Royal Academy

by McKenna James

  ROYAL ACADEMY

  MCKENNA JAMES

  COPYRIGHT© 2019 Royal Academy

  by Mckenna James

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Royal Academy is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by Mckenna James

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Drew

  “Geez, it's cold as balls out here,” I said as the doorman opened the heavy glass double doors of my condo building, and I stepped out into the frigid cold. I couldn't help but to verbalize my thoughts to him when the wind hit my face, I liked that he got a chuckle out of it. January was always cold in London, but today seemed to be a tad nippier than usual.

  “Running late today, Prince Drew?” he asked as he glanced down at his watch then back up at me.

  Henry, as observant as ever, was correct. I wasn’t late per se, as I was always early to the university library to study before heading to class.

  “First day of winter semester. Luckily I’ve already impressed all my professors with my charming good looks, intelligence, and wit, so they might just overlook any tardiness.” As usual, Henry had pulled the Range Rover in front of the building, ready for my departure.

  “I’m sure indeed. Have a great day, Your Highness.” I slid behind the wheel of the SUV, praising the gods for heated seats and the heated steering wheel as Henry closed the door. I buckled up, put the SUV into drive, and navigated onto the cobblestone street. Whitby University wasn’t but a four block drive from the condo, the perfect proximity for a crisp morning walk to class. Okay, so maybe in October, but not in this blistery mess. Snow coated the sidewalks and roads, and I’d have to take extra caution in case of black ice.

  Although I was running behind my usual schedule, I had a full day of classes and would need caffeine to jump start my brain. As I pulled into The Pour Pauper, my favorite local café, I parked at the end of the lot, adjacent to the front entrance, to keep the Range Rover from being parked near other vehicles. I was meticulous in caring for my belongings—wealthy or not.

  I exited the vehicle and clicked the key fob, the familiar double tweet of the alarm system letting me know that the vehicle was locked.

  “Shit!” a delicate voice declared. I looked up and noticed a female form standing in front of an open hood, waving her hand through the steam that rolled from beneath the hood. Even I would know what that meant.

  My pace slowed as I approached her. She was dressed in a Houndstooth coat that covered her bottom, so no getting a look at that. Her long strawberry blonde hair was blowing with the blustery wind, and a small smear of grease kissed her cheek. I was intrigued, to say the least.

  “Pardon me,” I spoke in her direction. “Do you need some assistance?”

  She looked up at me, and I swear to God, my heart almost stopped beating for a second. Bloody hell! She was fucking gorgeous.

  I had to steady myself just to hear what she was saying. Her eyes were some sort of bewitching green, though they looked almost as clear as glass. They were mesmerizing and as soon as they locked into mine I was a goner. Her skin was smooth and creamy, and the way her hair fell around her face took my breath. I never believed in love at first sight before today, but this girl was making me question everything. She was beautiful!

  “I'm sorry, what?” she replied in a voice that was as soothing as a purring cat.

  Damn, now I was in a fog.

  “Do you need me to help you with something?” I managed to get out a sentence at least, however choppy it may have sounded.

  She didn't say anything. Instead, she looked at me as if she was in a trance.

  “Miss?” I prodded. Her silence was puzzling. Did she recognize me? Was she simply frustrated with her car problems? I wouldn’t know because she appeared mute at the moment.

  “I'm sorry.” She shook her head and looked away. “No, I can manage.” I could hear the sneer in her voice even though she did well to hide it from her face.

  She turned back toward the car and leaned inside the hood as if she knew what she was doing, although I had a sneaking suspicion that she did not.

  I quirked my brow, curious why she was being so brash. “Are you sure?” I asked, hoping she'd let me help. “I could call a tow company if you’d like. I’m sure the radiator will need to be repaired.”

  “Yes, I'm sure,” she said in a tone that wasn’t very friendly. “What do you know about a radiator?” She thrust her palms against her hips in a defiant stance as she barked at me. Yes, at this moment she was quite the bitch. “I can call someone if necessary.”

  I inwardly chuckled to myself then smiled in delight. “Okay, I was only asking.”

  Her tone bit me, and it wasn’t necessary. I mean, she was the one standing in front of a dented, old hatchback with the hood up. I understood her irritation, but there was no call in taking those frustrations out on me. I was only offering to help the poor wretch.

  Oh well, fuck her.

  “She can give that thing a botch job if she wants to,” I muttered as I walked toward the café.

  I waved at Ariand as I entered and took a seat at the high-top table in the corner. I was a regular here, and Ariand knew my order by heart it seemed—a sesame seed bagel with light cream cheese and a double shot mocha latte, extra steam and heavy cream. I’d need the caffeine to make it through classes.

  I stewed over the young lady’s stubbornness, and it infuriated me that I, Prince Drew Harrington, heir to the crown, was snubbed off by a commoner. After being courteous and kind.

  “How was your holiday, Your Highness?” Ariand, the barista asked as she brought my order out. We made small talk briefly as I slowly sipped the piping hot latte, warmth melting the ice that had formed around my heart at the commoner. I was an everyday guy, albeit the Prince of England, and I had to remember that everyone had bad days now and again.

  “Ariand, do you mind please, I need another latte and your sweetest breakfast pastry … to go, please?”

  “It would be my honor, Your Highness.” She curtsied and flounced out with a bout of laughter. She knew I hated being bowed to, and she did it just to jest me. She returned with the order promptly, and after sliding some cash into her apron, I headed back out into the cold.

  As I passed by the young lady, the steam still billowing from the radiator, I straightened my spine and walked with a determined gait of pri
de and confidence.

  As she saw my approach, she huffed and rolled her eyes. I didn’t let that bother me. I’d have the last laugh.

  With a condescending smile, I offered the cup and pastry bag to her, to which she shockingly accepted.

  “My lady, may this coffee and pastry warm and sweeten your heart so your attitude is more bearable for any knight in shining armor who attempts to save you today.” Her jaw ticked with fury, and I winked before I strolled away without another word, climbing into my warm vehicle and leaving that snotty hag in the cold.

  Chapter 2

  Eliza

  “Bloody hell!” I shouted as if it would make a difference. “Now what?” I demanded to know. Although, there was no one listening. Or anyone who cared, for that matter. Drew Harrington, the freakin’ Prince of England, left me standing in the cold, and for good reason. I stared at him stupidly when he’d offered to help me. I was rude with my short responses. What could I say? It was clear my car was broken down. I didn’t expected him to sweeten me up—literally—with a latte and a pastry, but I understood the irony in the gesture. I deserved it.

  I was on my own. I had insisted that I could do this—move to the city and begin my life as an adult. I didn’t expect my damn car to break down on my first day of classes. Oh my luck was fancy.

  Against my parents’ wishes, I had applied to the most expensive school in all of England, Whitby University, and I was accepted. It was the happiest day of my life when I opened that envelope to see my name attached to a student I.D.

  I had spent the previous two years of my life working two jobs a week after school each evening, on weekends, and all summer, every summer, trying to pinch pennies and save as much as I could just to attend the university. And I did it. The only help I needed from my parents was that of a car to get back and forth from the dorm to my job at the cafe, because I’d need to work in order to maintain the expenses of living on my own. My father had given me the family car, an old hatchback hand-me-down that was older than me. He said I couldn't very well bring the bicycle that I had ridden from job to job for two years. No, I needed a real vehicle. Now I needed one that actually ran! I knew nothing about cars, aside from where to add the petrol.

  I’d just gotten off my early morning shift at The Pour Pauper and class when, after starting the car and letting it warm up, steam began to pour from beneath the hood. The motor was still running, though it sounded atrocious. I was worried that if I attempted to drive it, it would tear something up.

  I would have to call a tow truck to get this pile of metal to a garage. I could afford neither of those things, but I wasn’t going to ask my father for help. I would find a way to get it done, just like I had with school. I loved my independence, and I was determined to stand on my own two feet—even if I’d be walking for the unforeseeable future.

  I glanced at my watch and realized that I was already late to class. “Really? Can anything else go wrong today?” I asked snidely. Then I remembered that Mum always told me not to ask that question because as sure as you did, life would make sure something else would go wrong.

  I was already behind a semester because I had to work a few more months to save enough money to finish paying for what the scholarships didn't cover. I came into this feeling as if I was at a deficit and behind the other students. They had already been here for five months, and I was just starting out. They had already made friends, and I was new and didn't know a soul. I would work hard, keep my grades up, and stay at the university no matter what I had to do. It was my one shot at truly being somebody and doing something great with my life. Neither of my parents had gone to university and I was hell bent on being the first.

  I slammed the hood of the old car and dusted my filthy hands together, trying to remove as much dirt as I could. It did no good. I just hoped it wasn't on my face. Looking down, I noticed that my coat seemed to have escaped unharmed at least. I grabbed my books from the front seat and locked the doors, although I wasn’t sure why; no one was going to steal it. One foot in front of the other, I hurried the three blocks to Whitby University.

  ***

  Glancing at the clock in the hall, I realized that I was already late by fifteen minutes, so I decided to go ahead and add a couple more by stopping in the bathroom and washing my hands. What did it matter? Things were already a bit shitty, so why not just go ahead and frig things up royally.

  Speaking of royally, who did Prince Andrew Harrington think he was trying to “help me” fix my car?

  I was glad I’d turned his offer to help down. There was no way in hell that I was going to let him do anything for me. I knew how that stuff worked. He did something for me, and then he’d expect something in return. Tit for Tat, as they’d say; quid pro quo. Well, not with this girl. I’d make my own way. I always had and I always would. I didn't care if it meant I’d have to walk to class every day. I wasn’t going to allow the Prince to think that he could indebt me to him in any fashion at all.

  Looking in the mirror, I notice a smudge of grease on my right cheek. “Effing great!!” I said a bit loudly. Feeling embarrassed, I turned and carefully bent down to scan the bottom of the stall doors to make sure I was alone. I was, to my relief.

  I turned on the water and allowed it to run until it was hot before washing my face and hands. I was frustrated to say the least.

  Maybe I should just go back to my flat and skip class this morning.

  “No!! Pull yourself together,” I said as if I was talking to someone else. Sometimes I did that. My pep talks to myself were all it took at times to cause me to “straighten up and fly right,” to quote my father.

  I tossed the paper towel in the trash and took one last look at myself before leaving. It was as if I was suddenly seeing someone else instead of myself. In that moment, I began to question everything.

  “What are you doing here, Eliza?” I asked aloud. “You don't belong here with these elitist.”

  I stared at the mirror, hoping to find the girl who was giving the pep talk only two minutes earlier. Where was she? Maybe she realized that she didn't belong either and she got out while she could. I looked at my hair, a disheveled mess. My curls were everywhere. It was one of the drawbacks of having naturally curly hair. My makeup—or lack thereof thanks to the need to remove the grease smudge— was tragic; I looked sickly. Should I just leave and go home to Dad and Mum? Yes, I thought I should.

  I took one last look in the mirror at the poor girl who had worked so hard to get here, and I saw defeat. I didn't see the one who had put in hours of studying, nor the one who worked endless hours when she was worn out just to save up for this prestigious place. No, I saw a girl who didn't fit in these halls with the upper crust of society. I saw a girl who was dreaming big without ever considering what she would do with that dream once it came true. I saw a girl filled with self-doubt. I loathed her.

  I wasn’t that girl. I was the one who worked hard to earn the money to attend such a prestigious university. I was the girl who studied when her friends were out having fun. I was the girl who had realized her dreams when she opened the acceptance letter welcoming her to Whitby University. I wasn’t going to allow any self-defeating attitude or a broken down car to stop me from achieving my goals. I belonged here just as much as anyone else, maybe even more so.

  “Now straighten your ass up and get out there to that class, missy. You deserve to be here more than half of those wealthy snobs whose mothers and fathers probably paid to get them in here!!”

  I grabbed my books, shot myself a smile, and walked down the hall with my new attitude to the classroom where I would begin my journey.

  As I opened the door, I could see that the class was almost completely full. The academic adviser had already told me as much when I registered, but it was a bit of a surprise to see almost every seat in the large room filled. I scanned the space and found one in the back, luckily. Whew! I dodged that bullet. I didn’t want to be the one who walked in late and had to go in front of a h
undred other students to find somewhere to sit. How embarrassing would that have been? I really would have left if I had to do that.

  I opened my textbook to the chapter that was written on the blackboard and tried to catch up as Professor Haddish spoke. I also turned on the recorder on my cell phone so I could play back his lecture later on when I was alone in my flat. I had heard others say that it was helpful to record professors because they spoke quickly as to get in all of the information in the allotted time period.

  There I was, a student at university with my books, my recorder, and my seat in the class. I couldn’t have been prouder of my achievements. I would have taken a selfie and posted it to Insta if I wouldn't have looked stupid or have gotten called out for it; though, glancing around and judging by the looks of some of the girls, I'd say they had already done it or were thinking about it as well.

  As Professor Haddish spoke about the boring details of some guy in Africa and his caravans of gold, I wondered if I could sneak in a text to Mum, letting her know that I was actually in class at a real university, with a real professor down front. I was thrilled to be here, and I just wanted to share it with someone. I quickly decided that I would text her later and that I needed to pay attention, especially on my first day.

  I really wasn't looking forward to this class, but it was a requirement for my degree in education. I had no interest whatsoever in Anthropology but it was a must, so I bucked up and decided to make the best of it. Although I was a bit miffed that something so trivial was a required course for me, I was determined to make the best grade possible in the class.

  Chapter 3

  Drew

  Listening to Professor Haddish speak about the Sahara Desert and the gold exchange was fascinating to me. I had been interested in Anthropology as far back as I could remember, so when I was asked, as a child, what I wanted to be when I grew up, of course my answer was Indiana Jones. It always got a laugh, which at the time I never understood, but now that I was able to choose what I really wanted to do in life, I chose Anthropology.