The Royal Legacy 2: When the Moon Turns Red
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Emily Goulden
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774K
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53
Chapter 1
Book 2: When the Moon Turns Red
EVIE
“Not again,” I muttered under my breath, my gaze fixed on the building I’d already passed twice.
My fingers tightened around the strap of my backpack as I glanced around.
“You look lost.” A girl’s voice broke through my thoughts, her chuckle light and friendly.
“Is it that obvious?” I responded, my laugh tinged with nervousness.
“Your shoes give it away.” She shrugged, her gaze dropping to my new boots. “You’re in Lafayette, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the bayou. Any self-respecting Louisianian would have mud on her boots,” she explained, a knowing smile on her face.
“Guilty as charged, I suppose,” I admitted with a sheepish grin.
“I’m Molly,” she introduced herself, extending her hand toward me.
“Evie,” I replied, shaking her hand.
“Where are you trying to go?” she asked, her hand sweeping across the university’s campus.
“The fine arts building,” I confessed, my shoulders slumping in defeat.
Molly let out a laugh, pointing across the campus.
“It’s clear on the other side,” she informed me.
“That figures.” I sighed, dropping my head and starting to walk.
“I’ll show you the way. I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Molly offered, falling into step beside me.
“So, where are you from?”
I glanced at the tall, perky brunette walking next to me and decided that I shouldn’t ditch the only friend that I’ve made since I moved here.
“I moved here from Massachusetts, but I’m originally from Hawaii,” I shared.
“Wow, a world traveler. I’ve never been outside of Louisiana,” Molly admitted, a hint of awe in her voice.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
“Their folklore studies program,” I answered simply.
“Really?” Molly sounded genuinely surprised.
I glanced at her, a hint of offense creeping into my expression.
“What about you?” I asked her as we navigated the sidewalks across campus.
“Oh, I’m undecided. I’m a sophomore and I don’t have my life together,” Molly confessed, her laughter ringing out.
“You’re telling me,” I muttered, mostly to myself.
I was surprised when Molly responded.
“I don’t know, you look pretty put together to me,” Molly countered, giving me a once-over.
“I have a master’s in political science from Harvard, and I’ve never once used my degree. Instead, I decided to go back to school for another master’s. Trust me, being ‘decided’ doesn’t mean your life is together,” I explained as we came to a stop in front of the fine arts building.
“Wow, that kind of makes me feel better,” Molly admitted, a smirk playing on her lips.
“Thanks, Molly,” I sighed.
“Hey, Evie,” Molly called, grabbing my arm and stopping me from walking up the steps to the building. “Let me give you my number. There’s gonna be a bonfire in the bayou tomorrow night. You should come.”
Molly scribbled her number on the palm of my hand with a pen.
“I don’t know, it’s my first weekend here. I’m still settling in,” I shrugged.
“Please come! You need friends to survive, new girl,” she teased.
“I’ll think about it,” I agreed before entering the building and settling into my class.
***
It was my first week on campus, and I was still struggling to find my classes. I was never good at directions. Even after my year of traveling the world, I still couldn’t find my way out of a brown paper bag.
My apartment was a few minutes off campus, just far enough away to avoid the college student markup on rent, but close enough to catch the university shuttle.
I never expected to be back in school. When I graduated three years ago, I thought I was done. I would settle into a cushy career in politics, maybe be an ambassador and travel a bit.
But that wasn’t what life had in store for me. A few months ago, I decided to go back to school.
So here I am, at the University of Louisiana in Lafayette attending the eighteen-month master’s program in folklore. Everyone thought I was crazy, including me.
After two more classes, I was back on the shuttle heading home. When I stepped off the bus, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.
I nervously clutched my backpack in one hand and my apartment keys in the other. I looked around the brightly lit street. The sun was just starting to set.
It was nothing more than the normal hustle and bustle; the streets of Lafayette were never quiet. I shook my head, laughing at myself for being so dramatic.
I hurriedly reached my townhome, nestled in a pleasant neighborhood. The exterior was a blend of gray and blue, with a welcoming porch at the front and a decent-sized deck at the back.
I unlocked the navy-blue door and switched on the lights. My keys found their usual spot on the entryway table as I kicked off my shoes.
After hanging my backpack on the coat rack, I pulled my phone from my back pocket just as it began to ring.
“Hi, Mom,” I greeted, sinking into the comfort of my sofa.
“Hi, sweetie, how was your first week?” The cheer in my mother’s voice instantly brightened my mood.
“Nothing unusual; it was good,” I responded.
“Any exciting plans for the weekend?” she inquired.
“I got invited to a bonfire by a girl from school,” I confessed.
“Oh, that sounds like a blast!” she exclaimed.
My mom was the quintessential cheerleader, always pushing me to socialize and make friends. I, however, was more like my dad. I was a loner at heart and a serious homebody.
I did just enough extracurriculars in high school to beef up my college applications, and my five years at Harvard were filled with study groups and debate team meetings.
“Yeah, we’ll see,” I muttered.
I could almost hear my mom’s eyes rolling as she sighed.
“Evie…”
Here we go.
“You’ve already been through college once. This time, try to do more than just study.”
I was convinced I had the only mom in the world who told me not to study.
“Oh, your father wants to speak with you,” she suddenly announced.
There was a flurry of activity on the other end of the line before my dad’s voice broke through.
“Hey there, little fish.”
I chuckled at my childhood nickname. I was raised in Hawaii, and the ocean was my favorite place. Our house was right on the beach, and my parents often had to drag me out of the water long after sunset.
“Hi, Dad.”
“How are you?”
“A bit tired,” I admitted.
“Get some rest, sweetheart. And for the record, your mother is right about one thing: you work too hard.” My dad chuckled.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” I brushed him off.
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I ended the call and tossed my phone on the table. They weren’t wrong. I did work too hard, and I had done the college thing before.
I wasn’t worried about succeeding in this program. School was always a breeze for me. Making friends, though? That was a different story.
I glanced at the number scrawled on my hand, already fading. A few more rubs on my pants and the number would be unreadable, giving me an excuse to skip Molly’s party.
I sighed. I moved to Louisiana for a fresh start—to escape my past life. Maybe it was time for a change.
I keyed the number into my phone and shot Molly a quick text, fully aware that I’d regret it come morning.
