Chapter One
‘Angus!’
I put down my book and grab a pillow from my bed to place over my ears. If I ignore him he might go away.
‘Angus!’
For a man so in control of his emotions that people describe him as cold he is making a lot of noise, although not within earshot. He lacks any sense of humour and previous monarchs, including my grandfather, have decapitated people for less. Even I am not prepared to risk it.
‘I’m doing my homework. I’ll be out when I'm done.’
‘Angus! Come out of your room, now.’ He rattles the door handle.
Did I lock the door? Unlike the retina-controlled security system the ancient iron key cannot be hacked. It is in the locked position and I let go of the breath I was holding onto.
The pillow is useless and I throw it back. I have no intention of moving – I do not want to speak to him. I contemplate turning my music up to cover up his noise. Maybe I could pretend I didn't hear him.
‘If you do not come out here I will come in there and drag you out.’ It sounds like he is kicking the door.
At six-feet-eleven that is not a threat I hear often. ‘You and whose army?’
I try to ignore the fact that he actually has an army, navy and air force at his command, and convince myself he would not use them for a silly domestic matter. But he does sound angrier than usual. My copy of The Study in Scarlet is lying on my bed. If Dad sees that book then Matt and I will be in even bigger trouble. Next time take the porn magazine instead, Angus, at least it isn’t a beheading offence. I shove Sherlock under my pillow.
'Now!'
‘All right! I’m getting dressed or shall we do this with me in the raw?’ Relieved that I have boxers on in case he takes me up on the offer. Nature has given me a pasty monstrosity for a body and it is unlikely he wants to see me naked. I would not want to if I had the choice.
‘You have three minutes to get dressed and present yourself in the family room or I will command a couple of Soaring Warriors to break down this door and drag you out.’
If he is thinking of using the army he must be mad. My discarded school uniform is torn and muddy, so I pick up a pair of jeans from the floor. A sniff reveals they are on the very edge of wearable but they will have to do because I bet he is standing there checking his watch and counting down the seconds. And no way do I want to face my doom in the almost nude.
‘One minute left.’ His voice is now a growl.
A slightly creased T-shirt with egg stains looks like my best option. It has my favourite rock group on the front; Dad hates them but my others are in a worse state. The shirt catches on my sore eye causing it to water and my split lip draws blood as the scab is ripped off. I grab a tissue but it has already dripped on Robbie Albatross, the lead singer of the Skuas. In my jeans pocket I find a band and tie my hair back.
‘Angus, come out here, or else.’ There is a loud thud as he knocks on the door again. ‘Now.’ His voice is sharp, controlled and dangerous, the one I have heard him use when he orders a whipping.
‘Angus!’
I put down my book and grab a pillow from my bed to place over my ears. If I ignore him he might go away.
‘Angus!’
For a man so in control of his emotions that people describe him as cold he is making a lot of noise, although not within earshot. He lacks any sense of humour and previous monarchs, including my grandfather, have decapitated people for less. Even I am not prepared to risk it.
‘I’m doing my homework. I’ll be out when I'm done.’
‘Angus! Come out of your room, now.’ He rattles the door handle.
Did I lock the door? Unlike the retina-controlled security system the ancient iron key cannot be hacked. It is in the locked position and I let go of the breath I was holding onto.
The pillow is useless and I throw it back. I have no intention of moving – I do not want to speak to him. I contemplate turning my music up to cover up his noise. Maybe I could pretend I didn't hear him.
‘If you do not come out here I will come in there and drag you out.’ It sounds like he is kicking the door.
At six-feet-eleven that is not a threat I hear often. ‘You and whose army?’
I try to ignore the fact that he actually has an army, navy and air force at his command, and convince myself he would not use them for a silly domestic matter. But he does sound angrier than usual. My copy of The Study in Scarlet is lying on my bed. If Dad sees that book then Matt and I will be in even bigger trouble. Next time take the porn magazine instead, Angus, at least it isn’t a beheading offence. I shove Sherlock under my pillow.
'Now!'
‘All right! I’m getting dressed or shall we do this with me in the raw?’ Relieved that I have boxers on in case he takes me up on the offer. Nature has given me a pasty monstrosity for a body and it is unlikely he wants to see me naked. I would not want to if I had the choice.
‘You have three minutes to get dressed and present yourself in the family room or I will command a couple of Soaring Warriors to break down this door and drag you out.’
If he is thinking of using the army he must be mad. My discarded school uniform is torn and muddy, so I pick up a pair of jeans from the floor. A sniff reveals they are on the very edge of wearable but they will have to do because I bet he is standing there checking his watch and counting down the seconds. And no way do I want to face my doom in the almost nude.
‘One minute left.’ His voice is now a growl.
A slightly creased T-shirt with egg stains looks like my best option. It has my favourite rock group on the front; Dad hates them but my others are in a worse state. The shirt catches on my sore eye causing it to water and my split lip draws blood as the scab is ripped off. I grab a tissue but it has already dripped on Robbie Albatross, the lead singer of the Skuas. In my jeans pocket I find a band and tie my hair back.
‘Angus, come out here, or else.’ There is a loud thud as he knocks on the door again. ‘Now.’ His voice is sharp, controlled and dangerous, the one I have heard him use when he orders a whipping.