Chapter 2 The Ice Prince

The instrumental music fades, and everyone shifts their attention to an older man who stands behind a podium.

“Welcome to Ashmourne Academy.” Headmaster Blackwood reaches up to untie his masquerade mask and drops it onto the stand before him. His salt-and-pepper hair is styled back, his thick beard neatly trimmed, and, as if dramatic is part of Ashmourne Academy, he wears a black cape. A fucking cape. I hate to admit it, but it is kind of cool. Even though there isn't a microphone in front of him, his voice echoes loudly in the large room.

He continues on with some basic knowledge, like when the school was founded and how it was built. Stuff I already knew when I researched it beforehand.

My phone vibrates in my handbag, and I bite my lip, getting a taste of my signature red lipstick. The girl standing next to me glares, her blue eyes narrowed in annoyance. I ignore her, but I take the hint. I pull it out to set it on silent, but I pause when I see the contact name flashing across the screen.

It's not Rachel Hollow this time. It's Beckett Tanner. The call ends, and then another pops up, and it's back to Rachel, my grandmother.

I swipe my finger over the red icon and ignore it. Nope. Sorry, Grams, you'll have to chew my ass out later. Before I can slip it back into my handbag, it flashes again with an incoming text message.

Beckett Tanner: You should have taken me with you.

I frown as I read it again. And then again.

He's right. I should have taken Beckett with me to the academy. He might not have every right to be here like I do, but Beckett is Roman's best friend. Hell, he's practically part of our family. He might as well be Roman's brother, and the only family Beckett has. But something in my gut told me not to. I don't reply and put my phone away. Just like Grams, Beckett will have to wait.

“While Cave Creek Forest is permitted to students, it's highly recommended that you avoid going in. We won't be liable for your dead body. So please keep that in mind.” Headmaster Blackwood continues, and my head snaps up. Everyone else in the room laughs like he just told a joke. Am I reading too much into it?

The headmaster ends his speech, and the music starts up once more.

I don't make it a few steps toward the snack table when someone rams into my shoulder. A cold drink splashes over the front of my dress, and I gasp, my skin seizing with goosebumps at the sudden change in temperature. Red drips onto the marble floor, and for a second I swear the juice is actually blood.

“I didn't know this was actually a wedding.” A girl sneers as she looks me up and down. She wears an off-the-shoulder dress with lace stitching and gold beads that line under her breasts and cinch at the waist. It had to be personally tailored to her body for it to look that good, and I'm not petty enough to not admit that. The only thing ugly about it is the girl wearing it. Her personality, at least. She's actually very pretty, with long, lush eyelashes, sparkling green eyes lined with makeup. And get this, there's a tiara on her head, her blond hair hanging in loose curls down her back.

If she thinks my wedding dress is too much, then maybe I should tell her about the crown on her head.

“Did you get confused and take a wrong turn, sweetie?” She continues condescendingly when I don't reply right away.

Others start to look our way. I can hear some of them laughing, and my jaw clenches. Don't let them get to you, Raven, I think to myself.

I scoff, pulling the silk fabric away from my stomach. Damn it. This is totally going to stain. Grandma is going to kill me if she finds out. Hell, I want to kill me because it's my mother's dress! I glance up at the skylight on the ceiling. The crescent moon almost looks like it's frowning down at me.

“Do you think she's a mute?” One of her friends snickers from behind her.

“The self-proclaimed queen bee?” I ask, tilting my head to look at them. I ignore the minions on either side of her and focus on the apparent alpha female of the group. Alpha being a figurative term here. “Isn't that too high-school immature of you?” I tilt my head and click my tongue at her. “I fear you'll never grow as a person.”

She purses her black-painted lips and lifts her drink, as if she's about to spill the remains of it on me. However, before she can tip it over, a large hand grabs her by the wrist. His fingers are long and slender, his grip tight as her already pale skin turns the color of cream.

I raise an eyebrow, my gaze following the length of his arm and to broad shoulders before I reach a perfectly chiseled jawline. Well, who is this?

“Claire.” His voice is hard and deep. I ignore the strange shiver that goes down my spine as I take in his platinum-blond hair. It's such a color that's nearly impossible to achieve with dye, and it has to be natural with the way his pale eyebrows match. Even his eyelashes are the same shade of the ghostly color. He wears a silver mask, and my curiosity grows further at his white suit.

He's like some kind of ice prince.

“Oh, Micah!” The cliché mean girl, Claire, immediately wraps her arm around his. Her other hand comes to rest on his chest, and I swear I see him cringe. I snort, and her head whips to me so fast I fear she'll get whiplash. I put on a neutral expression, and she glares before returning her attention to the ice prince. That's his name now. I won't call him anything else. “I didn't know you were here already. I would've found you sooner.” She purrs. Like, literally, I think she's part cat.

He turns to look at me, and for a moment I think his eyes look red, but it must've been a trick of the light because he's blinking stormy silver eyes at me.

Wow. Definitely an ice prince.