Page 12 of Deposed

He snorted. “You won’t get our cocks until you beg.”

“That’s fine with me,” I snapped.

Henry’s grin turned malevolent. “Next time we have you here, we’ll tease you so badly, you’ll be crying for us to fuck you.”

Chapter 5

At lunchtime, I sat at the head table between Edward and Henry, casting my gaze over the rest of the house. We ate the normal fare of a choice of roasted chicken or pork, served with vegetables, roasted potatoes and stuffing. Student slathered on lashings of gravy from jugs at their tables. I cut my chicken breast and sighed. To everyone else, it looked like I was sitting in my usual spot, but the triumvirate had told me I would spend all my hours in the presence of at least one of them unless I wanted my secret exposed.

Just before the waiters served desert, our housemaster, Mr. Jenkins, strolled into the room and stood on the podium on the far right of the table. The man seemed to have lost weight during the Easter break, as his gray suit hung awkwardly off his shoulders. “Welcome back for another term, Elder House!”

Nobody responded. By now, even the mice in the skirting boards had worked out the man had been shirking his housemaster responsibilities.

In the ensuing silence, I glanced at the table usually occupied by Charlotte and her doppelgängers. Wendy, Patricia, and even Alice sat together, but there was no sign of Charlotte. An intern at the Correspondent had mentioned that the family could no longer afford to pay for her tuition fees, and Blake had confirmed earlier that she wouldn’t return. I rested my chin on my hand and exhaled my relief. That was one person I wouldn’t miss.

Mr. Jenkins’ cheeks pinked, and he cleared his throat. “At the end of the lunch bell, please make your way to the assembly block for a meeting with the Board of Governors.”

“Where’s the headmaster?” Coates, the bulky rugby player with the broken nose and cauliflower ears, stood and ran a hand over his shorn head.

Mr. Jenkins flushed and stepped down from the podium. “I expect the governors will update you on his situation.” As he darted out of the room, he said over his shoulder, “Don’t forget to go to the assembly block after the lunch bell.”

I narrowed my eyes at the retreating man. What was the point of having a housemaster who stayed in his room all day, turned a blind eye to the injustices taking place under his thin nose, and couldn’t discipline students? He was more suited to kindergarteners than sixth-formers.

The servers brought a lattice apple pie and custard. I refused a portion. After breakfast with Sergei and his entourage, followed by coffee on the train, my appetite had dwindled. Not running the gauntlet had been a huge relief, but any member of the triumvirate could command me as he wished, and I wasn’t sure about the extent of their vindictiveness.

Henry called back the server. “She will have desert.” He turned to me and winked. “I don’t want you wasting away to nothing.”

“Why?” I spat. “Because you think my boobs will shrink?”

His gaze flickered down my to top and lingered over my breasts. “I was more thinking about your arse, but I like the boobs, too.”

Edward smirked then turned to Blake and whispered something that made him laugh.

My cheeks burned. How could I have ever become so fond of this pig?

Henry’s hand wrapped around my thigh and squeezed. “We should hold weekly inspections. Get out the tape measure to make sure you’re staying the same.”

“You’re really enjoying this,” I muttered.

“Not as much as I would enjoy those inspections,” he replied. “Eat up.”

Irritation fizzled through my veins, making the fine hairs on my skin stand on end. What an asshole.

After lunch, the entire house left the dining hall and walked over the lawn to a Georgian building with the usual tall, symmetrical windows divided into panels. Unlike the other blocks around the law, the assembly hall’s oversized porch consisted of a triangular, stone pediment, held up by several columns. It reminded me of the Pantheon.

Edward placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me through the porch into the building’s cool exterior, an auditorium with its seats organized around a stage in tiers of concentric half-circles. Students from all houses, ranging from little first years to upper-sixth formers, filled the hall all the way up to the back row, where huge, arched windows streamed in shafts of afternoon light. On the stage sat twelve men and women, each wearing suits. The one in the middle, who I assumed was the new headmaster, was clad in black, academic robes.

We took our seats close to the back, and I ended up sandwiched between Henry and Blake, with Edward sitting on Blake’s other side. When everyone was settled, one of the teachers played a tune on the piano, and everybody sang what sounded like the academy anthem. Blake gave me a nudge in the ribs, prompting me to move my lips. At the end of the song, the man in the academic robes stepped forward to a podium on the stage.

“Good Afternoon, staff and students of Mercia Academy.”

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Weaver,” everyone chorused back.

I studied the man’s features. Rita had once spoken about him. He taught Classical Greek and was one of the few members of staff who punished the bullies who had tormented her. My brows rose. At least a good guy would be in charge of the academy for once.

After a few introductions and general greetings, Mr. Weaver spoke. “It’s with a heavy heart that I confirm that our former headmaster, Mr. Chaloner, has been charged with money laundering and won’t ever return to Mercia Academy.”

Chatters broke out across the assembly hall, and I leaned forward to catch Edward’s eye, but he stared ahead, a muscle flexing in his jaw. My stomach twisted with trepidation. Was he angry that Mr. Chaloner had left or that the man had even commenced his dangerous venture?