Chapter Four
Miss Claudette snapped the register shut with a sharp clap. "Enough swooning. We're not in a royal parade. Now, eyes front. Let's get started."
Leo barely blinked as the classroom's energy dropped like a rock. Everyone straightened up instantly, flipping open notebooks like they were under military command.
Miss Claudette turned her back to the class, writing a massive equation on the board with quick, practiced strokes. "Pop quiz tomorrow. But first, let's warm up those sleepy brains."
Leo raised a brow. Sleepy brains? Lady, I was chased by hormonal teens the second I walked through the gate.
She turned. "Who wants to start us off? Solve for x."
Before Leo could even process the question, three hands were already in the air. One of them was Pascal, the cold-eyed guy from earlier, still seated in the corner like some brooding academic hitman.
"Pascal," she called.
"X equals seven," he said smoothly. "If you factor the left side and simplify, the rest cancels."
"Correct. Very good."
Leo looked at the board again. Fast. Too fast. He understood the question, sure, but he wasn't that quick.
Another equation appeared.
More hands shot up.
This time a girl solved it before Leo even found his pen.
Leo leaned back slowly in his seat, mouth a tight line. Okay… maybe this class isn't full of peasants.
Another problem. Another flawless answer. Every time, a different student. The speed, the confidence, it was like watching a game show with caffeine-fueled contestants.
And then Pascal again.
Answering faster than everyone. Like he was born to outshine people.
Leo clenched his jaw. He wasn't stupid, he knew that. But this? This was next-level.
Miss Claudette turned and scribbled a new problem. "Everyone, open your worksheets. Let's do a ten-minute timed quiz. No calculators."
Leo froze slightly. "Wait. No calculators?"
"You'll be fine," she said without looking.
Sure I will, Leo thought, pulling the sheet toward him.
He read the first question twice. His mind blanked.
By the third problem, someone was already flipping to the back.
Leo swallowed and pressed forward.
His brain scrambled to catch up, but it was like trying to swim through molasses while everyone else was sprinting on water.
Ten minutes felt like ten seconds.
"Pens down," Miss Claudette called.
Leo dropped his pen with a quiet clink.
His sheet was half-filled. Maybe less. He didn't even need to look at Pascal to know his paper was perfect.
She collected the papers quickly, efficiently.
No comments. Just a cold glance in Leo's direction before she turned to begin the next lesson.
Leo sat motionless in his chair.
That went well, he thought dryly. First day, and I'm officially the dumbest person in the room.
By lunch, Leo's mood was trash.
The kind of trash that had been burned, rained on, and then kicked by a horse.
He stalked into the courtyard, blazer slung over one shoulder, ignoring the buzz of voices that swelled the second he appeared. The entire space seemed to tilt toward him, students whispering, gawking, even pretending not to stare while totally staring.
Six black-suited guards followed at a measured pace, surrounding him in a loose formation. Hands at their sides. Eyes scanning.
It was like having six silent shadows.
He found the least-crowded table near the center of the courtyard and dropped into the seat, tossing his bag beside him like it had personally betrayed him.
Two seconds later...
"Hi, Prince Leo."
Three girls slid into the seats beside him like they'd been waiting in orbit.
"Oh my God, you didn't bring lunch? I would've made you something," one of them cooed, resting her chin on her hand, eyes wide and sparkling.
Another sat directly across from him and tilted her head. "You must be exhausted. All that ruling and… existing."
Leo raised a brow. "Existing?"
"I mean, you're basically art," she said, beaming. "Existing beautifully."
Leo stared blankly for a beat, then smirked.
Okay… ego slightly restored.
More girls arrived, four, then six, then an entire small army of them clustered around the table like pigeons drawn to royalty crumbs. They sat on edges of benches, leaned on each other, one even sat on the table, just to be close.
Leo leaned back lazily, stretching his arms over the back of the bench as he surveyed them like they were items on an auction block.
In his head, he started cataloging:
That one's definitely on the cheer squad. The one with the pink scrunchie has crazy ex energy. The girl with glasses? Secretly wild. The tall one looks like she owns a horse and doesn't pay taxes…
His smirk deepened.
High school might not be so bad after all.
"Do you like it here?" one girl asked breathlessly, tucking her hair behind her ear in slow motion like it was a movie scene.
Leo shrugged. "Still undecided," he said coolly, then reached over and plucked a grape off someone's tray like it belonged to him. "But lunch is decent."
Giggles erupted all around him like a scripted sitcom laugh track.
But the moment cracked when one girl glanced nervously at the men behind him.
"Um… Your Highness?" she asked, voice smaller now. "Do your… bodyguards have to stand there like that?"
Leo looked over his shoulder. His guards were still, silent, and serious, each of them posted in a sharp line behind the table like they were ready to neutralize the salad bar.
"Because," the girl continued, trying to smile, "it's kind of... intense. Like, I want to flirt, not get interrogated."
Another girl chimed in. "Yeah, it's like… hard to be charming when someone might tase you for blinking too fast."
Leo chuckled. "They're just props. Ignore them."
One of the guards twitched slightly at the word props, but said nothing.
Still, the girls shifted awkwardly.
Leo sighed. "Fine." He turned to the closest guard. "Take five. But not too far. If someone throws a pencil at me, I expect at least a dramatic tackle."
The guards exchanged a silent glance, then fanned out slightly, still visible, but less suffocating.
The tension eased immediately. A few girls clapped like it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done.
"You're so chill," one of them whispered, dreamy-eyed. "Like, for a literal prince? You're… cool."
"Thanks," Leo said, his smirk returning. "I practice."
He bit into the grape slowly, like a villain in a soap opera, while casually side-eyeing across the courtyard, then froze
And saw Pascal.
Alone. At his table. Staring.
Again.
No smirk. No interest.
Just cold, laser-focused, unmoving disdain.
Leo blinked.
Seriously, what's this guy's problem?
But instead of looking away… Pascal stood.
And started walking toward him.