make it easy | young royals ✓

seventeen

Wilhelm

In the early afternoon, biscuits on a plate in the centre of the table, Felice and I sit in a discrete corner of the library. Our voices are low, her laptop is open, and her nails type impatiently on the keyboard. Once or twice, I get up and start pacing between the shelves, my fingers brushing over the spines of books and my footfalls silent on the thick carpet.

"How do you know this is going to work?" I stop in front of her after another one of my solemn walks through the rows of shelves. "This is August we're talking about, he got away with basically recording and distributing videos of me."

Felice almost rolls her eyes at me. "If we publicise it, then it'll work."

"Won't we be as bad as him, then?" Staring at her, I'm second-guessing the entire operation to get August kicked out of the school before he graduates. Our approaches are not ethical in the slightest, and it's sickening who I've become in the path of chasing for vengeance.

"Nothing's sweeter than revenge, baby." She types for a few more seconds, and tilts her screen down. "So, we can expose his drug problem, being the leader of a secret society who does illegal substances here at Hillerska, and the bribery and smuggling of illegal substances."

I think of the dingy room with the half-broken light, mysterious pills in piles on the table, shot glasses lined up in the centre. I had gotten high on matters that I can't recall the names of, and watched the room spin and spin while people milled around me, head in a cacophony. "My friends are still in the society."

"They'll gang up against him."

"How do you know that? They perfectly happened to have dumped Simon under the rug last year, but Alexander ended up taking the fall."

She raises an eyebrow. "Not when there's concrete evidence behind him, they won't."

My mind tugs at the reality of the situation, examining the rationality and probability of the outcome. In her words, the destination becomes propitious, but we have more layers to solidify before laying out the groundwork.

"I like your way of thinking."

"Well, thank you," and Felice smiles amusingly.

Ever since the press release of the photos of us at the ball, I've made extra efforts to make it up for her. She tells me she doesn't give an ounce of care for what the media is saying, and is instead glad that Simon and I are finally off the hook from the scrutinising eyes of the world and the monarchy. Despite my newfound freedom, I find myself spending increasingly more time with Felice due to our mutual agenda about August. In a way, people at Hillerska may start to believe we're dating for real.

I make sure Simon is in the dark about our plotting and scheming, unwilling to drag him into another mess that he doesn't need. Sometimes his eyes are questioning when I tell him I'm going to hang with Felice for a couple of hours, but he lets me slide without explanation. He trusts me, and I'm undeserving of his unconditional trust. There are times where I nearly slip the information that's readily at my lips but hold myself back at the last second. He'll know what I did for him after it's done, and he'll love me for it. I hope it's enough.

I find Simon in the sunlit corner of the common room, lounging comfortably on the cushy armchair, deeply absorbed in the book at hand. His curls are a flurry around his face, messy, but handsome. I watch for a few seconds as his eyes move back and forth along the words, and walk up to him with a lightness in my step.

"What are you reading?"

He startles at my voice, but breaks into an easy grin. "Song of Achilles, just like you so passionately recommended."