The Princesses of Gavaldon

Chapter 5

Each school had its own entrance to the Theater of Tales, which was split into
two halves. The west doors opened into the side for the Good students, decorated
with pink and blue pews, crystal friezes, and glittering bouquets of glass flowers.
The east doors opened into the side for Evil students, with warped wooden
benches, carvings of murder and torture, and deadly stalactites dangling from
the burnt ceiling. As students herded into their halves for the Welcoming, fairies
and wolves guarded the silver marble aisle between the silver marble aisle between them. 

Despite her ghastly new uniform, Sophie had no intention of sitting with Evil. One look at the Good girls' glossy hair, dazzling smiles, chic pink dresses,

and she knew she had found her sisters. If the fairies wouldn't rescue her, surely
her fellow princesses would. With villains shoving her along, she tried to get the
Good girls' attention, but they were ignoring her side of the theater. Finally
Sophie battled her way to the aisle, waved her arms, and opened her mouth to
yell, when a hand yanked her under a rotted bench.
Agatha tackled her in a hug. "I'm so glad that I found you"
"Hi! Nice to see you too! Give me your clothes," said Sophie, staring at Agatha's
pink dress.
"Huh?"
"Quick! It will solve everything."
"You can't be serious! Sophie, you can't stay here!"
"Exactly," Sophie smiled. "I need to be in your school and you need to be in
mine. Just like we talked about, remember?"

"But my father, your mother, your cat!" Agatha sputtered. "You don't know what they're like here!  Sophie, we have to get you to good too!"

"I know. Now, my dress, please."
Agatha folded her arms. "Are you crazy! I'll be naked!" 
"Then I'll take it myself," Sophie scowled. But right as she grabbed Agatha by
her flowered sleeve, something made her stop cold. Sophie listened, ears piqued,
and took off like a panther. She slid under warped benches, dodged villains' feet,
ducked behind the last pew, and peeked around it.

Agatha followed, exasperated. "I don't know what's gotten into yo—"

Sophie covered Agatha's mouth and listened to the sounds grow louder.
Sounds that made every Good girl , including Agatha bolt upright. Sounds they had waited their
whole lives to hear. From the hall, the stomp of boots, the clash of steel—
The west doors flew open to sixty gorgeous boys in swordfight.
Sun-kissed skin peeked through light blue sleeves and stiff collars; tall navy
boots matched high-cut waistcoats and knotted slim ties, each embroidered with
a single gold initial. As the boys playfully crossed blades, their shirts came un-
tucked from tight beige breeches, revealing slender waists and flashes of muscle.
Sweat glistened on glowing faces as they thrust down the aisle, boots cracking on
marble, until swiftly the swordfight climaxed, boys pinning boys against pews. In
a last chorus of movement, they drew roses from their shirts and with a shout of
"Milady!" threw them to the girls who most caught their eye. (Agatha and Beatrix found her-
self with enough roses to plant a garden.)
Agatha watched all this, happily. But then she saw Sophie, heart in throat,
longing for her own rose. "You can have one Sophie." Agatha smiled gently. Sophie begrudgingly took one. 

In the decayed pews, the villains booed the princes, brandishing banners
with "NEVERS RULE!" and "EVERS STINK!" (Except for weasel-faced Hort,
who crossed his arms sulkily and mumbled, "Why do they get their own en-
trance?") With a bow, the princes blew kisses to villains and prepared to take
their seats when the west doors suddenly slammed open again—
And one more walked in.
Hair a halo of celestial gold, eyes blue as a cloudless sky, skin the color of hot
desert sand, he glistened with a noble sheen, as if his blood ran purer than the
rest. The stranger took one look at the frowning, sword-armed boys, pulled his
own sword . . . and grinned.
Forty boys came at him at once, but he disarmed each with lightning speed.
The swords of his classmates piled up beneath his feet as he flicked them away
without inflicting a scratch. Sophie gaped, bewitched. Agatha gaped at the amazing sword fighting.  The boy dismissed each new challenge as quickly as
it came, the embroidered T on his blue tie glinting with each dance of his blade.
And when the last had been left swordless and dumbstruck, he sheathed his own
sword and shrugged, as if to say he meant nothing by it at all. But the boys of
Good knew what it meant. The princes now had a king. (Even the villains
couldn't find reason to boo.)
Meanwhile, the Good girls had long learned that every true princess finds a
prince, so no need to fight each other. But they forgot all this when the golden
boy pulled a rose from his shirt. All of them jumped up, waving kerchiefs, jost-
ling like geese at a feeding. The boy smiled and lofted his rose high in the air—
Agatha saw Sophie move too late. She ran after her but Sophie dashed into
the aisle, leapt over the pink pews, lunged for the rose—and caught a wolf
instead.
As it dragged Sophie back to her side, she locked eyes with the boy, who took
in her fair face, then her horrid black robes and cocked his head, baffled. Then
he saw Agatha agog in pink, his rose plopped in her open palm, and gasped in
shock. As the wolf dumped Sophie with Evil and fairies gently pulled Agatha with
Good, the boy gawked wide-eyed, trying to make sense of it all. Then a hand
pulled him into a seat.