16 #2
“Very well.” She angles away from me and toward Sin, as though they’re sharing a private conversation.
“The Wolf Regent presides over their continent, and they may marry whom they choose, though typically mates are chosen due to alliances and political negotiations.” She barely blinks in Sin’s direction.
“Then you have the continent’s Oracle and the First General.
The Oracle is famously depicted in werewolf artistry as being the regent’s right hand while the general is their left.
Then the rest of the immediate court’s pack—usually four to six others the regent holds in high esteem. Like an inner circle.
“After that, you have dukes and duchesses, who preside over countries or territories within the continent; earls and countesses, who preside over states or provinces within those countries; and barons and baronesses, who preside over cities or counties. Nobility holds the lesser packs accountable, though every pack in the world also has an Alpha. Those Alphas report to their baroness, who reports to their countess, and so on and so forth. It’s how the Seven Courts have remained united and strong for a millennium.
Laws are upheld no matter where in the world you exist.”
“You might want to write this down,” the boy beside me says. Though he makes no move to offer me a single supply needed to do so, the words don’t sound exactly unkind. But the girl sighs regardless and passes me a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a thimble of ink.
“Don’t mind his manners. That’s Myles,” she murmurs, her voice the tinkling lilt of a bell even as her deep brown hand trembles. “I’m Portia. Portia Montgomery, daughter of Duchess Claudia Montgomery and Duke Julius Montgomery of the Canadian territory.”
“Oh, um… thank you. I’m Vanessa,” I say blandly, testing out the quill and immediately ripping a hole in the parchment. “Do you happen to have a pen?”
Eric’s harsh laughter clashes with Katerina’s cackle, and I clench my fist around the quill.
It snaps in half, and Portia blinks at it.
Then retrieves another from her desk, where she’s lined up several in a neat row.
“No pens here. It’s traditional to maintain the calligraphy and penmanship of our ancestors. ”
I huff, attempting yet again to write with the new quill. I fail. “Notice the pen part of the word penmanship .”
Myles laughs under his breath, and I appreciate it.
That he’s not laughing at me like the others are.
Neither is Portia, and neither is Sin. I glance at the prince in question, nibbling on my lip, but he still won’t look at me.
He won’t look at Evie either. His face is an impenetrable facade of bored, beautiful arrogance, but those magical instincts buried deep within me know it’s a lie.
“Here.” Portia kneels beside my desk and shows me how to use the quill, even when the others continue to mock me, and Instructor Alvarez demands they stop. “You have to be gentle,” Portia says. “Calligraphy is all about soft, sure strokes.”
Maybe. But I’m not feeling very soft or very sure right now.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
Portia grins, and her hand stops trembling.
“The Seven Courts’ political structure is important, but it’s really not too complicated to understand.
Everything is on a macro scale here. Queens rule continents.
Dukes rule countries. Earls rule territories, and barons rules cities.
Of course, any gender can rule. Those were simply examples.
But within cities, there are lesser packs led by Alphas. We don’t mingle with them, though.”
I open my mouth to thank her again, but Myles interrupts us as Instructor Alvarez continues explaining the difference between earls and barons. “You really need to listen,” he implores. “If you’re hoping to make it through Ascension, you don’t want to be last in class.”
“Is there a punishment for that?” I ask warily, as quietly as possible. “Being last?”
Myles’s brows draw together as if it’s the dumbest question I could’ve asked.
“Nobility—especially the royals—are cutthroat. They won’t choose someone stupid for their future court.
” He doesn’t say this cruelly, simply matter-of-fact and unabashed.
I hunch over my work and use the quill once more. This time, I don’t rip the page.
If I’m going to defeat a future queen and her court, I need every bit of training I can get—and then some.
I write faster. Listen closer. Near the end of the lesson, when my head is down and I am fully focused, another wad of paper hits me square in the side.
But this one isn’t empty. There’s a message written on it in bloodred ink.
I lean over, scoop it up off the ground, and unfold it on my desk.
If you think class was bad, imagine what will happen to you the next time you’re alone.
Well, shit. I ball up the paper and toss it on the mossy ground. Maybe I don’t need to worry about surviving a fight with a future queen.
By the looks of it, I might not even survive the night.