Page 6 of Prince Material (The Prince Pact #2)
“Because it’s a perfect balance of engineering and ecology.
They originally planned to dam up the entire estuary, but environmentalists pointed out it would most likely destroy the ecosystem.
So instead, they built this storm surge barrier that lets water flow through normally but can close when needed.
That meant the ecosystem wasn’t impacted, thus saving many species, including our beloved mussels.
” I realized I was rambling and felt heat creep up my neck.
“Sorry, I get a bit excited about this stuff.”
“Don’t apologize.” My breath caught as Orson leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he studied the picture on my phone.
The contact sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the fan blasting air at me.
This close, I could smell the faint scent of his shampoo: something clean and citrusy.
“It’s refreshing to meet someone else who understands why this matters. ”
I was just going to pretend I wasn’t impacted by his presence at all. I could do that, right? “This is the Maeslantkering, another part of the Delta Works. Those arms are about as long as the Eiffel Tower is tall.”
“Holy shit,” he breathed, and I couldn’t help but grin at his obvious fascination. “And it moves?”
“Yep. When there’s a storm surge, they swing shut to protect Rotterdam’s harbor.
The whole thing is automated, with computers monitoring the water levels and weather conditions.
” I paused, remembering something. “Actually, after Katrina, some American engineers came to study our system and we sent Dutch engineers to New Orleans to advise.”
The mention of Katrina made Orson tense beside me. Was that a sore topic for him? He must’ve been old enough to experience it. Had it been traumatic? Not something I wanted to ask him about now, but I filed it away for future reference.
“Unfortunately, little of it was implemented,” Orson said, his face tight.
“I’m sure it was complicated. The Mississippi Delta is very different from the situation in my country.”
Orson let out a heavy sigh, one that seemed charged with a lot more than mere frustration. “It wasn’t that. It was about the cost and politics, and ultimately, about the decision that money mattered more than people’s lives… and preventing another Katrina.”
The bitterness in his voice caught me off guard.
This wasn’t academic interest; this was personal.
I wanted to ask more, but something in his expression warned me off.
Instead, I checked my phone again and groaned.
“Speaking of preventing disasters, I should probably head to class before I’m late.
Again.” I stuffed my books into my backpack.
“Thanks for rescuing my laundry, by the way. I’ll try to be more responsible next time. ”
“No problem.” He was already back to his textbook, that moment of vulnerability gone like it had never happened.
I grabbed my coffee, accidentally knocking over a pile of books I’d left precariously balanced on my desk. They crashed to the floor with a sound like thunder.
Orson jumped. “Jesus Christ!”
“Sorry, sorry!” I scrambled to pick them up. “I’ll organize these properly later, I promise.”
His sigh was equal parts exasperation and resignation. “You said that yesterday. And the day before.”
“I mean it this time?” I tried my most winning smile, the one that usually got me out of trouble.
“Your chaos is migrating,” he pointed out, gesturing to where one of my hoodies had somehow ended up on his perfectly made bed. “I’m starting to think you’re actually a very tall tornado disguised as a person.”
Heat crept up my neck. “I’ll fix it. Really. As soon as I’m done with classes today.”
“Sure.” His tone suggested he didn’t believe me, and honestly? Fair enough. “Though you might want to do something about your hair first.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” I patted it cautiously, then caught my reflection in my phone screen. “Oh, fuck me.”
The humidity had turned my usually manageable waves into something that looked like I’d stuck my finger in an electrical socket. No wonder Orson had given me an amused look. I made a futile attempt to tame it with my fingers, but it sprang right back up like some sort of demented jack-in-the-box .
I sighed deeply. “This is my life now. I’ll just tell everyone it’s a bold fashion statement.”
That earned me a snort from Orson. “You could try using product.”
“I did right when I got out of the shower. The humidity ate it.” I shouldered my backpack, accepting defeat. “The weather here is personally offended by my hair’s existence. I’m convinced of it.”
“Welcome to New England. Where the weather’s made up and the seasons don’t matter.”
“Did you make a joke?” I gasped in mock horror. “Quick, someone check if hell’s frozen over.”
“I contain multitudes.” His deadpan delivery was perfect, but I caught the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth. “Now go be late for class.”
“Yes, sir.” I threw him a mock salute and headed for the door, then paused. “Hey, want to grab coffee later? That place you mentioned, Acoustic Java?”
The question surprised both of us, I think. I hadn’t planned to ask, but something about our conversation about water management and his reaction to Katrina made me want to know more. Plus, he actually seemed interested in engineering beyond passing classes, which was refreshing.
Orson hesitated, his expression doing that thing where he seemed to be calculating all possible outcomes before making a decision. “I have a study group at four.”
“Before, then? Come on, you can explain more about American water management systems to me. I’ll even buy you one of those fancy drinks with too many words in the name.”
“I have to study.”
“You always have to study.” The words came out before I could stop them. “I mean, everyone needs breaks, right? Even engineering students.”
Orson sighed, looking away. “Maybe. It depends on how much progress I’ve made by then.”
That wasn’t a no, and I clung to that hope. “Awesome, see you then.”
I rushed out the door, speed-walking across campus. The late-August sun was already blazing, promising another day of sticky heat. Students sprawled on the grass, enjoying the last days of summer, while others hurried to class like me.
I couldn’t help smiling, despite being late and probably looking like I’d been dragged backward through a hedge.
This was exactly what I’d wanted: to be another student rushing to class, no press following my every move.
Just me, my wrinkled shirt—I really should’ve hung up that laundry—and the promise of caffeine after class.
Though I could probably use some help with the organization thing. Maybe Orson would teach me his ways if I bribed him with more Dutch snacks…
My mind wandered back to Orson’s reaction to my messy habits.
He wasn’t wrong; I was a tornado in human form compared to his meticulous organization.
But there was something endearing about how he pretended to be annoyed while still bringing up my laundry, getting me coffee, and reminding me about class times.
My phone buzzed as I slid into my seat in the lecture hall, barely making it before class started. A message from Greg lit up my screen:
Greg
Survived peasant life so far? Or has the lack of servants broken you ?
I snorted, earning a few looks from nearby students.
Me
Still alive. Though American plumbing is trying to kill me. Also, did you know they start class at 8 AM? That has to violate some human rights convention.
Greg
The horror. Shall I send a diplomatic rescue mission?
Me
Nah, I’m good. Actually enjoying being normal for once. Though my roommate probably thinks I’m a disaster.
Greg
But is he wrong?
Me
Rude. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.
I paused, thinking of the chaos currently occupying my side of the room, then added:
Me
Mostly.
Greg
Sure, Your Highness. Whatever helps you sleep on your peasant mattress.
The professor started talking before I could respond with an appropriately witty comeback. I tucked my phone away, trying to focus on stochastic differential equations instead of Greg’s teasing or my roommate’s perfectly organized desk.
Speaking of Orson, I needed to get my mess under control before he snapped and murdered me in my sleep. Though knowing him, he’d probably clean up the crime scene afterward and neatly sort my remains, labeling each bone.
The thought made me smile. For someone so serious, he had a surprisingly sharp sense of humor when he let his guard down. Now if only I could figure out how to make that happen more often…