King of Cups (Stormcloud Academy 2)

“Calm down, Zephyr. I know that sleepless, disheveled look. I was your age not so long ago. You have yourself a little bit of tail, is it? Something more consistent than your normal parade of sluts?”

I couldn’t respond, partly because of the inherent grossness of hearing my father discuss “tail,” but mostly because I had not told him about Biba. She was a Quinn, after all, and that was a problem. Dad had a history with that family and had warned me about them before I came to the school.

He went on, “This business in Morocco—it’s a test. An opportunity. You’re supposed to be the heir apparent, aren’t you? Prove yourself and earn it. Do you understand?”

I nodded and looked down. Didn’t want to display weakness in front of the old man. The fact of the matter was that I wanted the brass ring: Williams Maritime and the billions that came with it.

Dad was done with our little chat. He had the answer he wanted. So without even a thank you and farewell, he stood and left. I sat at the desk with the sunshine fading, wondering how I could explain to Biba that I was leaving her for two months.

CHAPTER 13

BIBA

“I can’t decide if that’s a long time or not.”

“It’s not,” he replied with a certainty that felt forced. “We were apart longer over the summer.”

“Yeah, but that was different.”

“How so?”

“Things were different.”

I’d known something was up since the day before. Zephyr hadn’t asked me to stay the night. Turns out he’d spent the night packing. He’d caught me before class the following morning and told me to meet him after my last session with a nice dress on. He was taking me to Festen, the only truly exclusive restaurant in the village.

With a dinner as expensive as that, I knew he wasn’t going to dump me at least. Even so, there was dourness in his invitation, like I was invited to my own funeral.

We had only finished our consommé course and begun sipping cordial glass aperitifs when he told me the news: his father had come to school and demanded he leave for two months to fix some shipping problem in Morocco.

Dude, I thought to myself, my dad and best friend were killed in the last year. I can live with not seeing you for sixty days.

Then it hit me. He was scared. Whoever had ordered the hit on me last year was probably still on campus, and now Zeph wouldn’t be around to protect me. Even worse, the Kings were fraying at the seams, and he didn’t know whom he could trust to watch over me.

Even so, he had a plan, hastily put together.

“You’re staying in my room while I’m gone,” he announced. “No arguing. It’s safer than your room.”

“How so?”

“Fucking custodial staff have master keys to your room. No one has the key to mine. So you stay there and do not let anyone—anyone—in there while I’m gone.”

I figured that was supposed to be about protection, but there was a touch of jealousy in his voice.

“Also,” he went on, “Arvo’s running shit while I’m gone. Anything you need, tell him. He’ll be calling me daily. I’ll be in the loop.”

“What about me?” I replied. “I’d like to talk to you too.”

He sighed. “That might not be possible, at least for a while.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated, okay? My dad will be breathing down my neck. I can’t be distracted.”

I was about to ask something else, but he stopped me.

“Please, Biba. Let’s just enjoy this dinner. I don’t want to argue.”

The dinner lasted two hours and seven courses, ending with plates of honeyed goat milk yogurt and berry parfaits. We toasted each other with small glasses of nectar-sweet Tokay. Then we got into his beautiful silver Aston Martin. Only he didn’t take the road back to Stormcloud; he went the opposite way onto a mountain road that inclined toward a summit.