Read Online The Future King: Logres by M. L. Mackworth-Praed - Free Book Online

‘So where’s Emily?’
    ‘I think she went to get a drink.’
    ‘Do you mind if I go look for her?’
    Their silent shrugs were encouragement enough; and Bedivere was off,
hunting for the apple of his eye. Gwenhwyfar sent Arthur an encouraging smile.
‘That jumper looks good on you.’
    He looked down as if to remind himself what he was wearing. ‘Thanks.
You look nice too.’
    ‘Want to get a drink?’
    ‘Sure.’
    She turned to lead him after Bedivere, her heart thrumming like a
humming bird. The air thickened as they passed through the living room, and
though she recognised a few people from school most faces were new to her. They
found the drinks table in the kitchen, littered with empty cups and half-filled
bottles. A few names had already been emptied, cheap rum and another
unidentified spirit; and all that was left was known as “solution”, a potent
home-brew with the appearance of clouded lemonade. She mixed two cups with
cranberry juice, gave herself an undersized straw, and then handed one to
Arthur.
    ‘So what you been up to?’
    ‘Not much.’ He drank, apparently indifferent to the taste. To Gwenhwyfar
it tasted like cough syrup, and it burned down her throat. ‘Just had to sort a
few things out.’
    ‘Well, thanks for coming.’ She looked up at him and offered a
grateful smile. ‘It’s nice to have someone here that I know.’
    ‘I don’t think I’d have bothered, if you weren’t here,’ he confessed.
‘It wouldn’t have been much fun for me following Bedivere while he chases after
Emily all night.’
    ‘Well, he definitely likes her. Maybe he found her already?’
    ‘Does she even like him?’
    ‘She was going on about him a lot yesterday.’ Gwenhwyfar shrugged,
trying not to feel too guilty about the lie. ‘Why?’
    ‘I just thought she liked someone else, that’s all. One of Tom’s
friends.’
    ‘Who? Is he here?’
    ‘Probably not. He’s been suspended for two weeks. He slashed the tyres
of the principal’s car.’
    ‘He what? Why?’
    ‘I don’t know. He’s a complete idiot. He usually does that sort of
thing.’ Arthur leant against the kitchen counter. Gwenhwyfar joined him,
already feeling tipsy. She slid closer so that their sides were touching. ‘Did
you go to many parties back in Wales?’
    ‘A couple. Usually we could get the alcohol from our parents’ liquor
cabinets. Most of it was from the black market anyway, so they could hardly
ground us for it.’ She took another sip of solution, feeling more accustomed to
the taste. ‘My parents are pretty strict. I’m not allowed alcohol, even though
I’ve had wine before.’
    ‘Wine?’ he asked, surprised.
    ‘Yeah, from Bordeaux. My dad got it through work as some kind of
favour. I found it in their room.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And what?’
    ‘How did it taste?’
    ‘Terrible,’ she laughed. ‘It was disgusting. But then, I was eight
when I tried it.’
    ‘You know that’s illegal, Gwen,’ he teased.
    ‘And? What are you going to do about it?’
    ‘Nothing! You’re just lucky. You’ll probably never see another bottle
like that again.’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘Have you ever had real
chocolate?’
    Gwenhwyfar frowned at him. ‘Real chocolate…? What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean, not that horrible stuff that they call chocolate. Real chocolate. That’s actually made from the cocoa tree. These days they just use
artificial replacements. It’s not the same.’
    ‘Chocolate comes from a tree?’ Gwenhwyfar eyed him sceptically.
‘You’re joking.’
    ‘I’m not.’
    ‘So why do they make it artificially, then?’
    ‘The cocoa tree’s endangered, so it’s cheaper to use substitutes. Any
real chocolate goes straight to the rich like meat and wine, or like caviar and
truffles used to in the early twenty-first century. To the people who run things.’
    ‘Have you?’ Gwenhwyfar asked, mixing her drink with her straw. ‘Ever
had real chocolate?’
    ‘Once. My grandfather gave me a bar