Of course, being related to lost royalty would never be enough for Lottie. There was more. The second layer of secrets they had discovered was a set of twin swords, one buried at Rosewood and one at its sister school in Japan, Takeshin. The swords had their own secret – that an age-old and powerful bond between the two school founders stretched back to when Liliana had hidden away in Japan after escaping from the palace in the seventeenth century. After that she’d ventured to England and founded the school there.

But the icing on the secret cake was the most terrifying news Ollie had ever received. With the help of some students at Takeshin, he and his friends had discovered that Leviathan, the mysterious group who’d targeted his best friend ever since she’d started her new life, was led by Claude Wolfson, Ellie’s uncle. Wolfson had abandoned the throne, then he’d been exiled from Maradova and his younger brother Alexander forced to take on the role of king. None of them knew Claude’s ultimate plan, but Ollie knew one thing with absolute certainty – Lottie was at the very heart of the intrigue, and there was nothing he could do to save her. Not yet.

He shook himself from his thoughts. ‘I’ll head off before it starts raining.’ He kissed his mother on the cheek, grabbing his backpack and one last pancake before heading out of the front door.

A familiar red van pulled up. ‘Good morning, Ollie. Glad I caught you,’ said a voice.

Ollie smiled at the postman. ‘Good morning, Mr Harris.’

‘I’ve picked up a postcard for the Pumpkin household,’ the postman said, his sunburnt cheeks turning round and friendly. ‘No one’s been there for a while, so I thought I’d bring it over to you. You were always good friends with that Lottie girl.’

A menacing rumble of thunder disrupted the air. It rolled over Ollie like a premonition of trouble arriving. Something Ollie had come to realize over the past year was that trouble always sought Lottie out – just like the thunderstorm. A myriad of awful possibilities exploded in his head: news reporters who’d figured out her Portman secret, a threat from Leviathan, news that her stepmother was coming home. The letter could be about any one of these.

Mr Harris pulled out a postcard with a picture of a white-sand beach. Lemon-yellow lettering read: Havana. Ollie could practically smell the rum and cheap aftershave wafting off it. There was only one person who’d send a postcard like this. It conjured an image that was far, far worse than any of the possibilities he’d already thought of.

He took the card, trying to be as calm as possible. ‘Thank you. I’ll be sure to pass it on to her.’

‘Say hello to your mother for me, Ollie,’ replied Mr Harris as he headed back to his van.