Disclaimer: All of these characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Plot and dialogue is entirely mine.
Chapter 1
Aelin sighed and tucked a lock of her golden-blonde hair behind her ear. She took one last look at herself in the mirror - perfectly winged eyeliner to make her turquoise-and-gold eyes pop, subtle rosy lip gloss to enhance the appearance of her naturally full, soft lips - and an ugly school uniform.
Well, she'd done her best with the uniform.
She'd tucked the white shirt into the pleated navy skirt, and left the top few buttons open. She got a blazer that was a few sizes too large, kinda going for a trendy, oversized look. She liked it. White converse that she wasn't quite sure were actually allowed, but what did she care? She wasn't exactly going to be trying very hard to stay here.
Here. Rifthold High. The most prestigious private school in the whole continent, in Adarlan. Aelin hated Adarlan, with its plastic-smelling air and garish-looking cities overstuffed with obnoxious, conceited people and their haughty accents. She missed Terrasen, the rolling fields and hills and open skies, so much it fucking hurt.
But she had promised her parents, not long before they died, that she would go to the school they had loved, the school they had met in.
So here she was.
Aelin checked her timetable. Her first class, Erliean Literature, had begun six minutes ago. The secretary had told her it was in room 52. She looked at the door of the nearest classroom, from which she could hear students roaring with laughter . 12. Fuck, 52 was far away.
It took Aelin almost ten minutes to find room 52 (after accidentally entering 48, somehow), and the class was well under way by the time she stumbled through the door, a little red-faced from speedwalking, a little red-faced from the recent embarassment of joining the wrong class.
The professor, a rough-hewn woman who looked to be about 50, cast her a skeptical look.
"Um, I'm Aelin Galathynius. Sorry I'm late. It's my first day and I got lost."
"Hmm... I'll let you away with it this time, Miss Galathynius. Find a seat, and don't disturb my class again."
Jeez, that was a bit rude. Aelin turned to survey the class and find a good seat.
Fuck. Were all the students here underwear models or something? Shit, this was a good-looking bunch of kids.
But damn, she could pick out the hottest straight away. A tall, lean boy with thick black hair that curled alarmingly sexily at his neck, a jawline that could cut diamond, and eyes - fuck, his eyes - as blue as the sky in Terrasen. She took a seat next to him. Might as well have some fun while she was here.
He looked her up and down, not briefly, then met her eyes and smirked.
"Dorian," he whispered, subtly extending a hand under the desk. She took it and shook it. "Dorian Havilliard."
Aelin's hand froze in place, and she could have bet her heart did too. Dorian Havilliard.
Havilliard.
The President's son.
Shit.