"Of course it was a test. It's all a test, Alexi. At some point, your cousin is going to come for you. He has no children. He will do anything to hold on to his power. You threaten that power, so these scenarios are meant to keep you strong and alive."

I stood and staggered over to the nearest wall, breathing heavily and deep as two of my assailants groaned and tried to stand. The third wasn't moving at all. I dragged in deep, heavy breaths and watched as his partners went over to him and tried to wake him up. When he finally rolled over, I breathed an extra sigh of relief. I hadn't killed him. "This was for, what? All for a training exercise?"

"Yes," Jean Claude said as he stepped over to me. "And I'm disappointed in how you performed."

I shrugged. "Well, I'm alive. That should be a lesson to you. If you send more assholes after me, I won't be responsible if I kill them. I'm done with your tests. Not long from now, I'll be 25, and you will no longer be my adviser. My father will no longer be in charge of my money, and I won't have to worry about any of this royal bullshit any longer. You've been feeding the same shit to my mom for years that she's going to sit on a throne someday. Don't you get tired of the false hope? Nomea has a king. And it's never been destined to be me."

"Let's face it. Your brother is unfit. You're the hope. You're the next generation."

I shook him off and headed for the exit. No way was I going to let him see me limp or know that his men had landed one too many good punches. He was trying to prepare me for a future I was never going to have. A future I didn't want. All I wanted was my freedom, and soon it would be mine.

And neither he nor his stupid tests were going to keep me from that.

Abbie…

Where the hell is it?

I frantically checked the pile of mail. Bill, bill, advertisement. Nothing from the University of West London. Worry knotted my stomach. All my other graduate school acceptance and rejection letters had come by now. I’d expected to hear word from them over three weeks ago.

“Hey, Easton, was this all the mail? Was there anything with the packages?” A part of me held on to that last thread of hope.

“Sorry, sweetheart. That’s all of it.”

My boyfriend, Easton Peters, leaned against the doorjamb between the hallway and the dining room, still dripping from his run, creating little puddles of sweat on the floor. “You have some perfectly good schools to choose from. I don’t know why this one is so important to you.”