Chapter 37 Tour guide
SOMA
Nerves twist in my stomach as I walk into the lobby, and my heart jolts when I spot Brynne leaning casually against Heather’s desk.
A girl in a uniform similar to mine stands close by, speaking to him in a low, eager tone. With his eyes closed and jaw set like he’s bored out of his mind, he doesn’t look interested in whatever she’s telling him.
As soon as I take a second step forward, his eyes open, locking onto mine. Heat crawls up the back of my neck, and my fingers twitch at my side. For a moment, I consider rushing back into the chancellor’s office.
The girl notices the shift in his attention, and she turns toward me with deliberate precision. She’s beautiful with honey-brown skin that glows beneath the lights.
Thick braids cascade down her back. Hazel eyes peer out of her face, framed by perfectly sculpted brows. Her lips are painted dark red, and she wears the uniform as if it were tailored on her. Her shirt is tucked perfectly, and the skirt hem falls at the right length to be fashionable without breaking rules.
Her posture suggests closeness, and I wonder if I’ve interrupted something. The thought dies as quickly as it comes when Brynne straightens up. He brushes past me like I’m invisible and strolls into the chancellor’s office.
Before I can gather my bearings, the girl stalks toward me. She grabs my hand without hesitation, shaking it so firmly I nearly stumble.
“You must be Lady Soma,” she says, her voice a cross between pride and possession. “Nice to meet you. I’m Helga, and I’ll be your tour guide for today.”
The girl barely gives me a chance to say a word. She casts one longing look at the door Brynne walked through and flashes me a soft smile. That automatically makes me grow wary. Without further ado, she walks me out of the building, and I soon realize why she was chosen as my tour guide.
Helga talks too much. I’ve only been with her for a few hours, but I know more about the academy’s gossip network than about the school itself. According to her, the receptionist is known to everyone as Crazy Heather, and she only landed her post because she’s the side piece of one of the school’s board members.
The more Helga talks, the more I realize she has a bottomless reservoir of raunchy tales. Most of which aren’t even about students but about teachers, staff, or people’s families. For half the tour, all we do is talk about others.
Around us, the air comes alive with voices, footsteps, and the creak of doors opening and closing. Students stream through stone hallways, their laughter echoing against polished marble floors and high, vaulted ceilings.
The entire academy exudes a faint scent of wealth, silk, old books, cologne, and expensive perfume. It’s a strange mix that makes me both unsettled and impressed.
As Helga launches into another tale about a boy who once tried to sneak liquor into the ballroom but ended up expelled, I cut in, desperate for something useful.
“Can you tell me more about the academy itself?” I ask as we turn into another corner. The ceilings here arch higher, lit with glittering chandeliers that cast warm light across portraits of men and women dressed in ceremonial robes. “It’s huge. I expected… less.”
Given that it’s a royal school, I thought it would house only a handful of students. Those strictly chosen by bloodline or privilege. Yet in only a few hours, I’ve seen over six dozen students scattered across halls, fields, and classrooms.
She laughs. “Yeah, it is. People are always surprised by the size.”
We pass through another set of wide double doors, entering a hallway lined with windows that frame sweeping views of the academy grounds. Beyond the glass, I see the sprawl of green fields, dotted with students in uniforms practicing or lounging, while in the far distance, the tall towers of a castle jut upward.
“But of course,” she continues, “Shadowspire Royal Academy has been around forever. Literally.”
“Forever?” I echo.
“Ten thousand years. At the inception of the pack.” Her eyes glimmer as if she’s about to recite something she’s memorized. “Those who fought to build the pack were called the founding families. They weren’t ordinary wolves, you know. They were elders with unique magical abilities.”
“Magic?”
Helga shrugs. “Back then, there were werewolves who could control the elements. They all longed for a supreme ruler, and so, they crowned the strongest and fiercest warrior as Alpha King. The academy was built as a way for our ancestors to keep the founding families united.”
Her voice rings with pride, and I nod, still stuck on the magical aspect. Too bad none of the current royals can wield magic now. Maybe that’s a good thing because I can’t imagine Kade doing anything meaningful with his.
“Is that why it’s so difficult for people to be granted admission?” I ask.
“Exactly. Ninety-five percent of the students here are tied to the founding families. The other five percent?” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “They only got in through special favors from King Rowan.”
That explains everything I already know. Aunt Helen and my late uncle have no blood ties to the royal family or claim to the founding families. She must have spent and done a lot to gain this favor. Besides, Uncle Dorian was close to King Rowan before he passed away. Aunt Helen, no doubt, milked that friendship for all it was worth. Even after Uncle’s death, she continues to reap the benefits of his former closeness with the crown.
“Everyone from the founding family is here?” I ask.
“No. Some families broke off and started their own packs. But the academy kind of unites them.” Her feet bounce as she speaks, as if she can't wait to continue the tour. “Their offspring will always have a chance at the academy.”