16
Werewolf classrooms are nothing like their human counterparts.
Sin tells me today’s first lesson is Ancestral Archives of Superior Societies before we enter, and while the title is strange enough to raise my brow, it doesn’t prepare me for what really awaits.
I stand alone in the entrance, my hand curled around a fully bronze door, and gape at a room that appears as infinite as the Atlantic Ocean.
Sin and Calix don’t wait for me to move before entering, and it takes them almost two full minutes to cross the massive space.
The castle appears as though it’s crumbled here, or maybe the nature of the Realm of Superiority is brutal enough that it’s invaded the castle all on its own.
Dewy moss replaces the traditional stone floor, while the low-hanging branches of willow trees hide cathedral-sized walls.
There is no ceiling here—or at least, there isn’t anymore.
Instead, a pastel-blue sky of fluffy clouds and shimmering, buttery sunlight rises through the jagged edges of a stone cavity.
It could be a fairy-tale meadow or an enchanted forest. I blink.
Pinch myself again, just in case Sin was wrong and this is a dream.
Although, for the first time, I’m not sure I want to wake up.
It’s beautiful. More so than anything I’ve seen before.
A gentle stream laps against rocks at the front of the classroom, where a standing desk made of old leathery book covers is illuminated by purple flames, and, behind it, a filing cabinet shoots through the open ceiling and pierces the clouds.
It’s far less medieval than the main hallways of the castle, and when I notice the instructor, I finally understand why.
A short, tan man with mismatched striped yellow pants and a turquoise tunic steps out from beside the filing cabinet, his arms stacked with more parchment than the jangling bracelets on his wrists.
“Take your seats!” he demands with a booming voice.
“You have thirty seconds before you will be doomed to Puddle Punishment.” He jerks his chin toward a small leak beside his desk—where pink water drips from the sky into a reflective puddle.
The students—my new classmates—take this seriously and sit at various antique desks, each about three feet from the other. I move forward quickly, wanting to go unnoticed and slip quietly beside Sin, but…
Shit.
My stomach drops, and my hackles rise.
Sin isn’t alone. Of course he isn’t. He’s the crown prince of this entire damnable place.
I grit my teeth, casting my gaze downward.
I was a fool to be swept away by its allure, even for a moment.
Sin isn’t alone because, lounging across his desk—her long, pale legs visible through the high slit of a black, gossamer gown—is Evie.
Murderer , I think, and instantly my bones shift beneath my skin. Memories flood through me once more, and it’s as though I’m back in that throne room, ripping into her as a wolf. Making her pay for how she ruined my life.
Her laugh carries high and shrill over the classroom, and she shakes out her fresh haircut with bloodred nails.
A chic shoulder-length bob. No doubt thanks to me.
I flush, heat creeping from my gut to my chest to my cheeks.
My claws beg to loosen. My fangs start to drop painfully. I hate her. I want to hurt her. I—
“You must be Miss Hart,” the instructor says, and every single thought in my mind implodes under his penetrating, golden gaze.
Beta. “My name is Instructor Alvarez, and your thirty seconds have passed. You won’t be penalized today, but I suggest you find a seat.
Now.” His voice lowers as if in compulsion, but he can’t compel me. He knows he can’t.
“Y-yes,” I stutter instead.
A dozen of my new classmates turn to leer at me as I stumble over the gently rolling hills of the classroom.
One step, then another. Everyone is staring , and I remember the laughter during my time in the throne room, and Evie…
She’s licking her fangs and slicing a nail across her throat in a warning directed only at me. No one reprimands her. Not even Sin.
I don’t know whether I want to flee or attack her again.
Maybe both, if my boiling blood is any indication.
But the instructor hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and there are a dozen perfect specimens of werewolves before me.
Judging me. Hating me. I can scent it—a faint whiff of charcoal and acid.
They loathe my very being. I pass by Sin’s section, where Evie drops from his desk and strolls to the one right beside it, immediately exchanging a slip of parchment with a blonde girl.
A boy with Alpha-red eyes sits behind Evie—the boy from the beach who looks like her.
The one who was cruel. And next to him is a redhead, also from the beach, with an hourglass figure and glossy, cherry lips.
Despite her golden gaze, she blows me a mocking kiss.
Clearly, this group is in charge, and I am not welcome amongst them.
I hurry faster now, past the section where brown-eyed students make crude gestures at me, and toward the far corner.
It’s just Calix on his own in the back beneath the hanging leaves of a willow, a few empty seats separating him from a Black girl with short, curly hair and a tawny-skinned boy with leather necklaces layered atop his crest—a medallion of a plain open book. Both have yellow eyes.
The scent of hatred is thinner there, so I choose the seat between them, ignoring Calix behind me. Only when I settle onto the rickety wooden seat does the instructor clap his hands and begin to speak.
“For today’s lesson, we shall return to our roots.
” Instructor Alvarez climbs a ladder up the side of the filing cabinet, nearly seven feet off the ground, and pulls out a massive, ancient text.
He throws it down onto his desk, and I’m surprised when the furniture doesn’t snap in half.
“A short summation of the monarchy and the serfdom in our world.”
Short , I think, my head already spinning, sure .
Evie laughs, the sound as ruthless as ever, and says, “Instructor, I am certain you’re aware that not only are most of us extremely educated in those who rule, but some of us are those rulers.”
I glance ahead, thinking of Sin, but he doesn’t turn to look at me. He stares forward at the instructor while Evie rolls a quill between her manicured fingers.
She meets my gaze instead, her red eyes flaring as she gestures with the feather toward the boy behind her.
“Princess Evelyn Lee and Prince Eric Lee of the Asian Court. Prince Sinclair of the North American Court.” She turns her feather to the redhead.
“Future Duchess Katerina Aston of the European Court. This lesson would be redundant at best, and a waste of our time at worst. A waste,” she enunciates, “of your time.”
Princess Evelyn Lee.
Fuck.
Of course. Of course she’s the princess of a foreign court.
That explains why she was in the throne room, why she’s going to be engaged to Sin, why she can sit there like that, her mouth twisted in a snide grin, and no one stops her.
More still, others join in. The redhead, Katerina, cackles, arching forward in her seat to sneer at me.
“Please,” she purrs in a dark, English accent. “We know why the lesson is necessary. Poor, dumb little Bitten one. Do you even know what a serfdom is?”
Evie’s brother, Eric, chuckles. “Can it even read ?”
“Real nice,” the blonde girl says, her voice softer, quieter, as her golden skin flushes pink. “Just because she’s Bitten doesn’t mean she’s stupid.” She tugs the collar of a long-sleeved gown higher up her throat, as if she’s trying to hide something, but Evie comforts her with a soft hum.
“Don’t worry, Antionette. We’re not talking about you.” Evie whips her head around to glare at me again. “We’re clearly referring to the feral bitch who doesn’t belong here.”
Antionette slouches lower in her seat while Katerina throws a wad of paper at my head. Instructor Alvarez hops smoothly down from the ladder and claps his hands. Thunder echoes around us. A bolt of lightning strikes the puddle beside his desk.
“Enough!” he commands.
But Evie is an Alpha and Sin’s future intended and a princess.
He can’t silence her. No one can. I grip the corners of my desk, the wood splintering from my rough grasp.
I don’t see the red of her eyes anymore—I see the blood on Celeste’s cheek.
I smell the decaying scent of her in my arms. Murderer.
“I am merely proposing that we continue with our studies, as we have so much to learn before the Ascension Rite, and she catch up in her own time. We can’t possibly cover an entire lifetime of lessons in three months. That would be preposterous.”
Another strike of lightning, and—finally—Evie shuts up. Though she does not join Antionette in slouching or Eric in giving me the finger. She raises her chin, exhibiting the perfect posture of a future queen. Of my future queen.
“Miss Hart will catch up in her own time, but we can allow her a day to adjust, Princess Evelyn.” Instructor Alvarez runs his fingers through thick brown hair, and electricity crackles.
He must be controlling it , I realize. The lightning must be his gift.
I remain still, not wanting to provoke him further.
Though I’d like nothing more than to launch myself at Evie again.
“Perhaps,” the instructor continues, “you would like to list out the titles within our monarchy, Princess, in order of their significance.”
Evie sighs through flared nostrils. “If I must.”
“You must.”