The School for Good and Evil 3-book Collection: The School Years (Books 1- 3). Soman Chainani
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      Sophie met her eyes. She collapsed onto the bed.

      “Tedros.”

      Agatha nodded sickly. The road home led through the one person who could ruin everything.

      “Tedros has to … kiss me?” Sophie said, staring into space.

      “And he can’t be tricked, forced, or duped into it. He has to mean it.”

      “But how? He thinks I’m a villain! He hates me! Aggie, he’s a king’s son. He’s beautiful, he’s perfect and look at me—” She grabbed her shorn hair and flaccid robes. “I’m—I’m—”

      “Still a princess.”

      Sophie looked at her. “And the only way we’ll get home,” said Agatha, forcing a smile. “So we have to make this kiss happen.”

      “We?” said Sophie.

      “We,” rasped Agatha.

      Sophie hugged her tight.

      “We’re going home, Aggie.”

      But in her arms, Agatha sensed something else. Something that told her the Doom Room had taken more from her friend than just her hair. Agatha squelched her doubts and clasped Sophie tighter.

      “One kiss and it will all be over,” she whispered.

      As they embraced in one tower, in another the School Master watched the Storian finish a magnificent painting of the two girls in each other’s arms. The pen added a last flourish of words beneath it, closing the chapter.

      “But no kiss comes without its price.”

      henever Tedros was stressed, he worked out. So to see him sweating at 6:00 a.m. in the Groom Room, throwing hammers, pumping dumbbells, and swimming laps, meant he had a lot on his mind. It was understandable. The Snow Ball invitations had been slipped under doors during the night.

      As he scaled climbing ropes made of braided blond hair, he cursed the fact he would spend Christmas at a Ball. Why did everything with Evers revolve around oppressive formal dances? The problem with Balls was that boys had to do all the work. Girls could flirt and scheme and wish all they wanted, but in the end, it’s the boy who had to make his choice and hope she said yes. Tedros wasn’t worried about the girl saying yes. He was worried there was no girl he wanted to ask at all.

      He couldn’t remember the last time he actually liked a girl. And yet, he always had one following him, claiming to be his girlfriend. It happened every time. He vowed to forget girls, then noticed one getting attention, set out to prove he could get her, got her, and discovered she was a fatuous prince hunter who had had her eye on him all along. The Beatrix Curse. No. There was a better name for it.

      The Guinevere Curse.

      Tedros was only nine when his mother, Guinevere, made off with the knight Lancelot, leaving him and his father alone. He heard the whispers that followed. “She found love.” But what about all those times she said “I love you” to his father? All the times she said it to him? Which love was real?

      Night after night, Tedros watched his father slip further into heartbreak and drunkenness. Death came within the year. With his last breaths, King Arthur gripped his son’s hands.

      “The people will need a queen, Tedros. Don’t make my mistakes. Look for the girl who is truly Good.”

      Tedros climbed higher and higher on the golden braids, veins straining against muscle.

      Don’t make my mistakes.

      His hand slipped and he fell off the rope, crashing to a soft mat. Cheeks red, he glowered at the taunting waterfalls of hair.

      All the girls here were mistakes. Guineveres who confused love with kisses.

      Daylight flecked across Agatha’s pillow. She stirred and saw Sophie hunched on Reena’s old bed.

      “Why are you still here! If the wolves catch you, it’s the Doom Room again! Besides, you should be home writing that anonymous love poem to Tedr—”

      “You didn’t tell me there’s a Ball.”

      Sophie held up a glittering snowflake invitation, Agatha’s name in pearls.

      “Oh, who cares about a stupid Ball?” Agatha groaned. “We’ll be long gone. Now make sure that poem talks about who he is as a person. His honor, his valor, his cour—”

      Sophie was smelling the invitation now.

      “Sophie, listen to me! The closer we get to the Ball, the more Tedros looks for a date! The more he looks for a date, the more he falls in love with someone else! The more he falls in love with someone else, the more he leaves us here to die! Got it?”

      “But I want to be his date.”

      “YOU’RE NOT INVITED!”

      Sophie pursed her lips.

      “Sophie, Tedros has to kiss you now! Otherwise we’ll never get home!”

      “Honestly, do they even check invitations at a Ball?”

      Agatha snatched the invitation. “Stupid me. I thought you wanted to stay alive!”

      “But I can’t miss the Ball!”

      Agatha shoved her towards the door. “Use the Tunnel of Trees—”

      “Marble hall, glittering gowns, waltzing under stars …”

      “If a wolf catches you, just say you’re lost—”

      “A Ball, Aggie! A real Ball!”

      Agatha kicked her out. Sophie scowled back.

      “My roommates will help me. They’re true friends.”

      She slammed the door on Agatha’s shocked expression.

      Ten minutes later, Hester stamped her foot, nearly killing Anadil’s rat.

      “HELP! YOU WANT ME TO HELP A NEVER KISS AN EVER! I’D RATHER STICK MY HEAD UP A HORSE’S—”

      “Sophie, no villain ever finds love,” Anadil said, hoping reason might save her rats. “To even look for it is to betray your own soul—”

      “You want me to go home?” Sophie snapped, picking away tunnel leaves. “Then put a hex on Tedros so he asks me to the Ball.”

      “THE BALL!” Hester screeched. СКАЧАТЬ