Rebecca quickly discovered that your first day of a new school was the same, no matter who, nor where you were.

For one, the trek down the hill to exit the palace grounds had been awful—because she wasn't jumping down the cliff. With Adam by her side, she'd walked to the school—a large building that looked like something out of a horror movie, ironically enough.

The whole time, he'd remained between worlds. And talked to her mind—something she still wasn't used to.

Now, she sat in classroom, she wanted to curl up in a ball and hide from prying eyes. It was completely different to the classrooms she'd been in before. The room was larger and there were no desks. Instead, three brown long, leather lounges were set up in the shape of a square. Only the front one was missing.

Grateful, she'd been given a pair of leggings and a loose hoodie, Rebecca sat back and pulled her knees up to her chest. She'd been ostracised already. To begin with, her clothes set her apart—everyone else was dressed in expensive jackets and jeans.

Only twelve Fae were in the class. All of whom were occupying two of the couches, staring at her. Rebecca was the only one on the third, sitting on her own. It didn't matter that Adam was sitting next to her and they just couldn't tell. She was alone. Again.

Clearly, being royalty didn't make you any more popular than before.

Her life really was pathetic.

As she balanced her notepad on her knees, Rebecca could only stare at the front of the room. A teacher was standing there talking animatedly; hands gesturing around wildly. She was young and beautiful—no older than twenty five. But, since Faeries aged differently she could've been hundreds of years old. Her perfect smile was blinding, stark in contrast to her dark eyes and hair.

And she kept looking at Rebecca.

Who had no idea what was going on. The words tumbling out of the teacher's mouth, were unlike any other she'd heard before. It was a completely different language.

Her hands shook as she gripped the pen in her hand, watching all the other students scribble down actively.

On a whim, she wrote, I don't know what they're saying. Hoping Adam would read it.

Thankfully he did.

You don't speak Faelk? His voice in her head sounded surprised.

No, she wrote, remembering that it was the language Mikael had said was on the tunnel walls.

She'd never wished to know a language more than right now. It wasn't her fault though. American's were known for their knack of learning languages. You spoke English everyday—it was all you need. At least, that's what she'd heard people say.

Besides, it wasn't as if she could've asked someone to teach her how to speak Faerie.

Rebecca stared down at her lap, just hoping they'd avoid looking at her. She knew it didn't work. She was the fish in a pool of hungry sharks—they were out to get her.

What're they talking about? she wrote, fighting to keep her hands from shaking.

Fae history.

Rebecca sighed quietly. Another thing she knew nothing about. Considering she was supposed to be Queen—and that meant everything was supposed to be handed to her on a silver platter—she was lost. No one was making this any easier on her.

Then again, she'd been the one to choose to attend school here. Both Ferro and Adam had told her she didn't have to. So, technically, this disaster was on her. Then again, they'd failed to tell her they'd be speaking another language entirely. Maybe if they had she would've changed her mind.

Ignorance really was bliss.

She wanted to pretend none of them were staring at her. But she couldn't because she could feel their eyes on her. Like sharp blades ready to strike.

If this was what being queen would be like she didn't want any part of it. But she didn't have a choice anymore. It was her birthright. There was nothing she could do to change it.

She didn't feel like a queen right now though. Far from it.

Salvatée.

Rebecca continued to stare at the paper. His voice in her head sounded a little panicked.

What? she wrote.

They're waiting on you to answer, Salvatée.

She exhaled a panicked breath. Then she looked up—hoping she didn't look as terrified as she felt, though she knew she failed miserably. Just as Adam had said, everyone was staring at her, the teacher included. Waiting for her to say something.

Rebecca could only look around hopelessly, though she knew no one was going to help her.

Repeat this: satisfactionem cessit, trecentist annis ago.

Momentarily blinded by panic, Rebecca didn't move. Then she forced herself to get with it and she blurted the words in a stumbled heap.

For a second there was silence, the tension so thick Rebecca didn't dare breathe loudly. Then the teacher nodded and looked away from Rebecca. She was the only one though—everyone else continued to stare at her.

Rebecca wished the couch would fall open and swallow her. Refusing to look up, she wrote quickly on the paper in front of her: What did I just say?

You said the war ended three hundred years ago, Salvatée. That's what she was asking.

If this was the way every class was going to go, Rebecca wanted out. It didn't take much to decide it.

When the teacher left the room, Rebecca took it as a sign that class was over.

On shaky feet, she stood. How she'd get through four more hours of this, she didn't know. But, if she left no one would question it. She was Queen—didn't that mean that she could leave when she wanted? And no one could tell her otherwise?

That's what happened in TV shows anyway. Though, she hoped this wasn't Game of Thrones because otherwise everyone would die.

Shoving the notepad and pen into the small leather bag she'd been given, Rebecca looked to her left. She couldn't see Adam but she knew he was next to her. Was if selfish to wish he could just stand next to her and scare them all away? Rebecca didn't know. But she wished he would.

Nearly everyone had left the room, so Rebecca was almost alone. She wished everyone would vacate so she could sit on the lounges by herself. She wasn't sure if Faerie school worked the same when it came to lunch breaks, but she didn't want to know. If they did, Rebecca didn't want to leave—she'd only be funding somewhere to sit on her own.

So far nothing had changed. She was supposedly sovereign but her life was still the same.

Rebecca shut her bag and stepped forward—

Only to run into something solid.

Rebecca jumped back, an apology on her lips. It didn't matter that she'd probably crashed into an inanimate object; it was an instinctual reaction.

The words died, however, when she looked up.

There, staring down at her, was Skye. Only she wasn't the human version, but the Faerie one. There were minor differences, though, to Rebecca, it was basically the same. Instead of bleached hair, the girl in front of her had dark hair; so long it was down to half her back even though it was up. Both of them had blue eyes. Both were tall and lanky. They were both beautiful.

The girl was talking to Rebecca, though the words were in the same foreign language. The tone of them, however, wasn't hard to figure out. She spoke as if Rebecca was below her; worthless.

When the girl was done talking, she just stared at Rebecca.

Salvatée.

Adam's voice in her head was nothing short of homicidal; short and clipped.

Rebecca blinked, curious as to what she'd been told. "Look," she said aloud, voice shaky, despite the fact that there was a language barrier. "I don't speak . . . Faelk."

The girl just stared at her, then she laughed mockingly. In perfect English she said, "Just how poor are you?"

Rebecca was momentarily stunned into silence—then she spluttered, "Excuse you?"

The girl folded her arms over her chest, expensive sweater falling down onto one shoulder further. "You don't speak Faelk—what're you? Are you sure you didn't bride them to let you go here? Oh, wait, you probably can't."

She was inferring that Rebecca was not only poor, but stupid. She'd gone past being scared of people like Skye. "Repeat that would you?" she snapped. "Because I am—"

Salvatée.

His voice was a silence warning in her head.

Abruptly, Rebecca snapped her mouth shut. Common sense prevailed. Ferro had implicitly told her that no one could know who she was—and he'd sounded like it was a life or death matter. Considering what Rebecca had barely just scraped through living, she knew she didn't want to push her luck.

The girl grinned like a cat that had just caught its prey. "You're what? Poor? A freak? An outsider? I can go on and on."

Ire burned and Rebecca stood straighter. "You don't know me," she snapped. "Don't you dare judge me."

The last thing she needed was to get the reputation of someone that started fights. But, Rebecca refused to cower in the face of danger—not anymore.

"And you clearly don't know who I am."

She sounded so arrogant, Rebecca wanted to wipe the smirk off of her face.

The urge only got worse as the girl continued to talk.

"I'm the only one in this room to have my wings. I'm the only one to have my powers."

Did you blow up a whole country because of them? The retort was on the tip of Rebecca's tongue but she didn't say it. Besides, she knew that the fact that the Dark Fae realm was gone was only on a need-to-know basis.

"I'm also the Queen's daughter."

That made Rebecca pause, eyes widening in horror. If that was true that meant this was her sister. She was related to her . . .

Only Ferro hadn't mentioned it—and he would've by now.

"The Queen?" Rebecca echoed, voice quiet.

For a split second, she was the smirk drop off of the girl's face, only to be replaced with an annoyed frown. Then the arrogance was back. "Well, temporary Queen, but that's just a technicality. In a few months I'll officially be the Princess."

Now Rebecca was thoroughly lost.

The girl leaned close, to the point where her breath fanned over Rebecca's face. The smell of rose perfume was so strong Rebecca almost choked on it. "So, I suggest you back off and learn your place. Otherwise, you'll learn quickly what fear feels like."

Before Rebecca could respond the girl was gone.

*

Later that night, Rebecca sat on her bed, flipping through a book.

When Ferro walked in—at the same time he always did—she closed Inservié and Salvatée, the insider's manual. As usual, he lingered by the open doorway, just scanning the room. When he was convinced there was no threat, he shut the door with a nod to the guards outside her room.

Rebecca pushed the book away, not bothering to move. She found herself relaxing around him—she could sit how she wanted, dress how she wanted.

He dipped his head slightly to her, hands resting against his thighs. "Rebecca."

She tried to smile back but it was a little shaky. "Hey."

"Are you okay?" He was genuinely concerned for her—something she'd gotten used to. If anything he was more like family to her. An older brother. Or her dad. There was no formality like everyone else that was around her.

Sighing, Rebecca sat straighter. "Am I Queen?" she blurted. "Really Queen?"

He blinked, clearly taken aback. After a long pause, he nodded, looking bewildered. "Of course you are, Rebecca."

Rebecca smoothed her hand over the leggings covering her legs. "Then why is there another Queen?" Her voice came out harder than she'd intended.

Again, Ferro didn't answer for a while. Then, he walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. "Rebecca, this is a monarchy. After your mother's death, there was no heirs. Both her and I knew of you, but no one else was told—no one."

"So I don't have a sister?"

"Sister?" Ferro shook his head. "No. Your parents only ever had one child—you. And you know the story."

She did. She'd been born during the war, when threats had been everywhere. No one could be trusted. So, to keep her safe, she'd been taken to the human world, where no one could hurt her. From then on, she'd gone through the adoption system and the rest was history.

After she'd been told, she'd been angry. But then she'd realised holding a grudge was going to do nothing. Both her biological parents were no longer around—she didn't want to hate them, knowing they'd just been trying to protect her.

Rebecca nodded. "So, who is the Queen now? I thought that was me."

"It is you. But in the wake of your mother's funeral, someone had to step up and take her place as Queen. She was the closest to your mother in her court so she was voted in. However, there are laws. And they state that only official heirs can take the throne. The person that took over as Queen cannot have a coronation nor can she be made official."

"So . . . she's not Queen?" And the girl had been lying?

"No. Not officially. She's standing in temporarily. But when you're announced her reign will be renounced."

Rebecca frowned. "And when will I be announced?"

When he paused Rebecca started to panic. In the silence, she tapped her thumb on her knee nervously.

Then he spoke—voice oddly serious. "One week from now, the Teuri Moro Ceremony will begin."

"That sounds . . . ominous." Her voice was quiet and unsure as she felt.

"It's the ceremony where you will be announced as Queen. And Fae will fight for a position in your guard."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "Fight?"

"Thousands will come—only a hundred will make it through. And it won't be easy for them. They will fight like savages to win, to gain your attention."

"Isn't that barbaric?"

"No. It is an ancient tradition. Your mothers guard was chosen the same. It is for them to prove themselves. For the Queen to see if they're worthy. And, I must warn you, blood will be shed, fights will be dirty."

Rebeccacould only stare back at him, mouth agape.