“I’m quite fine where I am,” Sophie retorted, suddenly happy to be a teacher if it meant riling up this boob. She turned back to the class. “Might you tell me what you’ve been learning, students?”
“The Tale of Sophie and Agatha, inside and out,” said Hort, rolling into the room without books or a bag, his hand slid up his shirt, showing off his rippled stomach. “You know, trying to spot Agatha’s and Tedros’ weaknesses, so we can kill ’em and finally stop being losers.” He dropped into a seat, blew his dark bangs out of his glittering black eyes, and stretched his chest with a yawn.
Sophie goggled at Hort’s broad shoulders, casual stubble, and laid-back slouch. In a month, he’d gone from wimpy, earnest pipsqueak to teenage heartthrob. She noticed all the other girls slyly checking him out, Evers and Nevers both. It must be a makeover spell, she thought, watching him toss his hair. Or a twin brother or a deal with the devil or something . . . Hort caught her looking and scowled at her murderously like he had in the foyer. Sophie stiffened and pretended to listen to Pollux.
“As Hort points out, the first week we did a unit on Tedros’ shortcomings as a prince,” the dog said, plopping on the teacher’s desk and shoving Sophie over. He waved a wing and the lollipop colors on the walls rearranged to scenes of Tedros’ worst moments from The Tale of Sophie and Agatha. “And what did we learn class? Yes, Hester!”
“He has serious daddy issues,” Hester said, leering at a painting of Tedros killing a gargoyle in Merlin’s menagerie.
“Excellent! Yes, Anadil?”
“He doesn’t trust girls since his mother left him,” said the albino, pointing at a painting of Tedros shooting an arrow at Agatha in Evil’s Grand Hall.
“Spot on! Yes, Dot?”
“He’s obsessed with swords,” chimed Dot, nodding at a scene of Tedros almost kissing Filip in a forest.
Pollux blinked at her. “Moving on to our challenge . . .”
Thoughts of Hort fell away as Sophie studied the painting of her and Tedros together when she was Filip. He’d been so vulnerable with her when she was a boy, so nurturing and soft, and she’d seen the real Tedros underneath his macho facade. They’d become so close in that short time, blood and soul mates, like she and Agatha once upon a time. Sophie blushed, reliving the moment when he finally touched her in the Blue Forest. It was all based on a lie, of course. Tedros would have never opened up to her if he’d known who she was. She’d lost that Tedros forever . . . that perfect, beautiful boy who’d tried to kiss his best friend . . .
Sophie scorched red. Tedros wanted to kill Rafal and she was blushing over him?
You have a new love, she gritted, pinching her thigh hard. Stop thinking about old ones.
“So with all this in mind,” Pollux prattled, his bird bottom shunting Sophie to the edge of the desk, “today’s class challenge is to delve even deeper into Tedros’ mind. In a moment, all of you will be concealed under magical Tedros masks. Since Sophie insists on playing ‘teacher,’ she’ll be responsible for judging who most acts like the real prince. Whoever she deems the most Tedros-like wins first rank.” He rammed Sophie off the desk, knocking her to the floor.
“Shall we?” he snipped down at her.
A few minutes later, Sophie stood, blindfolded with a smelly black rag, as she listened to students rearrange seats.
The spy must be Tedros’ friend if they’re going to help him break in, she thought. And the spy is the only one who’s been in touch with him since he vanished. Which meant that whoever won this challenge, whoever knew Tedros well enough to mimic him, would surely be the prime suspect.
“Everyone find a new place? We don’t want Sophie remembering where you were,” Pollux’s voice called, before she heard the last backside plunk down. “All right. The cloaking spell will cover your face in a phantom mask. Don’t touch or it might glue to your face permanently. You hear me? Don’t touch.”
“This school is so unsafe,” Reena’s voice crabbed.
“Ready?” Pollux said. “One . . . two . . . three—”
Sophie heard a loud, windy crack, and then dead quiet.
“The masks are hot,” Ravan’s voice grumped.
“And blond,” Hester’s voice groaned.
“Shhhhh!” hissed Pollux. “Sophie, on your mark . . . get set . . . go!”
Sophie flung off the blindfold.
If she’d blushed pink before looking at Tedros’ face on the walls, now she was as pink as Pollux’s feathers.
There were forty Tedroses seated in front of her, reflecting back his crystal-blue eyes, fluffy gold locks, and tan, flawless skin. Yet, there was a strange haziness to the faces, rubbery thick and oddly luminous at the edges, so she couldn’t discern the necks and clothes beneath the masks. Some of the Tedroses were smiling, some sneering, some frosty and blank eyed, but as she scanned the sum of these gorgeous princes, Sophie felt her cheeks burning even hotter.
Stop blushing, you idiot! Tedros isn’t your friend anymore! No, he was the boy who’d rejected her for her best friend; the boy who wanted to kill her true love; the poster boy for Good who had a spy working against her in this very room . . .
“Well?” Pollux huffed.
Sophie braced herself and waded into the sea of princes. One by one, she analyzed them, but it only took seconds to see the fraudulence each time. The smile was too snarky or dopey, his posture too rigid or slouched or there was a flicker of self-doubt—a hang of the head, a bob of the throat—that the real Tedros never had. One Tedros nearly fooled her in the second row, but he flinched as she made eye contact, and the real Tedros would have held his stare, strong and unyielding, until your heart turned to putty and you were his. None of the others around him even came close and soon she was in the final row, no closer to finding Good’s spy . . . until the last Tedros stopped her cold.