CHAPTER ONE The Boy Who Never Apologized

Isaure Valcourt had been at Veyrenholt Academy for exactly eleven minutes when someone informed her that Caspian Thorne intended to ruin her year.

She was standing outside the assembly hall, reviewing the printed announcement for the annual student leadership competition, when Séverine appeared beside her.

"Before you read that, promise me you won't start a fight."

Isaure lowered the paper. "Why would I start a fight?"

"Because Caspian's name is on the list."

Isaure looked down.

Caspian Thorne.

Of course.

The school year had barely begun, and already the academy was testing her patience.

"He's serious about this?" she asked.

"Apparently."

"Does he understand what the position involves?"

"Probably. He can read, Isa."

"Then he must have misunderstood the word qualified."

Séverine laughed. "Please don't say that where he can hear you."

"Why? Does he need a dictionary?"

"See? This is why I came to warn you."

Isaure folded the announcement and slipped it into her notebook. The leadership competition was the most prestigious student appointment at Veyrenholt. The winner would represent the student body, oversee major initiatives, coordinate events with the administration, and receive privileges that could make the next academic year considerably easier.

It was the sort of position Isaure had been preparing for since her first term.

She had the grades, the experience, and the reputation. As head of the debate society, she could argue a weak proposal into the ground before its author finished explaining it.

Caspian had experience too, although most of his involved disciplinary meetings.

She intended to keep it that way.

"Where is he?" she asked.

Séverine caught her arm. "You are not going to confront him before assembly."

"Watch me."

"Isa."

"Let go."

Séverine released her. "At least try to win the competition before committing a crime against your own blood pressure."

Isaure walked into the assembly hall without answering.

She found Caspian near the back, surrounded by students who appeared far too entertained by his presence. His uniform was missing the academy tie, and his shirt collar was open. He looked entirely comfortable in a place where everyone else was trying to make a respectable first impression.

She crossed the hall.

"Thorne."

He turned.

"Valcourt."

"You entered the leadership competition."

"Your reading comprehension is impressive."

"Withdraw."

Several nearby students stopped talking.

Caspian slipped his hands into his pockets. "You haven't even heard the rules yet."

"I don't need to. I know what you're like."

"That must save you a considerable amount of time. You've clearly stopped learning anything new about me since we were twelve."

"Some people make themselves very easy to understand."

"Then you'll have no trouble beating me."

"I won't."

"Excellent. We agree on something."

She had prepared for arrogance. She had not prepared for him to make cooperation sound like a personal insult.

"You have no interest in representing this school," she said. "You want the position because you enjoy getting away with things."

"Perhaps I want to prove I can do something besides disappoint the people who already expect it."

For the first time, she had no immediate answer.

Then she remembered who she was speaking to.

"That would require you to start."

Caspian stepped aside as another group of students entered the hall.

"See you at the competition, Valcourt."

He left before she could respond.

Isaure watched him disappear into the crowd, already regretting that the academy had admitted them both.

The assembly lasted forty minutes. Isaure spent most of it listening to the headmaster explain academic expectations and student responsibilities. She took notes when necessary and ignored the whispers whenever Caspian's name came up.

When the competition was mentioned, she paid attention.

Candidates would submit proposals, participate in public debates, and complete a series of leadership assessments. The winner would be announced at the end of the first term.

It was straightforward.

She liked straightforward.

Outside, Séverine caught up with her.

"How did the conversation go?"

"He remains insufferable."

"That's reassuring. I was worried the summer might have changed him."

"Apparently, he spent it practising."

"Practising what?"

"Being unbearable."

Séverine laughed, then fell into step beside her.

"You know he's actually good at debating."

"He talks. That isn't the same thing."

"You've lost to him before."

"Once."

"Twice."

"The second time was a technicality."

"You appealed the result for three weeks."

"Because the judge was wrong."

"And Caspian?"

"Was lucky."

Séverine let the silence sit for a moment.

"You really cannot stand him."

Isaure adjusted the strap of her bag. "He pushed me into a fountain when we were twelve."

"Seven years ago."

"He never apologised."

"You pushed his bicycle into the lake the following week."

"That was unrelated."

"You tied his shoelaces together during a school photograph."

"He deserved that."

"Isaure."

"What?"

Séverine shook her head. "Nothing. Just remember that you're competing for a position, not organising his funeral."

"You're becoming very dramatic."

"I'm your friend. It's part of the contract."

They reached the main courtyard, where students had gathered around the competition noticeboard. Isaure moved closer to examine the published requirements.

Her name appeared near the top of the list.

Caspian's was directly beneath it.

She read both names twice, as though the second reading might reveal a clerical error.

It did not.

Across the courtyard, Rafe Bennett handed Caspian a coffee.

"So, you're actually doing it."

Caspian accepted the cup. "That's what the announcement says."

"I assumed you'd forgotten how to participate in something without getting suspended."

"I've never been suspended."

"Your mother has been called here enough times to qualify for a parking space."

"She enjoys the drive."

Rafe laughed.

They had been friends long enough for Caspian to recognise when he was about to become a problem.

"You're competing against Isaure Valcourt," Rafe continued. "This should be entertaining."

"You're welcome to find another hobby."

"I have several. Watching you pretend that girl doesn't bother you is my favourite."

"She doesn't bother me."

"You crossed the entire assembly hall to argue with her."

"She approached me."

"And you could have walked away."

Caspian took a drink.

Rafe nodded. "Exactly."

"I hope you lose your next debate."

"I hope you win this competition. It'll give you something useful to do with all that spare time you spend annoying people."

Caspian looked toward the noticeboard. Isaure was still there, studying the requirements with the concentration of someone preparing for a national trial.

He knew she would work harder than almost anyone else competing.

That was precisely why he had entered.

Winning would mean something if the person he defeated had earned the right to be there.

He wasn't going to explain that to Rafe.

By late afternoon, the first round of the competition had been scheduled, and the candidates were instructed to submit their initial proposals by Friday.

Isaure was leaving the administration building when Caspian came down the steps behind her.

"Already planning your victory speech?" he asked.

"Already planning your excuses?"

"I don't make excuses."

"You make a habit of avoiding consequences."

"Only when the consequences are stupid."

She stopped.

"You think this is a game."

"No. If it were a game, I'd have chosen something easier."

"Such as?"

"Convincing you to have a normal conversation."

Isaure stared at him.

"You're not nearly as charming as you think you are."

"Good. I wasn't trying to charm you."

"Then stop wasting my time."

She turned to leave.

"Valcourt."

She looked back.

"May the better candidate win."

"That would be me."

"We'll see."

He walked away before she could answer.

Isaure stood outside the administration building, the competition rules folded inside her notebook and her plans already taking shape.

Caspian Thorne wanted the position.

Fine.

She would give him a competition worth losing.

And if he thought she intended to make this easy for him, he had learned absolutely nothing in seven years.