The Lords, Princes, and Kings.

Chapter Two-

  Scottie, our 12 year long-haired dachshund woke me up by barking at the foot of my bed. I groaned, having forgotten to move the mini steps he needed to get up. Rolling out of bed, I dropped to my knees to pet him... only to be tackled by our Belgian malinoises, Ace. I shoved him back right as my first alarm for the day went off. I mentally cursed, having hoped I slept through the first. I had finished all my work last night and was hoping to be able to sleep in.

"Hey, bud." I sighed, trying to keep my eyes open.

I reached for my phone, one hand still petting Ace's chest while Scottie jumped on my lap. "Okay," I sighed drowsily.

After sending Nicole a random meme in my camera roll, one that mocked Britain (specifically their tea obsession), I rolled so I was no longer sitting on my legs and my back hit my nightstand.

My room was relatively small, although I had a good sized bathroom with a shower and a closet, the closet's door being in the bathroom. I had my bed, pelted by two mini nightstands and painfully still made, evidence of my lack of sleep.

Ace jumped onto my bed, despite my feeble groan of protest, while Scottie, having been removed from my lap, abandoned my room. I sat there for a minute before shooting up and stretching.

5:30, my alarm cried.

Ignoring the temptation to flop down besides the already drooling Ace and with a glance at the almost miniature copy of Helen of Troy by Evelyn De Morgan above my bed, I began my day.

"Scottie knows something is going on, I could swear by it." Carter snorted in response. Cameron, her cousin, gave her a weird look at that, before crawling to her gang. Carter glared after her.

"You're a fantastic storyteller and your dachshund not letting you leave is funny." She stated forcefully. I shrugged. Sympathy clutched my chest due to her allowing cousin's elitist acts to get to her. Her cousin and her cousin's "friends" all seem to want to make Carter's life a living hell.

"Dachshund." A voice in an exaggerated, unidentifiable accent huffed curiously behind me. Carter jumped before scoffing and looking back at her cousin. Ever loyal, that one.

"You are going to fail German, chicka." I remarked matter-of-factly, just barely tipping my chin up.

"So cold," the voice, Hazel Sylvainest, hummed affectionately. Carter looked back over at us, shifting awkwardly in her seat. Hazel apparently wasn't going to sit with us today. Most kids in the class had decided where they would sit by now, as it was September 27th and school had started late July.

People that randomly switch seats in a way that they are taking other's are insufferable, but Hazel seemed to have memorized everyone's favorite seats and never took those spots. Carter would never openly say she didn't like Hazel, but it was obvious she had issues with her. Why she would dislike her evades me.

The door opened right as the bell rang and I turned to see Rita, one of Cameron's fake friends. Nobody actually liked Cameron, most of the school adored Rita. She ducked and darted in, a questionable act, if not for Mr. Kharlse, our __ teacher walking in before the door was open all the way. He sighed, alerting Rita she didn't accomplish her mission of getting in without being late. She winced but sat down across from Cameron silently.

It took my brain an embarrassing amount of time to realize she was looking directly at me. No, not looking, glaring. I blinked with a start.

She looked at the board as it lit up and I looked back at Carter, who was staring at her opened, yet blank, notebook.

I pushed the questions rolling like thunder through my head away, not wishing to deal with the aftermath of the lightning.