Chapter 17
First Day Jitters
Sinta
I was way more nervous than I thought I would be.
I shouldn’t be, the guys had given me a little talk on what to expect.
Since they had all done the fitness and combat courses last year – it seemed everyone did them, so maybe they were compulsory? – they knew exactly what I was in for.
Thanks to them I had gym clothes stashed in my backpack along with a big bottle of water, and a notepad just in case.
I had my fitness class first, then my art class, and after lunch would be combat.
These were just introduction classes, like a taste-test for the students, and then we all had Friday off to decide if we were keeping whatever courses we’d chosen.
I already had my schedule for next week; it’d been in my email this morning.
M-day T-day W-day T-day F-day
8am – 10am
Fitness 8am – 10am
Fitness
9am – 11:30
Combat
8am – 10am
Fitness
9am -11:30
Art
10:15 – 11:45 Art 1pm – 2:30
Art
4pm – 5pm
Art
1pm – 2pm
Combat
1pm – 2pm
Combat
A full week of classes, but not so much that I would be overwhelmed and struggle to keep up.
I wanted to give my absolute best to my studies, so I preferred to only saddle myself with a small workload.
Eyeing my phone with a frown, I debate the merits of sending a text to Aletha.
It was her first day too after all, and I imagined she might be just as excited and nervous as I was.
But in the end I decided not to. I didn’t see anything good coming out of it.
None of the boys were in the kitchen when I made my way down, but there was a plate of pastries with a sticky note beside it.
‘I saved you some breakfast, Sinta. Have a good day.’
Fade had signed his name in a fancy running flourish down the bottom.
I couldn’t help but smile at it – it was so very French.
The pastries looked amazing, too.
Hurrying, I search the kitchen for a plastic pot or some ziplock baggies.
Hitting the jackpot and finding a container just small enough to fit in my bag, I stuff two chocolate croissants and a cream cheese bagel into the pot and stash it in my bag.
Then I stuff a plain croissant in my mouth and rush out the door.
Rapid had said yesterday that he needed to get up early, but I’d assumed his version of early was 9 or 10 am. Since none of the boys had been home as far as I could tell, they must have had classes at the butt crack of dawn.
Dinner last night had been fun, sharing some pizza while we watched Marvel movies.
Tomashi had gotten home late, glared at me, and then stomped his way upstairs.
No progress there.
I liked the rest of the guys and didn’t think I would have any problems rooming with them.
Aside from the usual guy stuff – like their burping competition last night – I thought they were pretty cool personality-wise.
I was choosing to ignore the fact most of them were royalty, and was going to keep ignoring it until they choose to bring it up.
There were only a few people walking around the student village as I exited the House, none of them seeming to pay attention to me, which was a relief.
After everything Kenya had said yesterday I’d dreamed about being rushed by a mob of crazy jealous females and having all of my hair ripped from my scalp.
And another where I was trampled by an army of high heels with some insidious female laughing in the background.
Was I now a little paranoid about living in Rising House? Maybe.
Was I going to let it control my life? Absolutely not.
I wasn’t going to be somebody’s door mat this year, or ever again.
Determined and excited, my walk to the Academy’s West Wing went by in a blur of strong winds and light rain.
The hallways were full of people rushing, a little jostling needed to wriggle through the mass, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
Everyone was too concerned with their own business to bother with others.
A small thing to other people, or maybe even a bad thing, to be able to walk down a hall with no one calling your name. To have a sense of anonymity, of veritable inexistence.
I didn’t remember a single day in high school where someone wasn’t insulting me, shoving me, dumping expired foods on my head, laughing as they gossiped behind my back.
Of fighting the urge to walk with my head down and my shoulders by my ears – hunching into myself not just for protection but to maybe escape their notice.
I never fell to the urge, I kept my head up no matter how hard it was.
The relief to now be below anyone’s notice was indescribable.
I made it to my classroom without issue, the door open with people rushing in.
Entering the huge space about the size of a gym filled with singular chair-desk combos, I start to look for a seat when a hand shoots up out of the sea of faces and Kenya calls my name.
Smiling, I weave my way to her and laugh as she pulls her bag out of the seat next to her and fixes our classmates with a savage glare.
“Little but mighty.” I tease and slide into the seat. “How early did you get here?” I ask.
We are two rows from the front and only seats at the back are still available – there were at least ten rows with two dozen or more seats in each.
“Oh, half an hour. Maybe a little earlier.” She giggles. “The front rows were already packed, so I got mean and guarded these two for us.”
“Life saver.” I praise and dig in my bag.
Pulling out the container of goodies, I open it and offer her one.
She gasps and picks out a chocolate croissant. “I didn’t even think about breakfast this morning, I was so nervous.”
For some reason I don’t like that, and neither does my beast, a rough rumble vibrating up my throat as I frown at her.
Some of the students around us stare or lean away from me, but she just reaches out and pats my arm.
“It’s okay, I had coffee!”
“That’s not any better.” I chastise softly but seal the container and tuck it away.
“I know, but I was so excited and anxious. I was worried if I ate it wouldn’t stay down.” She takes a large bite of the croissant, groaning. “I’m definitely good now.”
I shake my head but I’m smiling.
The room is noisy, people chatting and laughing, others still looking for seats, someone in the back even fighting over a chair.
Kenya and I talk about the class and what we think we’ll be learning, then move on to what we both did last night, but its mundane chatter as we people watch and take bets on who will be in a fist fight first.
Fae were very primal beings after all.
But when the noise dulls and attention turns to the front of the room, everyone notices.
The almost physical aura, the sheer stifling weight these females give off as they enter the room, demands nothing but attention.
Grande and Imelda, I remember, and Imelda’s bodyguard/friend Yelana.
Whereas most Fae dampen their Dominance and typically only release it during challenge or to prove a point, these three wore it like a warning banner.
‘Fuck with me, and you’ll lose’, it said.
Around them fluttered a group of six or so other females, dressed just as well as the Princesses but unable to pull it off with the same elegance.
They glide to the front row, Imelda and Yelana walking slightly ahead of Grande.
As the brunette princess stops before a seat directly in the middle of the front row, I expect her to bark an order or ask Yelana to remove the Fae already seated there.
Instead she smiles, a picture of polite warmth, and makes a small gesture with her hand.
The male dips his head almost to his desk, sliding out of the chair, bowing even as he backs away and gestures her into the seat.
Yelana looks to the seat on the left, raising an imperious blonde brow.
The male gathers his things and leaves, moving to the back of the room with his friend.
Helping Imelda out of her fur coat and carefully laying it over the back of the chair, Yelana waits until she is seated and her bag is placed on the desk before sprawling into her own chair.
Grande, compared to the other two, is not nearly as gracious.
One of the many minions flittering around the blonde princess darts ahead of her to hiss at the Fae still seated to Imelda’s right, practically dragging him from the chair.
Another female then places a thin cushion on the chair and wipes down the table with a…. wet wipe?
Brows scrunched, I watch Grande shrug off her large cream coat without warning, two of her minions racing to catch it.
She then slams that giant pink Gucci purse of hers onto the table and waits for her chair to be pulled out before slowly lowering into it.
The females quickly arrange Grande’s coat on her chair, set a notebook, pens, and a coffee before her, then bow and wait for her dismissal.
She does so with a sneer and a lazy flick of her wrist.
All of them leave the classroom.
Which makes me realise none were taking this course.
Were handmaidens still a thing in this day and age?
Taking in the casual light blue knit sweater and ironed grey plaid slacks of Imelda, I compare it to Grande’s flirty pink singlet blouse and slim dark jeans paired with tall pink heels.
The two couldn’t be any more different.
It was like watching two different worlds attempt to cohabitate.
Not successfully, if the subtle snarls Yelana aims towards Grande say anything.
“Is your sister usually late to class?” Kenya whispers to me.
I’d told her a little about my relationship with Aletha, just so she understood why I wasn’t speaking with her and wouldn’t find it weird if I suddenly needed to duck in the halls.
She’d been sympathetic, and even a little mad on my behalf.
Kenya had then told me she was a fox shifter with very little power herself, and that her own relationship with her siblings wasn’t too great either.
I’d then been mad at her siblings too.
Seemed we were two peas in a very turbulent pod.
“Aletha doing physical work in front of others? No.” I laugh, but it was anything but funny. “She didn’t even do sports in High School.”
“If you don’t select this course in your acceptance application then they later tell you it is compulsory and add it to your workload.” Kenya says. “It’s why everyone is in here. This and Combat are mandatory, but everything else is free choice because the Rulers want their House members to at least be capable of defending themselves.”
Oh.
“Can you apply for a private tutor for this course or something? I could see her doing that.”
“You can, but it costs a lot.” She confirms. “The Princesses won’t do that because it sends a bad message. ‘We’re better than you, we don’t need to fight’. Their parents essentially make them take the course even though they’ve been training since puberty to defend themselves.”
“If they’re so advanced, couldn’t they just test out and still get good marks?”
“Sure, but it’s all about image with them.” She gestures to Grande, who is using her phone as a mirror to fuss with her flawlessly curled hair. “No matter how ridiculous it may seem to us, they do it just to make a point. Being Royal isn’t for the faint of heart.”
Watching the two females, seeing the effort they had put into their appearance just for morning classes – when I had simply tugged on a sweatshirt, some comfy jeans, and put my hair into a pony tail – was a clear divide between me and them.
I don’t think I could handle having to be that put together. I’d require serious therapy for life.
“Oh, the professor is here.” Kenya exclaims.
Entering the room with a no-nonsense expression and slamming the classroom door behind him, I watch him lock it and can see the panicked faces of some Fae stuck outside the door.
“My name is Mr Trevone.” He announces, slowly wandering to his desk. “Your classes today will simulate your schedule for Monday. My Monday classes start at 8am sharp. I lock the door at exactly 8. If you are late, then that is your own gods-damned problem.”
Glancing back at the faces pressed against the door’s little window, the Fae confused and panicked, I wince in sympathy and share a look with Kenya.
“Not only will I teach you in this class, but I am also one of your instructors for Combat. I will see all of you again this afternoon, and be assured, I am now choosing who I will be singling out and torturing for the remainder of this year. Another of your instructors, Miss Lumin, will float between the two classes.”
Flinching alongside half of the class when he slams a hand down on his desk, I watch with wide eyes as he slowly takes a seat upon it and flashes a savage grin.
“My goal is to have at least two drop-outs a year. Last year I far exceeded that number.” He casually brags. “This class will consist of two hours and will be separated into two sessions. One hour to physical theory, and one hour for practical fitness. You will be given five minutes to exit the doors at the back of the room and change into suitable workout clothing when it is time. Until then, we will begin with dietary health.”
Standing abruptly to face the chalkboard, he pulls down a poster showing the healthy diet pie – each section showing an assortment of foods and liquids that are necessary for gut and body health – some of the foods I don’t recognise, likely because they are from Faerie.
“Listen closely and do not raise your hands. If you fail to keep up there is a study guide available on the Academy’s website.” He barks. “Now, let us begin.”
I couldn’t reach for my pen fast enough.