Chapter 232

I sit back in my chair, staring at her, suddenly seeing the logic of this.

My entire life, I’ve been the perfect princess. And I never, ever considered that what I was doing could be use as a smoke screen for a second identity underneath – one that’s been secretly growing since the moment I entered the Academy and which Faiza is here to help me grow.

“That’s right,” Faiza says, her smile growing as mine does. “You’re the perfect sleeper agent, Ariel Sinclair. And I’m going to have so much fun teaching you everything you need to know.”

I grin at Faiza, wrinkling my nose. “I’m so excited. Can we start now?”

Faiza laughs and then groans, tilting her head back and covering her eyes. “Oh my god, that little nose wrinkle. God, I couldn’t even teach you that! This is going to be so great.”

I laugh, leaning back in my chair, suddenly pleased that my years of being a bubblegum sparkle princess are apparently about to pay off big time.

“Okay,” Faiza says, sitting up more properly in her chair now. “I need to know what we’re working with here, though. All those boys – are they even going to let you go to war? Be put in situations where your life is in danger?”

I bite my lip, looking away, considering it.

“That bad, huh?” she asks, and I look up, shrugging.

“They like me,” I say, tentative, and she laughs again at this.

“Ariel, they’re obsessed with you,” she says, raising an eyebrow at me. “I’ve never seen an Alpha reaction like that. The brother I get – and the cousin, maybe…”

“Jesse and I are close,” I say, defensive. “We were raised together – he was basically a brother growing up.”

“All right,” she says, nodding slowly. “The smaller, dark haired one I get – he didn’t react as much –“

I nod, knowing she means Ben.

“And the boxer – your mate?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Is that true?”

I hesitate but then nod, admitting it, supposing that it’s better not to lie.

“Well, that’s inconvenient,” she says, dry, sighing and leaning back in your chair. “Not a lot of chance he’s going to let you walk into a lion’s den.” She frowns though, tilting her head to the side. “But what about the other one? The hot one? What’s his story?”

“The hot one?” I ask, my face bursting into a grin.

“The super hot one,” she says, giving me a wink. “Who was about to tear the chair apart when I touched you. What’s his story?”

I laugh a little, shaking my head at her. “Don’t get your hopes up,” I say with a sigh, shaking my head. “He’s spoken for. Very spoken for.” I let a little growl enter my voice the second time I say it.

Faiza just goes very still before her face bursts into a grin. “No way. Both of them?”

I shrug. “He’s my mate too.”

“What!?” she leans towards me like it’s the most exciting thing she’s heard in a year, and I laugh, a little part of me absurdly thrilled that my new tutor apparently likes to gossip as much as the rest of my family. “Well, you’re a much spicier cream puff than I thought you’d be. But I thought that was…not possible?”

“The Goddess gave me two mates,” I say, shrugging and raising a hand passively like I can’t help it. Then, quickly, I summarize things for her – about how the Goddess is my grandmother, and how my father had two mates before me, about the mating bonds snapping into place on my first day as a candidate.

“Shit,” Faiza murmurs, shaking her head at me. “I didn’t realize I was getting into some divine crap here. So, playboy Luca Grant and the hot quiet one. That makes you a lucky girl but also one…” she hesitates.

“Who is going to have a hard time convincing people to let me put myself in danger?”

“You might have to trick them to make them let you go,” she says, her voice challenging, like she doesn’t know if I could do it.

“I won’t do that,” I say instantly, quietly. “Not…not to Jacks.”

“To Luca?” she asks, curious.

I hesitate but then nod. “Luca can handle it, would understand eventually. Jacks –“

“The hot one,” she corrects, giving me a wink and pointing her finger at me like a gun.

I laugh and nod, “sure, the hot one,” I concede, rolling my yes – I mean, Luca is gorgeous too. But then I move on to the point. “But yeah he…I can’t lie to him. It will break his heart.”

“Well, shit, Princess,” Faiza says, shaking her head at me. “Looks like you got it bad.”

“It’s not like that,” I say, dropping my head a little, wondering at myself. “My mates – Jackson, especially – are…a benefit to me. Not a weakness. I don’t need to run from them to do my job; and if I need to be separated from them for an assignment…” I shrug. “I’ll make them understand.”

“All right,” she says, her hands going up to protest her innocence. “Your mates, your business. But, Princess, you have made one mistake.”

“What?” I ask, sitting up straight, suddenly worried.

Faiza’s smile grows as she winks at me and glances up at the clock on the wall. “You forgot to watch the time. And dad hates it when people are late.”

I gasp, leaping to my feet. “Faiza!” I breathe, dashing immediately for the door. “How could you do that to me!?”

“Your schedule is not my problem Cadet!” she calls after me, laughing as I haul the door open and dash out of it. “See you back here the day after tomorrow, and then we’ll really get started!”

I dash down the hall, moving as fast as I can, cursing under my breath even though I know that it’s no good – I’m already five minutes late, which to Neumann might as well be a year. Still, I push myself faster, flying around corners until my feet are pounding down the marble hall to the chemistry room door.

I skid to a stop outside of it and then push it open, panting as I step inside.

Neumann turns towards me with a characteristic frown. Then, when he sees me panting and breathless, he just rolls his eyes and points to the desks in front of him. “Inside, Clark. And stop panting like an animal, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Yes, sir,” I murmur, stepping inside and doing my best to control my breathing, wiping sweat from my brow as I slip onto a stool behind a lab table. Despite my exhaustion, shock fills me as I look over at the other desks in the room and see that there are only two other students here.

And that neither of them are my friends from the sniper unit.

Am…am I the only one that made it?

“Now that we are all here,” Neumann says, drawing my attention immediately back to him when he slams a new textbook, notebook, and pen onto the desk in front of me. I jump and turn towards him, my hands immediately going to the books. “Let us begin our course for the semester.”

I glance back at the two other students – both of whom sneer at me – and I sigh when I realize that they’re two of the ones who protested that I shouldn’t be allowed to take the final. But I sit up straighter, a bit smug when I realize that they’re only two of a handful of students who made that protest – and that I kicked both of their asses on the final itself.

Letting a smirk find my lips – and letting them see it – I turn back to Neumann and pay attention.

He gets started, speaking quickly as he always does, summarizing the goals of the class this semester, which are to learn the properties of more chemical solutions – not just poisons – which will aid us in our endeavors outside of the classroom.

“I will teach you the chemical properties of these solutions,” Neumann says, looking at each of us in turn. “And we will also do a great deal of work to discover where to harvest the raw materials which will allow you to create these solutions – in secret, if necessary. Then, you will each work with your individual tutors to discuss methods of delivering or otherwise utilizing these solutions that best match your personal skills.”

I perk up again with interest at this, again looking over at the two other boys in the class as I realize that they, too, likely met their individual tutors this morning. God, I wonder who they are, what their styles consist of.

No matter what, though, I’m sure they’re not nearly as unique or interesting as Faiza.

“Have no doubts,” Neumann says on a sigh, as if he’s bored, “that this semester will be as grueling as the last, even if there are no cuts at the end. No, the only way out now is death or graduation. Please,” he says, looking around at us with a raised eyebrow. “Do strive for the latter. Student death takes a great deal more paperwork than signing a line on your diploma.”

He turns away then, striding for the board to begin, and a smile tugs at my lips even as I open the notebook and click the pen, starting to take my notes.

Because grueling as I’m sure it will be, I honestly can’t wait to get started.