Royal Flush

Chapter 1: Something I Would Tell My Therapist Someday

“Tell me, Maddy. What would you do if the long-lost illegitimate love child of some European prince walked into your dorm room?”

Madeline froze mid-fold, a sweater hanging limp in her hands. Slowly, she turned toward the laptop glowing on her bed, brows knitting.

“…I’m sorry, what? Why would that ever happen?”

Olivia’s laugh crackled through the speaker. “Oh, don’t act like it’s impossible. You’re in St. Dorian’s now. That school collects heirs and half-heirs like trading cards.”

Madeline snorted, dropping the sweater onto the bed and tugging out another from her suitcase. “Unbelievable. I spend ten hours on a plane, three more wrestling through Heathrow, and instead of ‘welcome to England, how are you holding up,’ you hit me with that?”

Olivia scoffed. “Excuse me, I gave you space during the flight. Do you know how hard it was to not blow up your phone? Just because I didn’t text doesn’t mean my brain wasn’t spiraling.”

Typical Olivia. Always dreaming up scenarios bigger than real life. But she was also her best friend, the one constant back home in Jersey.

“And now you’re spiraling out loud,” Madeline said, rolling her eyes as she crossed to the bed. She perched down, tugged the laptop onto her lap, and despite herself, smiled at Olivia’s face filling the screen.

“You know what I think?” Olivia said suddenly, eyes lighting up. “You’re going to meet someone. A duke’s son. Or a crown prince in hiding. Or—or maybe a brooding heir who only eats dinner at candlelit tables and writes poetry in Latin. I give it, like, two weeks before you’re swept into some European romance scandal.”

Madeline stayed quiet, her eyes fixed on the laptop screen. Olivia’s words tumbled on, wild and fanciful, but Maddy’s mind was elsewhere, replaying the past few weeks in a quiet, almost dizzying loop—everything that had led her to this improbable moment.

It didn’t take long for Olivia to notice the silence and catch Maddy’s stare. A flicker of mock annoyance crossed her face, she already knew exactly what Maddy was about to say. Again.

“No. Nope.” She wagged a finger in Madeline’s direction. “Don’t give me that look, Mads. Don’t you dare go there.”

“Liv.”

“You already said it. I already heard it. Like, a million times before you even set foot on that plane—don’t need to replay the highlight reel.” Olivia tried to laugh, but it wavered. “Seriously. Drop it.”

Madeline exhaled, a small chuckle escaping. “But really… thank you. For doing that. If it wasn’t for you—”

Olivia cut her off, sharp but soft at once. “No, Mads. You deserve this. You were the right choice all along. St. Dorian’s doesn’t even know how lucky they are.”

A month ago, Madeline hadn’t even expected to finish high school. The idea of attending an elite school like St. Dorian’s College wasn’t just unlikely, it was impossible.

With her family’s finances, just surviving in New Jersey felt like a struggle. Dropping out had seemed inevitable; college was a dream she had already folded away and hidden in the back of her mind.

Then Olivia had handed her the scholarship offer. It had originally been offered to Olivia through one of her father’s colleagues at the hospital, an alumni of St. Dorian’s who often referred promising students for scholarships. Olivia had waved it off, claiming she’d never pass the exam anyway. Instead, she’d quietly passed the opportunity to Madeline, who had.

And soon she was preparing her documents to fly across the Atlantic. Her mother hovered nearby, a mix of relief and pride in her eyes, glad that Madeline could continue her studies even so far from home.

Olivia grinned. “I barely did anything anyway. Uncle Cedric was the one who referred you, and you’re the genius who actually passed the exam.” She leaned closer to the screen, lowering her voice with mock seriousness. “But if you really want to thank me… ship over a London boy or two. I’ll take good care of them.”

Madeline rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, of course. Because my first night in St. Dorian’s is all about arranging your personal dating service.”

“Why not?” Olivia’s grin spread across the screen. “Elite school, elite boys. You could snag a duke or a—”

“You’re ridiculous,” Madeline cut in, laughing as she shook her head.

A sharp knock on the dorm door interrupted them.

Olivia leaned closer to the camera, eyes sparkling. “Who’s that? A prince? A mysterious heir?”

“Highly unlikely,” Madeline said, tilting her head. “Probably someone from the faculty. They said they’d accompany me to get settled—lockers, schedules, IDs, the usual tour.”

“Ugh, so boring,” Olivia teased, pouting. “Keep me posted if anything royal happens.”

Madeline smirked, ending the video call. She set her laptop aside and walked toward the door, curiosity flickering through her.

When she opened it, she froze.

A tall blond guy stood in the doorway, glasses perched on his nose, a neat stack of papers in one hand. His uniform blazer fit sharp across his shoulders, every button and fold so precise it made him look like he belonged on a brochure for the school. His expression was unreadable, cool enough that the silence stretched a beat too long.

Maddy’s throat went dry.

Of course.

Because why wouldn’t the first person to catch her off guard look like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread—sharp jaw, tailored features, and those glasses that somehow made him seem more untouchable than approachable. She glanced down at her own rumpled travel clothes, suddenly too aware of how far from polished she looked.

“Miss Madeline Evans?” he asked, his voice even, eyes flicking briefly from the papers to her.

“Uh—y-yeah. That’s me,” she said, her voice catching before she cleared her throat.

He gave a polite nod, not quite a smile. “Julian Arden. Ms. Harroway can’t make it, so she asked me to help you settle in. I’m with the St. Dorian’s Scholarship Trust as well.”

Madeline paused, remembering Ms. Harroway’s hurried visit earlier. She had barely lingered long enough to hand over the key before rushing off. Maddy blinked, a little flustered. “…Right. Thanks.”

“Shall we go?” Julian asked, already shifting slightly as though prepared to leave.

She nodded quickly and ducked back inside for her phone. “Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush,” she whispered to herself as she rummaged around. By the time she returned and locked the door, her pulse was still too fast.

“Normally, your dorm mate—Priya—would show you around,” Julian said, his tone flat, almost offhand. “She’s tied up with the robotics competition. The faculty asked me instead.”

Madeline adjusted her bag, hesitating. “…Are you a student officer or something?”

One corner of his mouth lifted, more smirk than smile. “No. Wrong place, wrong time.”

The answer wasn’t particularly warm but there was something wry beneath it, just enough to make her shoulders loosen.

They stepped out of the dorm building, sunlight slanting across the wide stone walkway. The pavement was warm beneath their shoes, and the faint hum of chatter drifted from clusters of students under the shade of tall oaks. A group hurried past with notebooks clutched to their chests, while a pair of boys lounged against their bikes by the path, laughing at some inside joke.

Julian gestured toward the ivy-covered buildings ahead. “First stop—the main office. IDs, locker keys, class assignments.” His voice carried the matter-of-fact ease of someone reciting a routine.

Madeline nodded, letting her gaze drift over the buildings and the students passing by. “So… have you been here long?”

Julian’s gaze slid past her, over the grounds. “Since Year 7.” A pause. Then, with the faintest trace of amusement, “Long enough.”

“So you must know St. Dorian’s well. How is it?”

Julian’s gaze flicked back to her. He caught the edge of uncertainty in her expression—the kind that came with being new. His tone eased, just a shade softer.

“It’s alright. Don’t let the bricks and ivy fool you—it’s still just school. You’ll find your rhythm faster than you think.”

The reassurance hung between them for a beat before the path widened ahead. The cobblestones led to the main office, its windows glowing against the dusk. Julian slowed his stride just enough to let her catch up.

“Come on. Best to get the tedious part done first.”

Inside, the check-in was quick. A couple of signatures, a folder slid across the counter, and then a stack of books was dropped into her arms. Heavy enough to make her readjust her grip, but not impossible. The secretary added a schedule on top, as if the load needed one more thing and waved her on without ceremony.

When she stepped out again, Julian glanced at the pile she was carrying. “You’ll want a locker. They’re at the end of the west hall.” His tone made it sound less like advice and more like a fact.

Right. Lockers. Of course.

That made sense. If only her arms weren’t shaking already. She tried to nod, though the top book wobbled dangerously.

After a beat, he added, “Give me some of that. Unless you’re planning to drop half of it before we get there.”

Her brain stalled. She should say no, probably. Or yes. Yes would be better—her grip was slipping.

Before she could untangle her answer, Julian just reached over and lifted half the stack out of her arms, like it was the obvious solution.

They started down the hall together, the weight off her arms but settling heavy in her chest instead. Maddie could feel eyes on them. Students glanced once, then twice, their stares stretching longer than she liked. She told herself it was just because she was new—or maybe because she still had on her wrinkled airport clothes, sneakers scuffed from travel—but the way their gazes flicked between her and Julian made her feel uneasy.

At the lockers, he rattled off the number without glancing at the paper. “That one. Don’t lose it—replacements are a nightmare.” He shifted his grip on her books and leaned a shoulder against the locker beside hers, watching her fumble with the dial.

Few turns later, still nothing. She bit her lip, tried again, and only made the lock click uselessly. Thankfully, the corridor was almost empty—just her and the distant hum of a couple of students in the next hallway. No one was around to witness her complete incompetence with a locker.

“What’s wrong?” Julian asked at last, his voice flat, more observation than concern.

He angled a little closer, enough that she noticed when she dared a glance up—his brows drawn tight.

Fantastic. He looks annoyed.

…Is he annoyed?

Perfect. Brilliant. Acting like you’ve never seen a lock before. Great first impression, Maddy.

Still, she was sure she’d turned it exactly the same way every time.

“I—uh, I don’t know,” she muttered, voice thin with hesitation. “Maybe it’s the combination? Or the lock’s… broken?”

She swallowed, focusing harder this time, turning the dial with the trembling precision of someone defusing a bomb.

“Scheiße!” Julian muttered under his breath. She didn’t understand the word, but the sharpness in his voice made her flinch.

When she risked a glance up, his eyes weren’t on her at all. They’d narrowed down the hall, focused on something she couldn’t see. Instinctively, Maddy tried to peer past him, craning her neck to figure out what had caught his attention.

“What did you—”

But before she could finish, his hand closed over the back of her head and pulled her forward.

His mouth crashed against hers.

And just like that, Madeline’s very first day at St. Dorian’s became the kind of story she’d tell in therapy someday.