She is not expecting Orfeas, the hot, British head of a
secret Greek Society, to be interested in her. Let alone to abduct her and
bring her to his secret lair that looks like an old, dust-covered library, but
on closer inspection is filled with monsters and rivers of lethal lava.
Now May must find a way to survive,
escape, and not lose her heart to her kidnapper, who may or may not be Death
incarnate. But he has those dimples...And why does he keep saving her life?
Crown of Ashes, a fantasy Hades and
Persephone retelling,
is the luscious dark academia romance you didn’t know you needed.
Read the first chapter (free)
Crown of Ashes
one
one
Salt for Air series
M.C. Frank
Copyright @2021
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the author.
one
The note drops out of my locker
on Tuesday, as I get out of the communal showers. There are only three words on
it:
“You are
invited.”
It has a
huge, obnoxious flourish on the ‘Y’ and an unmistakable insignia on the bottom,
stamped in burgundy ink (also obnoxious): TGS.
The Greek Society.
I gasp in
disgust (and fear, let’s be real) and the note almost flutters to the floor
before I make a clumsy attempt to salvage it, and manage to wrinkle it in my
fist. I also get it a little damp, but my hair is dripping all over the place
and I have nothing but a towel around me. My hands are shaking and my breath
comes short. I hope an asthma attack isn’t close.
Although a
panic one is definitely happening.
I came to
Marble Halls two months ago to study art history. I am mostly interested (obsessed)
in the history of Greek and Roman art, but I have been longing for academic
studies for so long, that any period in history will do. I somehow managed to
get into one of the most prestigious colleges in Europe from America. Even my
two aunts, although they were optimistic because of my nerd-perfect grades, had
few hopes I would be accepted. But I did, and what’s more I somehow found the
courage to brave a plane ride over the Atlantic and to travel all the way from
my home in New York to the English countryside and the sprawling academy. Me,
who had never even left my own state.
The first
time I stepped onto the campus, it was like stepping into a different world.
Gray buildings drowning in ivy, spiked gothic towers crowding against cloudy
skies, long stretches of damp lawn, and marble-white buildings with Greek
columns housing walls and walls of ancient books. An art historian’s dream.
The cultural
shock nearly froze me into inaction for the first few days, but after that I
came out of my shell. I have never been the most popular girl in school (being
a bit too short, a bit too thin, a bit too black, and a bit too obsessed with
academics), but I never had problems with making friends. If someone is kind, I
don’t care about anything else. I am open to approaching them and striking up a
conversation about literally nothing in particular. Even though I personally
study for hours every day and am pretty well-versed in the subjects that
interest me, I am not a snob, and I hope that college won’t change that. So I
met people, I made friends and acquaintances (but I didn’t meet my Best Friend™
or my True Love™, rather disappointingly), and I started my classes with every
intention of falling in love with both the syllabus and my professors.
Of course,
things are never as glamorous as we imagine them to be, are they?
As the first
month of uni wore on, I quickly fell into the mundane routine of running around
campus trying to find my classes, navigating the enormous grounds to and from
my college and continually losing the way from that to my dorm, to the dining
hall and other activities, and studying my ass off. Whoever said that if you
are a good student at school you’ll succeed in life, was a liar. College, at
least in the Halls, is a whole other level of hard.
At first, I
thought the professors weren’t speaking English. Their vocabulary and
terminology was like a different language to me. But I have started getting
used to it. Started being the key word here. At any rate, the fairytale-esque
Greek-style aesthetic of the academy faded fast, as I applied myself to the
work, and to keeping my head above water and not drowning in the ocean of
textbooks, long nights and looming exams.
Ever so
slowly, as my British friends say, I got to know the school.
Its history,
its past glory, its scandals, its dirty secrets.
And there is
no secret dirtier than The Greek Society.
They say that the dude who runs
The Greek Society is a member of the Royal Family. Or of a royal family.
They say he
is unhinged.
They say he
is a member of a mafia family.
They say he
is filthy rich.
They say he
has murdered someone.
They say lots
of things. I don’t know if any of it is true (it probably isn’t), but the
amount of whispers following this guy’s name around the entire county is scary.
How famous and powerful can one nineteen-year-old English boy be for such myth
and folklore to already have been spun around him?
I mean, I
will be the first to admit that I am an anxious, overly-worried person who is
scared of her own shadow (figuratively, and only once or twice literally).
But a guy who
is barely twenty years old and has already been elebated to the status of local
god is universally terrifying. No one should have that sort of power.
No one.
People do
terrible things with that much power.
Because here
is the truth, among all the rumors: He—and his Society—run the school. I have
seen this with my own eyes. I have no doubt that they rule Great Britain, and
possibly the rest of the world, as well, judging by the off-handed manner they
do everything around here. But as a history art major, I should go off facts
and not rumors or conclusions. So here’s ‘them facts’, as my friend Didion, an
architect major himself and a genius as well, would say:
I thought
these invitations were a college myth. An elite secret society that hides
somewhere in the bowels of the campus. No one is even sure who exactly its
members are. Mysterious, exclusive and extremely rare invitations are being
slipped in random students’ desks—once or twice a month. And, rumor has it,
these students’ lives are forever changed. The invitations don’t only change
their college experience, but their entire future.
If you are
invited to the Greek Club, you are done.
Your future
is taken care of. Nothing but billionaires and presidents have come from The
Greek Club from Marble Halls, and there are stories dating back two centuries
that prove that. Allegedly.
I mean, it
does sound like folklore at best, right? At worst, it sounds like like a
fairytale born out of the feverish dreams of exhausted students who couldn’t
figure out where the pneumata
(accents) go on ancient Greek words.
Anyway, it is
what it is. Everything is ruled by something, and The Greek Society rules the
school. No matter which college you are in, they rule it. How? I have no idea.
But I got a tiny glimpse of their modus operandi on my very first day in the
dorms.
I had arrived alone, and was
glancing longingly at the groups of families and friends of ‘freshers’ (Brit
language again, don’t ask me), who were chattering and giggling as they settled
in, while I was trying to wrangle three suitcases all on my own. My aunts had
just dropped me off, and had had to rush back to the airport to catch a plane
to New York, and it was just beginning to hit me that I was going to live here
now, all the way across the pond, by myself.
I am ashamed
to remember it now, but my eyes were beginning to burn and I had started to
hyperventilate. Gosh, what a baby.
I hate how
weak I am. Hate it. I do everything in my power to fight it, to be strong, or
at least to pretend I am until I can finally really be strong someday, but so
far it isn’t working. I despise my weakness, and I despised it intensely that
day.
“If you’re
going to cry about it,” a voice suddenly said behind me, and someone was lifting
my suitcases easily, with one arm, the weight suddenly disappearing.
I turned
around and stood gaping at a model-like creature, who was dressed in a cream
sweater and slim, dark pants. He had black, glossy hair that looked as if it
had been attacked by team of professional stylists. His face would have been
perfectly handsome, except it was a bit too long, a bit too chiseled, and a bit
too sour. He gave me a look, that
thing people do to intimidate you where they let their cool gaze travel up and
down your body, and expect you to feel small and insignificant.
I did.
“Lead the
way,” he said, and there was a softness in his voice that contrasted with the
disgust in his eyes.
I had lost
the ability to speak. I mean, I have a few guy friends, and good-looking ones
too, even though I have met so many more cool dudes here in college since. I am
generally a social person, rarely tongue-tied (when I have conquered my
anxiety). But this man-boy didn’t leave space for anything more to be said.
I led him to
my dorm, where he proceeded to unceremoniously dump my bags on the floor, turn
around on his heel and disappear into the crowds without a single word. Any
desire to cry had left me, and been replaced with the desire to hit
someone—him, preferably.
“Thanks!” I
hissed at his retreating back.
“Oh em gee!
Was this random girl just talking to Orfeas?” Someone said as they passed
outside my door.
Well, that
was the one and only time I talked to him. But I learned three important things
about him that day:
One, even his
name is obnoxious—who names their kid after an obscure Greek hero slash deity
that happens to be inspired straight from the Underworld? That alone should
have given me an idea of the kind of person he is.
Two, by evening the whole entire campus was on fire with rumors of how I had caught the attention of the ‘demigod’, and I became cool by association. Again, an indication of this guy’s ridiculous fame and hold on this school. I found out later that he comes from one of the founding families of the Halls and is part of a type of genius billionaire family. And he talked to little old me. Just think. Cue the squeals. Not.
And three. If I never saw or spoke to him again, it would be too soon for me.
Did you enjoy chapter one?
Read the whole book for FREE (limited time)
CLICK HERE TO CLAIM YOUR FREE BOOK!
{the link will open on November 1st}
Otherwise, Crown of Ashes is coming out in paperback in the spring 2022 (hopefully).
Stay tuned...
Can't wait?
Don’t miss the books out already in the series, SALT FOR AIR and ICE MERMAID.
Each book is a standalone, but they
are interconnected and set in the same world.
No comments:
Post a Comment