Royal Blue (Sovereigns of Savannah Book 1) Read online

  Royal Blue

  Sovereigns of Savannah Book One

  Megan Lowe

  Royal Blue © 2019 by Megan Lowe

  All rights reserved. No Part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting my work!

  Royal Blue is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover Design: Bex Harper Designs

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Proofreading: Trysh Thompson

  Formatting: Pretty In Ink Designs

  E-Book ASIN: B07VKZT653

  Paperback: 978-0-6486536-0-8

  Created with Vellum

  For all the girls who don’t take any shit.

  Contents

  Sovereign

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Other books by Megan

  About the Author

  Stalker Links!

  Sovereign:

  Noun.

  A supreme ruler, especially a monarch.

  Adjective.

  Possessing supreme or ultimate power.

  Acting or done independently and without outside interference.

  Possessing royal power or status.

  PROLOGUE

  I may not be the obvious choice, but I am the only choice.

  I may look nice and friendly and a million other synonyms, but I’m not.

  Underestimate me at your peril.

  I know my strengths. I have no weaknesses.

  It might be small, it might only be for a fleeting moment in time, but this school is my domain.

  When you walk through those doors, you are at my mercy.

  I will not bend.

  I will not break.

  I will not bow to anyone.

  My name is Cerulean Tremont, and I am one of the Sovereigns of Savannah.

  Forest Park Academy is my queendom, and with my sisters by my side you will bend to our will.

  Nothing and nobody can stop us.

  Nothing and nobody can bring us down.

  A tip? Don’t fight it; it’ll only make it worse.

  Suppressing a sigh, I walk up the steps of yet another school in a long line of schools. Being the new guy isn’t new to me. In fact, I’ve been the new guy so many times, I should probably change my name to that. But, I remind myself as I walk through the wide, imposing, solid oak doors, this time this move is all for me.

  College scouts don’t take notice of quarterbacks, no matter how impressive his stats are, if he’s living in Switzerland. That’s where we’ve just come from. Before that it was Botswana. Before that Morocco, which was preceded by Indonesia, Japan, Australia, and Germany.

  If I want to play ball, which I do, then back home in the good ol’ US of A is where I need to be. With that in mind, my dad, the highly esteemed Cary St. James, begrudgingly packed up his family and moved us here, to Savannah, Georgia.

  Which brings me, and him as the new principal, to Forest Park Academy.

  As far as schools go, it’s on the nicer end. Of course, I’ve been educated in reed huts with dirt floors, so it’s all relative.

  According to the brochure, Forest Park Academy is the oldest private school in Savannah and one of the oldest in Georgia. That also makes it one of the most elite. Which means for the next year I’m stuck with a bunch of entitled brats who only care about having the best clothes, cars, purses, things.

  The only thing I care about? That there’s someone in this godforsaken school who will get on the end of my passes and get his ass into the end zone.

  “Hey, man” comes a voice from my right. As if God himself was listening to my thoughts, now waiting by my side is every QB’s dream in a wide receiver.

  “You’re Harley St. James, right?” he asks.

  I nod and stick out a hand. “Nice to meet you,” I tell him. “Please tell me you’re the guy who will make me look like the god I am out on the field.”

  He chuckles. “That I am. I’m TK.”

  TK, aka the guy who will make me look good, is a beast. He has to be at least six foot three, and I’m going with two hundred and twenty pounds. Lean, but solid. He’s got his white hair styled in some hipster style and the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He kind of reminds me of a human polar bear, come to think of it.

  “What’s the deal with the rest of the team?” I ask as we walk down the marble-floored hallway toward my locker. A perk of having the principal as my father means most times coming in, I’m able to spend a bit of time wandering the halls before classes start, get a feel of the place.

  A good athlete always knows what he’s up against. I don’t intend to be just a good athlete; I intend to be the best, and that means I need to know everything, now.

  “They’re pretty solid,” TK says. “For a private school, we’ve got a decent amount of talent.”

  “Scholarships?” I ask as we reach my locker.

  As luck would have it, TK’s is only a few doors down from mine.

  He gives me a look as he opens his.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Look, I know you’ve been all over the world, but you’re back in America now.”

  “So?”

  “So, in case you’ve forgotten, this is Georgia, the peach of America’s South. Football isn’t just a game here; it’s a way of life. My parents were taking me to Bobcats games before I could even walk.”

  “Of course.”

  “You were born here, right?” he asks as he shoves his books in his locker.

  “Yup, Maine.”

  “Ah, that explains it, then.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you’re so clueless. Don’t w
orry, QB1, I got your back.”

  The more populated the hallway becomes, the more stares I get. I don’t mind; it comes with the territory. The girls want to know who the mysterious new guy is. The guys want to know what threat I pose. I can tell them here and now that I am the biggest threat they have faced so far. I’m their motherfucking QB1, here to bring a state championship to this hellhole of a school and be the god they so desperately need.

  TK introduces me to a few guys on the team as we head to our first class. The crowd swells around us. I smile and wink at the girls and give the guys a look that leaves them with no doubt as to who’s in charge.

  We come to a section of the hallway that’s less crowded, occupied by only a group of four girls, sisters from the look of them. Blonde goddesses.

  The tallest one has a body Victoria’s Secret models would kill for and the lightest hair of them all. She rocks the hell out of the Forest Park uniform. I’m pretty sure the black and gray skirt isn’t supposed to be that short, or the white blouse that tight, but you won’t hear me, or any guy I suspect, complaining.

  The girl next to her is a little shorter, but a hell of a lot more curvy. She has a woman’s body.

  The shortest also looks to be the youngest. She has honey-blonde hair and is huddled into the lockers, like she’s trying to hide.

  All three of them are stunning, but it’s the fourth and final that takes my attention. Tall, probably five foot six, five foot seven. She’s skinnier than I usually go for, but she has an air about her, a supreme amount of confidence. It makes me smile.

  I slap TK. “Who’re they?”

  He scoffs. “You don’t wanna go there, man. The Hued Hussies have chewed up and spat out better men than you.”

  “The Hued Hussies?” I ask.

  “Cerulean, Indigo, Magenta, and Vermilion Tremont. Obviously their parents were stuck for names so they did a grab bag in a pack of Crayolas. They call themselves the Sovereigns of Savannah, but I prefer the Hued Hussies, it has a better ring to it.”

  Just then the one in the middle, the confident one, looks up.

  “Which one is she?”

  TK laughs. “Don’t even think about it. That’s Cerulean, the leader. She may only be a junior, but don’t let that fool you. That girl will eat you alive.”

  As I continue to stare, she shakes her head.

  “She doesn’t look that bad,” I say, giving her a smile and a wink as we walk past.

  TK shakes his head.

  “What?” I ask.

  “When it all blows up in your face, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Hey, I get it, they’re hot, but I guaran-fucking-tee you, you will not make it out alive.”

  I slap him on the shoulder. “I appreciate the concern but you forget who you’re talking to.”

  He scoffs again. “If you say so, man.”

  I nod. “I do.”

  “Ugh,” I say as Captain Dick and his band of merry men walk past. Sure, he looks like a football player: tall, I’m going with six foot one-ish, wide shoulders, strong hands, but so what? And okay, he might be good-looking, with stunning deep brown eyes and perfect dark brown hair, but he’s a football player. No matter how attractive I find him, that’s an automatic turnoff.

  Indigo snickers as she shuts her locker. “Eyeing another victim, C?”

  “Hardly.”

  “I heard he’s the principal’s son,” Vermilion says.

  “So?”

  “I’m just saying,” she says before ducking her head.

  “Why should it matter if he’s the principal’s son?” Magenta asks.

  “M…,” Indigo scolds.

  “What? You know how this works. If he needs to be put in his place, then he’ll be put in his place.”

  Indigo sighs and shuts her locker. “I’m familiar with how it works, I’m just saying that this one is cute.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I tell her as I examine my nails.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Magenta swears.

  “It’s the eyes, right?” Indigo asks, slouching against the locker. Magenta turns and storms off.

  An image of the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen comes into my head.

  “It’s the way he thinks he owns this school after being here all of two seconds,” I say as I push off the lockers and stalk to class.

  As much as I love Indigo—she is my eldest sister after all—life isn’t all hot guys and getting laid.

  “Please tell me you’re not going to do anything with that douche,” Magenta says as I slip into a seat beside her. Even though we’re in the same grade, Magenta is actually Indigo’s twin. She repeated a year after becoming pregnant with my niece, Emily, last year.

  “I’ll do what I need to. No more, no less.”

  She huffs in response.

  “What?” I ask, turning toward her.

  “It’s a slippery slope,” she warns.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “If he needs to be put in his place, he will be.”

  “But those eyes,” she says, imitating Indigo.

  I shrug. “He has two of them, what’s your point?”

  She gives me her no-nonsense stare.

  “Can you stop staring at me like that?” I ask. “Please?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re our mom and you know we’ve done something we weren’t supposed to.”

  “Have you done something you weren’t supposed to?” She arches a perfectly manicured brow.

  “He’s been here all of two seconds, M,” I remind her. “When would I have had the chance to do something?”

  She shrugs but her shoulders drop fully. “Let’s not pretend you’re not the most resourceful out of all of us.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, leaning back in my seat. “I’m sure Indigo can be inventive when she needs to be.”

  Magenta shakes her head. “All I’m saying is be careful.”

  “I appreciate the concern but it’s not needed. Really,” I stress when she doesn’t look convinced. “I know who I am, M, who we are, and nothing and nobody will take that away from us, I promise.”

  “I just don’t want you to get carried away.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I say as Mr. Perot, our homeroom teacher, walks in. “No one will ever get the best of me.”

  The morning passes in a blur of monotony only disinterest can provide. My last class before lunch is Media Studies, chosen for the easy A I hope it will provide.

  Don’t get me wrong, I know school is important and I’m good at it, I’m just focused on other things. I have plans, and none of them center on Savannah, or hell, even Georgia. No, my plans center around the Carver Institute in D.C., where, unofficially of course, there’s a spot waiting for me at the best business and policy school in the country. I may joke that I rule this school, and let’s be real, I do, but one day I’m determined I will rule over something worthwhile.

  Business, politics, both, I don’t care, but I will be the sovereign of something worthwhile. With a degree from the Carver Institute and with their connections, world domination shouldn’t take long at all.

  I want to follow in the path laid down by our mother. She’s the CFO for a multinational corporation headquartered in Switzerland. Because of this, she hasn’t been home in, oh, ten years, give or take. It’s okay though. We’ve been more than capable of taking care of ourselves, of raising ourselves. We’re four strong, independent women, and we did that without the help of our mother. Yes, she has friends at Carver, but she didn’t have a hand in getting me my spot. I did that all on my own. It was my effort, my grades, my potential. I will take over the world, and it will be because of me, not my mother.

  One day I want little girls to look at the Forbes Most Powerful lists and see an ever-increasing number of women on there. I want them to know that being a woman isn’t a handicap, it isn’t a disadvantage, that we kick ass just as much, if not more, than men.


  My mother gave up her family for her success. I’m not bitter or scarred by it; I recognize it for what it is, a sacrifice for the greater good.

  Our dad does his best, and by best I mean largely leaving us to our own devices, but we prefer it that way. We all have our own agendas to push. We recognize this and act accordingly. Our lives are our own.

  I may be the second youngest, but I’m the most determined, the most protective, the most stubborn. There’s nothing I won’t do for my sisters and our futures. So for Magenta to suggest I would risk it all on Captain Dick? It’s laughable.

  I slide into my seat and take out a notebook and pen and start making lists about all that needs to be done and what I want to achieve this year and into the future.

  I’m so focused on my task I don’t notice someone takes the seat next to mine. That is, until he leans over my shoulder to see what I’m doing.

  “Funny,” a husky voice says. “I would’ve thought you were more a hearts and flowers girl.”

  I rear back, shocked that A) I’ve been so focused on my lists I didn’t realize someone had sat next to me, and B) that that person is Captain Dick himself.