will be back briefly for her debutante ball, but she'll have to leave again until May."

"And Fl-Flynn? I'm not supposed to go with him?"

Whether it was the crack in his voice upon saying his brother's name, or the shred of vulnerability in the question itself, I wouldn't know, but something caused my grandmother to pause. She clasped her hands together, arms folded atop her desk, and when she spoke, her tone was, while not wholly compassionate, less clipped than its usual cadence.

"No, I'm afraid not. When we reached out to your brother, he expressed his regrets but stated that he was not in a position to be a physical guardian for you at the moment."

"Half-brother," Darkwood sharply corrected. His chin dropped to his collar, ignoring decorum to shove his hands into his pockets. "And if I were to stay?"

Based on the subtle twitch in the corner of her eye, that wasn't an actual choice. "As you may," she acquiesced, "though I'm afraid I can't spare anyone to babysit you with Park gone. You'll have to attend boarding school regardless."

A shadow passed over Darkwood's expression at the queen's choice of words. Then it was gone, and he righted his posture, plastering a grin all over his face. "Then I'd like to go with Park."

The queen's apprehension gave way to a satisfied smile. "Excellent," she commended. "It was a very difficult negotiation getting Lady Cross on board."

"If you already went ahead and enrolled him, why even bother asking what he wanted?" I couldn't help but ask and was rewarded with a barely restrained glare.

"I did not say I negotiated for his enrollment." She steepled her fingers. "With you, little bird, you scores on the admissions exam left no room for worry. It's also easier to start at a new school  compared to transferring in, a path that requires grades. Alexander, however, has been bereft of an education for the past three years. I had to arrange a meeting with Catarina before she flew back to the states to inquire if attendance would even be possible."

My grandmother focused her gaze on Logan, who stood ever so straighter. "I was very surprised to find out that Catarina had been unaware of Park's presence. I assumed your father and you told her when you accepted the position as Park's bodyguard."

Logan beamed. "My father and I take the confidentiality of our clients seriously. My mother was only informed about my assignment the night we had to fly back here, but beyond that, she knows nothing."

"Knew nothing." My grandmother sighed. "Alas, my pushing for Darkwood's enrollment clued her in to Park's attendance, but even that wasn't enough to shake her. She did, however, reluctantly agree to let Alexander transfer in so long as he passed the senior admissions exam."

"Uh, for curiosity's sake," Darkwood cut in, clearing his throat. "Does the other boarding school require an entrance exam?"

"I believe so. Your father was an alumnus there. I'm sure, though, the headmaster could've been persuaded to waive any formalities had you chosen to go there."

"Can I change my mind?"

My grandmother chuckled. "There's no need to worry. Logan can tutor you." She tipped her head at my bodyguard. "He is the top student after all."

Logan, already in danger of bursting with pride from her compliments to his family, was now sporting the widest grin I'd ever seen from him.

"In fact, it's best you get started as soon as possible. St. Cross's Academy has a notorious reputation for being one of the hardest private academies to get into."

An obvious dismissal, to which the boys hearkened to immediately. Well, Logan got the message -- and subsequently hauled Darkwood out with him. I, on the other hand, lingered behind. My grandmother, who'd already busied herself with paperwork, looked up when the door shut. She frowned.

"How can I help you?"

What an overwhelming demonstration of familial love. "Am I not allowed a simple conversation with my own grandmother?"

Her frown remained, but she set her quill down, settling into her chair while she gestured for me to show her what constituted a "simple conversation."

"How's -- yeah, you got me." I dug out a small plastic bag from the confines of my pocket, which held the wireless camera Darkwood swiped from the museum. Carefully, I reached across to plant it square in the center of her desk.

She appraised it from a distance before unfolding the pair of circular lenses tucked into the collar of her ivory blouse. Balancing the espresso frames on her nose, she scooted to the edge of her chair, fishing out a pair of tweezers which she used to pick up the device, holding the camera close to her eyes.

Then, she looked up, her expression severe. "Exactly what are you trying to accuse me of, little Sparrow?" She practically threw the device back down. "That I would go as far as plant such a device in your room? I know you're upset with me, but this is going too--"

"What?" I blanked for a second before catching onto the conclusion her mind had leapt to. "No, I'm not saying this camera is yours. Don't worry, Grandmother. I know what your preferred method is. Though," and I grinned, "can you blame me? My current bodyguard isn't on your payroll. How else are you going to spy on me?"

She didn't seem to think that was very funny at all.

"Then whose is it?"

"It's Darkwood's, sent to him by his previous employer."

Her eyes sharpened. "I see." Leaning forward again, she picked the camera back up. "And why is it not in an evidence locker at NSD?"

"Because," and I paused to open up my palm where Darkwood had scribbled illegible words across my palm, "he wanted His Esteemed Ladyship to know that he is choosing to walk the path of night." I squinted. "Light."

"If that's the case, this is something he should've mentioned during his first round of questioning. Waiting so long makes it seem like it was something he wanted to hide."

"I'm not sure if you've noticed, Grandmother. I mean, he hides it so well -- but he seems to have trust issues with authority figures. Can't imagine why."

That, she found funny, judging by the quirk of her lips. "The details of his arrest reported that agents found nothing on his person except for a Swiss knife and a ticket for a tour of the palace." Her humor gave way to a souring of her expression at the memory. "Where has this camera been then?"

"Left behind in the Riveria Institute."

"I don't recall sanctioning a trip there--" She paused. "Don't tell me you skipped out on your first date with your fiancé to go sightseeing."

"Future fiancé," I corrected. "And don't worry, I didn't stand him up. The museum was just a pit stop made on the way home."

"And here I thought you two had hit it off." Her sigh was rife with displeasure, eyes darting down to the camera. "I still don't understand why you're giving this to me."

So I filled her in, first relaying Darkwood's initial, contracted plan of action before noting the similarities in tactics with those of past assassination attempts on my own life. Then I spoke of how Darkwood had been personally contacted for the job despite him living under a fake name, and how he'd never been hired for such a contract before all of this.

"No one else would've known about the attack on Darkwood except for the person who conspired for it to happen," I pointed out. "There has to be a connection here."

"There is. You're both members of the oldest and wealthiest families in the country." She'd listened the whole time with nary a change in her expression. I could've been telling her about the weather for all it mattered. In fact, I think the UV index would've intrigued her more than anything I'd told her so far. "Do you think you're the first two people in the Cimerian court to ever face assassination attempts? It's practically a rite of passage at this point."

Something must be done about the child safety laws in this country.

But that was an issue for another day.

"Darkwood was told in advance where I'd be that day. Someone knew we'd booked out Madame Richelieu for a fitting. The only groups of people that'd be privy to that information would be her clientele, right?"

My grandmother's eyes sharpened slightly as she caught onto my line of thinking. "Careful now, Park. That is a very serious accusation you're making."

"Must be a good thing I'm only hypothesizing right now."

"And in your hypothesis," she pressed, "have you factored in the possibility that someone could've hacked into Madame Richelieu's online calendar?"

My pause told her all she needed to know.

With a sharp breath, she continued, "Have you also considered that it is a well-known fact within many social circles that Madame Richelieu is a personal favorite designer of the Sparrows? That she dresses its members for any Court-sanctioned events?"

My grandmother arched a brow. "No? Do you have any other evidence to back up what you're insinuating beyond circumstance?"

"No, sorry, I keep forgetting to ask my kidnappers for a signed confession."

Her smile twisted. "Well, until you do, keep these conspiracy theories to yourself. In our world, these attacks are par for the course. Simply because many of them lack imagination when it comes to the execution doesn't mean it's some masterfully orchestrated attack against us."

And yet, in spite of her verbal indifference, she glanced back down to the camera not once, but twice. Her index finger kept tapping the back of her hand, as if she was impatient for this conversation to end.

"Father mentioned he thought it might be the work of a coup."

That did it. Unable to stop herself, a muscle spasmed between her brows. She bit down on her lips to force herself back into neutrality, but it was too late.

"Your father has always been a lover of theater," she said dismissively, in a voice too even to be natural. "I wouldn't put too much weight on what he said."

"We're right, aren't we?" I insisted. "It's someone in the courts."

"It's none of your concerns, that's what it is."

"I'm the one that's been shot at seven times, what do you mean it's not my concern? I want to help--"

"And what is a seventeen-year-old like you going to do? Tell me, what resources do you have that you'd think you could possibly add to an investigation that's been in the works for over a decade?"

She had me there.

Refusing to let the conversation drag on, she concluded her thoughts without giving me a chance to speak. "Perhaps you should go study too. 'Valedictorian' looks better on resumes than 'salutatorian'."

Now that was just being mean.

My grandmother pulled off her frames and tucked them back into her blouse. Within seconds, the quiet sound of the tip of her sharp quill scratching across the surface of her paperwork filled the stiff silence. She refused to cast me a second look, as though I'd already faded into the ivory walls of her office.

Recognizing that no more words would be exchanged about this matter, I dragged myself up and headed to the doors. I'd barely made it a few steps down the corridor when I heard the lock of her door click in place behind me.

An unwarranted feeling of success pumped in my chest. Despite her best efforts, my grandmother had confirmed the core of our suspicions: someone in the clans was was committing treason.

My feet took me to the library, where I had no doubt Logan was already subjecting Darkwood to the worst kind of torture. As I walked, my mind mulled over the conversation, picking apart her answers to see if she'd slipped up more than once. She did mention that there was a decade-long investigation in place, but did she mean she'd specifically been looking into the actions a coup? Or had she meant it more generally -- like gee, we sure are facing an unprecedented number of (attempted) assassinations, I wonder what that's about?

More than once, my thoughts returned to a rather excellent point she'd brought up: what the fuck were we supposed to do? No doubt she and my father had been amounting a wealth of information over the years, but clearly that intelligence was not accessible to me. Without their resources, all I could do really was wait.

With every passing day, I found myself understanding Archer more and more.

As suspected, my arrival at the library showed me Logan standing by one of the printers, his arms crossed as he watched a thick stack of papers form in the printing tray. Darkwood sulked at a nearby desk, slumped so far down in his seat he was at risk of falling off, all the while moaning at Logan to wait another day.

When his eyes spotted me in the doorway, he sat up, his tantrum switching to excitement. "So?" Darkwood asked. "What'd she say?"

"I think it's the closest she's ever gotten to saying 'shut the fuck up,'" I snorted, hopping onto the desk.

Darkwood cursed under his breath, deflating slightly. "I knew we should've held onto the camera."

"And do what?" Logan picked up the papers, stamping the edges on the table to even the pile out before setting it before Darkwood. "Are you suggesting that we singlehandedly launch an investigation into the noble court? With what authority? And what resources?"

With my legs crossed, I propped one elbow onto the top of my kneecap, my fingers balancing my chin as I stared at Logan. "Are you sure you're not her actual grandchild?"

Logan's response was to yank me off the table. The surface now Park-free, he started setting up an array of writing utensils: three Number-2 pencils (all sharpened), a gel pen, eraser, and yellow highlighter.

"I have a connection in France," Darkwood grumbled. "We could've sent it to her and had her find out more about it."

"If you use illegal means, you run the risk of using contacts who answer to money, not fealty. It's too risky. We'd lose the camera and any element of surprise because word could get back to your old contractor." Logan tapped the top of the papers with a finger. "No, we already did the right thing. Let the higher-ups deal with it. We have more pressing matters. Like this practice exam."

Darkwood peered up at Logan with a frown. "You know," he said, begrudgingly picking up a pencil, "I used to think you were cool back on that boat."

Meant to be an insult, Logan received the complaint unfazed, and instead readied a stopwatch on his phone. Once the seconds began accruing, Darkwood turned to the first page of questions, his eyes already glazing over as he read through the problems.

The seconds turned to minutes, and soon we were nearing a quarter of an hour. Tired of playing proctor, I migrated towards the back of the library, out of sight and earshot. My fingers danced along the spines of old books, most of which were historical texts bounded in leather and gilded with gold.

To my surprise, a shadow passed over the row of books I stood in front of, and Logan reached up to pull a text from the mahogany shelves.

"What're you doing?" I whispered, turning to face him. "Isn't it your dream job to monitor an exam?"

Logan opened his mouth to retort, but Darkwood's voice rang through the room. "You better not be theorizing down there! Any and all discussion has to include me!"

Logan paid him no mind. Instead, he crossed his arms and stared me down, the textbook hanging limply from his grip as though it weighed as much as a feather.

"Earlier, the queen, she mentioned--" Logan cut himself off, giving himself a chance to arrange his thoughts. "Did you enter the Blackwell engagement just so your family could have access to the Guard?"

I froze.

Something must've changed in my face for Logan's own expression twisted. "I'm right, aren't I?" He inched closer, but I threw my hands up, my palms meeting his chest, stopping him in place.

"I'm offended," I joked, hoping my nerves didn't echo in my voice. "Do I look like someone who would sell out that easily?"

He kept his eyes leveled at me. "You don't look like someone who would agree to an arranged marriage either," he countered.

He got me there.

"You were so resistant the night before," Logan pushed. "I told you Vincent was your best choice and you didn't care. Something drastic must've changed for you to agree to be with him."

"Ah, yes, and we all know that I consider my safety a very high priority."

At first, Logan's smile was droll. "Well, when you put it that way, it makes no sense." But then he dropped the grin. "But if you consider how much you love your family, and the fact that the strength of the Guard has been extended to everyone, things start lining up."

"And would that be such a bad thing?" I crossed my arms, refusing to be the first one to break eye contact. "After all, you were the one preaching to me about the importance of duty."

The windows in the library were constructed too high and small to allow enough sunlight to filter through. The chandeliers overhead cast a thin layer of light overhead, and Logan's eyes shone with a profound sense of regret in the hazy ambience as he took in his words.

Finally, he ducked his head. In the short moment that he couldn't see me, I took in a silent but shuddering breath over the fact that he'd gotten so close to the truth.

"You're right." Logan retreated, arms falling down to his side. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I was just . . . curious."

He left the stacks of books first, his figure weaving through the narrow space to return to the study tables. In his absence, the air around me grew cold, which made no sense because the palace always kept its rooms warm. My legs threatening to crumble, I grabbed a random book from the shelves and made my way back.

Darkwood was still pouring over his practice exam, now with rapt attention, pencil scribbling furiously as he transferred his answers to the multiple choice scantron to his right.

Before I could take a seat elsewhere, Logan pulled out the chair beside him, beckoning me to sit down without even looking up, too immersed in his reading. At first, I tried to read through the initial pages of The Practical Guide on Botany for Intermediate Gardeners, but soon, the book sat flat on the table, permanently open to page twelve. Apparently, counting and recounting the stripes on Darkwood's sweater proved to be more fulfilling.

Every now and then, a thought would pop into my mind. What if I told him? I thought, totaling the sweater's pattern at seven thick vertical stripes. Would he be angry? Would he thank me?

"Finally!"

Darkwood slammed down his pencil, shattering the quiet in the library.

Logan pulled out his phone and tsked under his breath. "You went over the time limit," he chastised, showing the two-hour time stamp as Darkwood passed his practice packet over.

"For the record," Darkwood said, flipping around one of the chairs at our table so that he could straddle it, arms folded atop the back, "I think it's the Fells."

Logan snorted, a trusty red pen in his fingers slashing through darkened bubbles as his eyes darted between the answer sheet on his phone and Darkwood's actual scantron. "How original."

"Sometimes, the most obvious villain is the one under our nose the whole time."

I looked pointedly at Darkwood. He grinned. "Excluding me, of course."

"I'll be very disappointed if it is them," I sighed. "They've been the culprit -- how many wars have we had? Four? Five?"

"Four," affirmed Logan.

I shook my head. "Let someone else new try their hand at a rebellion for once."

"At least we know for sure it can't be the Sparrows. Unless," Darkwood gasped, "Jasper has known about his lineage this whole time and is trying to be the last true heir to the throne."

"I'm trying to do what?"

Jasper popped his head into the library,  a stack of notebooks tucked under his arm. When he caught sight of our group, he made his way in. "Last minute cramming?" he asked, noticing the paperwork.

Darkwood squinted up at Jasper. "How do you feel about regicide?"

Jasper looked to me, confused. "We're theorizing which one of the clans is after the crown this time," I explained, "and he's saying it's secretly you."

"Oh." Jasper wrinkled his nose. "I think Archer was the more bloodthirsty one out of all of us, wouldn't you say?"

"Speaking of brothers," I realized, "there's another one of you," and I pointed at Darkwood, "running around out there, unaccounted for."

Darkwood snapped his fingers. "You're right. What if Flynn is also under the impression that you guys killed our family and is out there right now, seeking revenge?"

"I think," and Logan capped his pen with a succinct click! "that maybe you should focus on your test-taking skills before trying your hand at playing Sherlock Holmes." He tossed the packet over to Darkwood.

"I didn't do that bad." Darkwood picked up the first page, where Logan had scribbled the score and circled it. "A seventy percent? That's passing, isn't it?" He beamed. "Not too bad for a boarding school dropout."

Logan shook his head. "You need a ninety to pass."

Darkwood's smile dropped. Then he looked to me. "When are we going to Paradise?"

I held up two fingers. Two weeks.

Within seconds, Logan borrowed spare sheets of paper from Jasper and was already drawing up lesson plans, blocking out hours in the day for review. He perused through Darkwood's answers, noting his weak spots and transferring them to the schedule.

Darkwood watched on with pained eyes, watching as his last two weeks of summer slipped away with each day Logan added to the calendar.

Jasper nudged Darkwood with an big grin. "Bet you really regret kidnapping me now, huh?"

* * *

a/n:

just wanted to say good luck to everyone taking finals, and congratulations to those wrapping up their semester and/or college years!

i may have to slow down updates just a bit in order to let myself catch up on my drafts, so i think i'll upload ch. 23 in a week and a half / two weeks depending on my writing progress. thank you for your patience!