"Holy shit," I whispered, staring up at the structure in the distance. It was like something out of a fairytale, all delicate spires and elegant masonry. The grounds were covered in snow, but I had no doubt they'd be just as awe-inspiring. "It's like a castle."
I hadn't really meant to say it aloud, but Mr. Wainwright heard me anyway.
"It is a castle," he informed me. "Or it used to be, a long time ago. Since then it has spent several hundred years as a private residence, then it was a hotel for about eighty years or so until the first Lord Morgan purchased the property just prior to the Monarch War and started Arbon Academy."
I gaped at him, but he didn't even seem to register my head exploding. The car stopped in front of the impressive front entrance, and the car door clicked open via a button that the driver pressed. He didn't even need to get out into the cold to open it himself.
"Come along, Ms. Spencer." Mr. Wainwright indicated for me to exit the vehicle before him. Manners and all that crap. "Dean Morgan wanted you here before the morning assembly, which starts in five minutes. You'd better hurry."
I stood beside the luxurious car, looking up at the legitimate castle that was to be my home for the next four years, and just... trembled.
"Oh for goodness sake," Mr. Wainwright grumbled, dropping his own woolen coat over my shaking shoulders. "Honestly, Ms. Spencer, you didn't think to pack a coat?" He retrieved my pathetic bag of belongings from the trunk and propped it up in the snow beside us.
I rolled my eyes, but slipped my arms into the sleeves, pulling it tight around my frozen body. "I don't own a coat, Mr. Wainwright." I arched a brow at him. "Or did you forget I'm the school's latest charity case?"
The old gentleman gave me a long look. "I doubt it's that easy to forget anything about you, Ms. Spencer." The way he assessed me was bordering on uncomfortable, but not in a leery, sexual way. More just that he was taking my measure, committing it to memory. "Hurry along. You'll find plenty of coats in your new room, but for now you can keep mine. Last thing I need is to be reprimanded for delivering a new student with hypothermia."
He didn't wait for my response before sliding back into the warmth of the car and leaving me standing there with nothing but my ratty duffel bag at my feet.
Trembles still ran through me and I wasn't getting any warmer just standing there, so I hoisted my bag in my freezing hands and made my way up the impressive stairs to the huge, carved wooden doors.
"You're late," a woman snapped as I let myself through the grand entrance. "Quickly now."
I barely even got a glance at her face before her heels were click-clicking away down the marble hallway. What I could see of her was a tight, professional French twist in her mouse-grey hair, hair sprayed within an inch of its life. Her skirt suit was dowdy, but expensive. Some kind of checked fabric. Was that what they called tweed?
"Uh, I'm sorry," I offered, hurrying to keep up with her while managing my bag of shit. "Mr. Wainwright just dropped me off and—"
"Stop talking," she ordered, stopping abruptly outside a closed door and spinning to face me. On second look, she wasn't as old as I'd initially placed her. Maybe in her late thirties? The scowl on her face was doing nothing for her skin, though. It was marred with plenty of frown lines across her forehead and around her eyes. "Dean Morgan wanted to introduce you during morning assembly, but that's certainly not happening now." The way she looked me over told me the reason it wasn't happening—not because I was late, but because I looked like a pile of crap
"Sorry," I muttered again, frowning. I sort of wanted to call her out on being a bitch, but I probably shouldn't land myself in trouble before even seeing my room.
She rolled her eyes, not even pretending to be polite. "In here you'll find your enrollment pack. Most of it has been filled in by your, uh, guardians. The rest you're required to complete. You'll also find an introductory packet with maps of the grounds, details of your accommodations, and your class schedule. All the important stuff. I suggest you familiarize yourself with it." She paused a moment, her mouth pursed like she'd eaten a lemon. "A senior student will be by after the assembly to show you around."
She unlocked the door with an old-fashioned key—a metal one that actually needed to be inserted in the lock and turned—before standing aside to let me enter. Inside was just a small room with a desk, a couple of chairs, and a potted plant in the corner.
"Any questions?" she asked, then stalked away before even waiting for me to respond.
"Bitch," I muttered after her, watching as she disappeared down the hall before I entered the small room. "Yay, paperwork." I eyed the thick stack on the desk with apprehension. Then again, she did say it had all the information about my classes and accommodations. It was odd to see so much paper—a luxury item—but I was starting to truly understand that the normal rules I’d lived life with over the last eighteen years were not going to work at Arbon.
They had no rules.
Sighing, I slipped my coat over the back of the chair, sat down, and started leafing through it.
An hour and a half later I was confident about two things. One, I hated my class schedule, and two, no one was coming to show me around.
"Fuck it," I muttered, standing up and stretching. "I'll figure it out myself."
After all, I had just been studying a map of the school for an hour. Surely I could handle finding my room without a student guide.
Slinging my ratty bag strap over my shoulder, I left the little office and headed back down the hall in the direction of the front entrance. According to my map, there should be a staircase to the right, and underneath it...
"Perfect," I whispered to myself, locating the restrooms under the stairs, just as they'd been marked on the map. It'd been a long drive up the mountain from the airstrip, and the last thing I needed to do was pee myself when I bumped into my first actual royal.
After taking care of business, I eyed myself in the gold-framed mirror.
I didn't understand why people kept giving me such disgusted looks. My appearance really wasn't that bad at all, considering the amount of travel I'd just endured. I mean sure, the dark shadows under my eyes could use a bit of concealer, and my hair...
Alright. Maybe they had a point.
"Christ on a cracker," I groaned, tugging my hair tie out and running my fingers through the wild blonde mess. "I'd have had better luck sticking my finger in a power socket."
A small laugh startled me, and I turned to look at the pretty redhead who'd just entered the bathrooms so freaking quietly I spared a moment to wonder if I was imagining things.
"Here," she said, digging through her designer handbag, then passing me a tube of product. I eyed it warily, but she just laughed, coming closer to where I stood in front of the mirror. "Just trust me." She rolled her eyes, but smiled.
Still cautious—because so far my reception at Arbon Academy had been less than welcoming—I took the tube of product and peered at the label. All it had on it, though, was some fancy holographic logo and the words "Miracle Balm."
"Miracle, huh?" I murmured.