The walks between classes quickly become my favorite part of the day…

…and not just because I’m walking them beside Prince Rhettlin. Though, that certainly doesn’t make them worse.

But seeing the different parts of the school—whether they will still be there tomorrow or not—intrigues me. I think that the fact that in a matter of hours, the whole thing will be rearranged and what I’m seeing will no longer exist… well, that only makes it all the more special.

I want to soak it all in. I want to see it before it’s gone.

Honestly, I want to grab my paints and a canvas and paint everything I see so that it never, truly, disappears.

At one point, the hall we are walking through ceases to look like a building and turns more cave-like.

The rocks making up the walls start to get less even and smooth, the path widens, and then, out of nowhere, the ceiling shoots up into the abyss and opens up into a huge cavern of sorts.

But it isn’t just drippy, wet stone and echoing shadows like a real cave.

Nope. It’s a fancy cave. The roof of it all is long gone into darkness, but there are bright, sparkling lights twinkling above like a night sky, but providing far more light to the open area than real stars.

The footpath of the hallway turns into a set of stairs that leads into the space, then becomes a cobblestone path that leads around gardens of flowers and moss, water fountains of dragons spitting into the sky, and—most impressively of all—small buildings carved into the stone walls of the cave-y…thing.

Each building has an adorably designed storefront with signs that read things like “Brewers and Bundt Cakes,” and “Cassie’s Colorful Cauldrons."  It almost feels a bit like home with how cozy each new shop appears.

“This is the underclassmen plaza,” Prince Rhettlin explains once we step in. “Focus Wings have their own shops and restaurants, so these are just for sixth years and under.”

My eyes scan the whole area with joy and sparkles. It’s up there next to the courtyard with the best parts of the school I’ve seen. “It’s wonderful!”

“Eh. It is fairly boring today,” he replies with a slight sigh. “Last week it looked like it was underwater for a few days. That was interesting. Definitely better than the time it appeared to be inside a volcano.”

“A—what?” I am broken out of my gaze by the thought that any part of the school could be thrust into a pit of lava at any moment.

“No stopping for a snack, now. I cannot let you be too late to the classes,” the Prince chuckles as he saunters down the path to the other side where there is another set of stairs leading back to normal school.

How much time did we get between classes, anyway? We’ve been wandering for quite a while.

We pass by the moss gardens where tables are set and students work or eat, and a bunch of bakeries and grills that smell divine. 

Unfortunately, it all ends and we end up back in the boring, stone, and red-doored school in no time.

Not far past the stairs, Prince Rhettlin stops at a red door and swings it open.

At first, I am overwhelmed by the sharp medicinal and floral smells that waft from the room like a cloud of smoke. But then, as I attempt to take in the crowd of somewhat tilted, old, tattered wooden tables scattered around the room with a variety of bottles and substances on top, I see something that lifts my spirits.

Or, rather, someone.

“Maybe!” I cheer as I step over the threshold and into the classroom. 

Her back is toward me, but I can’t imagine anyone else in this school having her silhouette and wearing a version of the school clothes as flashy as hers.

She turns around to reveal it is, in fact, her, and a smile rips across her cheeks.

“Allen!” She jumps up from her seat at one of the old tables and throws herself into a big bear hug around my shoulders. “I was hoping we’d have a class together.”

“Me too,” I say, a bit strained until she releases me from her death grip.

Her eyes meet the Prince’s over my shoulder and fall into a deep glare. “Rhett.”

“Maybe.” Prince Rhettlin replies in a matched monotone.

Maybe drops her glare and perks up as she puts a hand on my shoulder… which quickly turns into her fingernails digging into my skin. “You can come sit beside me, Allen.”

She emphasized my name, and I can’t really extract why.

“I am his mentor, therefore he should stick close to me,” says the Prince, much to my surprise.

“I’m his best friend,” says Maybe.

“I’m your Prince,” says the Prince, and all the formality drops from his voice in an instant. Clearly, what he says is more to tick off Maybe then prove any point.

Maybe lets go of my shoulder to throw a finger in the Prince’s face. She puts on a tone that reminded me of my own mother. “Don’t you play that card with me!”

“It’s my card to play wherever I please,” replies the Prince, his face leaning closer to Maybe’s.

I stand there in utter shock as two people fight over… me?

Me? Allen Silverlake?

No one fights over Allen Silverlake.

Especially not a Prince and someone as cool and chic as Maybe.

“Hey… uh… guys, It’s not—” I try to cut in, but it becomes apparent quite quickly that the fight isn’t about me at all, because they completely ignore me.

I’m just an excuse for the two of them to go at it.

“Oh-ho-ho, so after years of ‘Oh, I wish I’d never been born a prince,’” Maybe begins with a rather spot-on impression of the Prince’s formal accent, “now all of a sudden it’s a card you want to just throw around the school all willy-nilly?”

All I can do at this point is sit back and absorb their argument.

Did Prince Rhettlin really not want to be a Prince growing up? Interesting…

The Prince stucks his teeth, proving just how much Maybe gets under his skin. “I am the one stuck with the title, therefore I get to enjoy the privileges of it, if the occasion calls for it.”

“Stuck with the title,” Maybe throws her hands in the air to emphasize her growing frustration. “You arrogant asshole!”

Oh curse. 

She said that so loudly. 

Is she allowed to say that? The whole class is watching them at this point, and I take a step backward.

Their squabble is starting to rage with hot flames, and I don't want to be near it at all.

I like Maybe, but I didn’t want to go to royal jail for calling a Prince obscene names.

Maybe does not seem to care what happens to her as her rant continues, “Do you know how hard some of us work to get a fraction of what you have? Not everyone has a daddy who can hand over anything they want on a silver platter!”

Prince Rhettlin scratches his neck if what I can only imagine is nervousness. He seems extremely aware of the eyes watching them, and yet his teeth grind together as he talks, mostly towards the floor. “You know damn well that is not true.”

He pauses between each word to emphasize his own anger. It feels like he wants to explode, but something about his stature doesn't allow him, and he keeps it bottled in.

It is a sight to see, regardless: Maybe putting a Prince into such a corner that his composure is dropped to the floor. She is truly something else.

“I don’t know what is true anymore. But I know I am not letting you get your grubby little hands all over Allen just to disappoint him like everyone else,” Maybe says and, to my dismay, swings the conversation back towards me.

I am happy being left out at this point, thanks.

She throws her arm over my shoulder and pulls me close to her.

I want to squeal, "Please don't" but I keep silent. Sometime silence is best. That's what I learned after years of Marcus Muddfoot torment.

Prince Rhettlin picks his gaze off the ground and watches everyone else watching him. His eyes fall back on Maybe and there is a certain plea in them.

“Can I speak to you... over there?” He asks and points to the empty corner of the room with a desk that a professor would be sitting at, if the professor had been in the classroom yet.

“No,” Maybe replies and pulls me in tighter. My shoulders are squished so tight into her that I think something might pop.

Prince Rhettlin stands up straight and tall, pulls the collar of his standard-issued Wizard Prep shirt, and says in the most formal tone yet, “As the seventh son of King Liam of Starstorm Kingdom, and a representative of the royal order, I command you to speak with me…” It sounds like something one could not ignore without serious consequences. Until he adds, far less impressively, “...right over there. Alone,” and nods his head to the same empty corner.

Maybe rolls her eyes and lets go of my shoulder. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

She throws him an extremely sarcastic curtsy and follows Prince Rhettlin to the empty corner out of my earshot.

And now I have to just stand here, awkwardly, wondering what they could be saying to each other.

Or worse, about me.