“Where are we going?” Seb asks blearily. He slurs it, really, so it’s more “Whuurwegoooin’?” but Miles clearly speaks Drunk Seb.

“Bed, my good man,” he replies. “Your own this time.”

Seb nods slowly. “Solid plan, Monters.”

Just when I think my upper body strength might desert me completely, Miles pauses and opens a door that leads into a chamber a lot bigger than mine, but still a little drabber than I’d expect to see in a castle. The colors are muted burgundies and golds, and I feel like we just stepped back in time or something.

“I could have you thrown into the dungeon for this,” Seb slurs out, but Miles just laughs, patting Seb’s cheek.

“Keep threatening, mate. Maybe one day it’ll actually happen.”

Seb swings his head toward me, his blue eyes hazy. “Would never,” he tells me in what I think he thinks is a whisper. “Can’t do without Monters.”

“Clearly,” I reply, watching as Miles lowers Seb to sit on the edge of the mattress. I wonder how many times he’s done this over the years because even though Seb is just as tall as Miles and probably a fair amount heavier, he pulls off the maneuver smoothly, like he’s very used to it.

Seb flops back onto the bed, feet still on the floor, and heaves a sigh. “I did it again, didn’t I?” he asks the canopy, and Miles pats his leg.

“Not as bad as usual. No one got punched, no arrests, not even a camera phone picture.”

“Oh, I took one as we were walking down the hall. Was I not supposed to?” I say, widening my eyes, and Miles shoots me a dirty look. Honestly, how does he do that thing with his mouth where it’s like his face eats his lips in sheer disdain? Is there a course in that at whatever fancy boarding school they go to?

“That was a joke,” I tell him. “We colonists do that sometimes.”

I’m clearly not worth Miles’s time because he turns away, looking back at Seb.

“Sleep it off,” he says, and Seb nods as though that’s a sensible idea.

“Bed,” he mutters, sinking back down. “Bedfordshire.”

“Even so,” Miles says, and after a second, Seb’s eyes drift closed.

I’m just about to back up from the bed and start heading for the door when Seb suddenly sits up slightly, eyes popping open. “Ellie’s Sister!” he calls, and I sigh, waving one hand.

“Daisy,” I remind him, but he just fixes his bleary blue eyes on me. “Ellie’s Sister,” he says. “I’m sorry. About the part where I kissed you and suggested we shag. It was ungallant and . . .” He struggles, lifting one hand in the air and pointing, like the word he’s looking for is right in front of him.

“Inappropriate,” I supply, my face flaming. Miles isn’t looking at me, but I’m pretty sure I can actually hear him creaking, he stiffens up so much. “Also gross and kind of sexist.”

“All those things,” Seb admits on a sigh. Then his eyes slide closed again, and Scotland’s most eligible bachelor is soon snoring on his fancy bedspread.

Miles backs up from the bed slowly, jerking his head to indicate I should follow. Once we’ve exited the room, Miles carefully and quietly shuts the door behind us, and then we’re standing there in the dim hallway. It’s quiet in the castle, the only light coming from the sconces lining the walls.

“Well, that was fun,” I start to say, but Miles is looking somewhere above my head, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Then his eyes meet mine. “So,” he says. “Did that go as you’d hoped?”

Chapter 12

I stare at him, so shocked I actually make a noise, this sort of huhngh? sound that’s way too loud in the quiet hallway. When I can actually find my voice again, it’s to squawk out, “Did you miss the part where he was in my room? Like, he came there himself. He just showed up like a posh vampire I accidentally invited in, then couldn’t make leave.”

Miles frowns, and I roll my eyes.

“Look at me.” I spread my arms out to both sides, letting Miles take in the insanity of what I’m wearing. “Is this what girls usually wear to seduce princes in Scotland? I mean, I know it’s cold here, and maybe after years of an all-boys school those of you who are straight aren’t all that picky, so I guess it’s possible forty-seven layers of pajamas are a real turn-on.”

By now, Miles has pulled himself up so straight and tall that I think he might actually be creaking. His arms are down at his sides, chin lifted, and I don’t know if they teach this type of arrogance at whatever fancy school he goes to with Seb, but if they do, he’s clearly aced his How to Be a Total Dick class.

“Honestly, I was giving you points for originality,” he says, one corner of his mouth quirking in a near smirk. He nods at my plaid pants. “And for staying on theme.”

I snort. “Are you this paranoid about every girl who comes into Seb’s orbit?” I ask. And then something occurs to me.

Dropping my arms and my attitude, I lean closer to him. “Wait . . . are you into Seb?”

That actually seems to surprise some of the permafrost right off him, because Miles blinks and takes a step back, looking—for just a second—like an actual teenage boy and not someone about to order a beheading.

“Into . . . no.” He shakes his head, and ah, there it is, the crusty layer reforming itself.

“No,” he repeats, pushing his shoulders back a little. “I’m not jealous. I just don’t want to see Seb dragged into your particular scheme.”

Parting my lips, I shake my head, totally confused. “I have no idea—” I start, and then I remember what Seb said in my room.

About Michael.

About that stupid interview.

“Ohhhhh my god,” I say, putting my hands on either side of my head. “You give me crap for knowing gossip, but you guys are, like, drooling over TMZ?”

He has the grace to look just a little bit chagrined, but he lifts his chin and goes for haughty again.

“You’re hardly the first girl to throw over one boy and set her cap for Seb,” he says, and I would absolutely mock him for saying something like “set her cap,” but he’s still going. “And that’s the last thing he needs right now.”

“Why?” I ask. “I mean, trust me, I’m not interested in Seb no matter what the internet told you, but why would me and Seb be such a disastrous thing?”

When he doesn’t answer, I press a hand to my chest, gasping with faux shock. “Is it because I’m . . . American?”

Miles scowls.

“Or wait, it’s because I don’t have a nickname, isn’t it?” I give an exaggerated frown. “Maybe one day, I, too, can have a bevy of stupid things people call me instead of my own name, Monters, but alas, I am nickname deficient.” Sighing, I let my shoulders rise and fall, and now Miles rolls his eyes at me.

“Just stay away from him,” he says, and honestly, I’d take Spiffy and Dons and their stupid kilts and dancing over this jerk any day.

“Maybe tell him to stay away from me. And I’ll find my way back to my room on my own,” I reply before marching down the hallway in what I think is the general direction of my room.

He doesn’t follow, thank goodness, and as I stomp past hall tables and portraits and one truly enormous clock, I try to get my temper under control. But seriously, who does that guy think he is? He doesn’t even know me, but one stupid interview with my stupid ex-boyfriend has him convinced I’m scheming to land a prince for myself. Which . . . no thank you. Ellie can do all the ribbon cutting she wants, I’m gonna take a hard pass on the royal life.