Royal Academy: The Royal Lycans

Silas

(Silas' POV)

I was late. Not because I hadn’t known where I was supposed to be, or when. I’d known. I always knew. The Academy didn’t exactly make its expectations subtle. Wide courtyards, elevated tiers, Elders standing like stone sentinels—everything about the place screamed that punctuality was a test before anything else. I just hadn’t cared. At least, not enough to hurry.

I slipped into the courtyard from the side entrance, boots striking stone louder than I meant them to, the sound carrying farther than it should have. The place was already too quiet. That was my first mistake. Silence in a room like this meant attention had already been gathered and focused, and I’d just dropped myself right into the center of it. Great.

I stopped mid-stride and scanned the space, taking in the Elders on the dais, the senior cadets above them, and the mass of first-years below. Wolves clustered. Lycans held themselves apart like they didn’t need the reassurance of numbers. A few shifters stood carefully neutral, trying not to draw eyes. I spotted an empty seat near the front and took it without ceremony. Beside a girl. She didn’t look at me when I sat down, didn’t flinch or shift away like some did when they realized who they were sitting next to. She just adjusted slightly, reclaiming her space without challenging mine. Blonde hair. Brown eyes. Alert posture. Shifter scent—but not wolf or lycan. Feline, if I had to guess but I didn’t care.

The Elders resumed as if my entrance hadn’t happened, which somehow felt worse than being called out properly. My attention drifted as speeches continued, senior cadets stepping forward one by one, talking about duty and discipline and preparedness like they were reciting lines they’d practiced in mirrors. I half-listened. Half-assessed. Most of it sounded like the same speeches I’d heard growing up, packaged a little differently for an audience that needed reassurance that hierarchy was still sacred. The Crown. The packs. The responsibility of power. I’d grown up inside those words. They didn’t impress me. Then something shifted. Not the speeches—the room. The air tightened in a way I recognized, the way it did when someone with real authority stepped forward. I looked up despite myself.

Elara.

She stood apart from the others without trying to. Same posture, same stillness I remembered from family gatherings where she’d listened more than she spoke and somehow always knew more than the rest of us. She didn’t smile. Didn’t posture. Didn’t soften.

That got my attention. Not because she mattered to me—but because she seem to matter to everyone else. I watched the first-years react, jaws tightening, eyes narrowing. I shifted in my seat, irritation prickling at the back of my neck. Of course she was here for justice. Of course she’d say it like that—calm, absolute, unafraid of who it irritated. Elara had always been like that. Too sharp for comfort. Too certain. She stepped back, and the quiet that followed felt heavier than applause would’ve been. That was when I heard my name.

“My first pick,” she said, voice carrying, “is Silas.” I froze. Actually froze. The words took a second to register, like my mind had refused to accept them on principle. Then irritation surged hot and fast, snapping my attention fully to her.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“You’re joking,” I said before I could stop myself.

She didn’t even look surprised. “No,” she replied calmly. “Because I promised my brother and sister-in-law I’d make sure you didn’t embarrass yourself.”

Laughter rippled through the first-years and my jaw tightened. “I don’t need you babysitting me,” I snapped. “You don’t have to—”

“Get up here,” she cut in, finally turning her full attention on me, “or I’ll drag you up here.”

That shut me up.

I stood, irritation burning through my chest, pride bruised but not enough to make me stupid. I moved forward slowly, refusing to rush, refusing to give her the satisfaction of immediate compliance. That was when I heard it. A small sound. A laugh. I glanced sideways without meaning to. The shifter girl beside my former seat had covered her mouth, eyes wide, clearly surprised by her own reaction. She wasn’t mocking me. She wasn’t even looking at me. She was amused. Something about that twisted sharper than the laughter had.

Elara caught it too. I saw the way her expression shifted—just slightly—as she smiled and winked at the girl before snapping back to business. Perfect. Just perfect. She made a few more selections—wolves, Lycans—solid choices that didn’t surprise me. Then she spoke again. “Orla of Black Ridge.”

The shifter girl startled, then moved forward quickly, posture snapping back into controlled stillness. Black Ridge. That tracked.

By the time teams were finalized, my irritation had settled into something tighter, heavier. I hadn’t come here by choice. That much was painfully clear now. I remembered the night my parents had told me. Father had stood with Mother beside him, his arm around her waist—not possessive, but grounding, like he needed her there to keep himself in check. I’d known then that I’d disappointed them. You could feel it when Father was holding himself back.

“I don’t know how to teach you,” he’d said, voice steady but tired. “Every lesson we’ve tried—humility, decency, responsibility—it hasn’t landed.” Mother hadn’t contradicted him. That hurt more than the words. “So this is the last option,” Father had continued. “You’re going to the Academy. And don’t think being my son will get you any passes.” I’d tried to argue. I’d gotten exactly three words out before Soul, my father's lycan, stirred. The growl had come from everywhere at once, vibrating through bone and air, his presence slamming into me like a wall.

Stop whining like a spoiled pup, Soul had snarled.

I had shut right the hell up. Soul scared me. Always had. I’d seen Father lose his temper once. Seen him pick up a disrespectful Alpha and throw him through a wall in his own packhouse like he weighed nothing. All because that Alpha had disrespected Mother. They were lucky they were still breathing. The memory faded as Elara’s voice cut back in. “Follow me,” she said. “We’re going to training.”

I blinked, pulled back into the present as the team gathered, boots shuffling, nerves humming. “Training?” I repeated before I could stop myself. “Already?”

Elara didn’t slow. “I need a baseline. What you’re capable of. Where you need guidance. Where you’ll improve.” She glanced back at us, eyes sharp. “So we’re starting with the basics.” We moved out of the courtyard toward the training rings, stone corridors swallowing sound as the Academy closed around us. Irritation built again, coiling tight under my ribs.

“You didn’t need to speak to me like that earlier,” I said, pitching my voice low but sharp enough to cut. “You could’ve handled it differently.”

She stopped. So abruptly the group nearly ran into her. She turned slowly, and for a heartbeat I thought she might just glare or dismiss me. Instead, her hand hit my collar. Hard. She yanked me forward and then slammed me into a stone wall, the impact knocking the air from my lungs as boots scraped against the floor. The world narrowed to her grip, her eyes, the sudden stillness of everyone around us.

“You may be the King’s son,” she said quietly, green eyes locked onto mine, “but I’m his sister.” Her grip tightened just enough to make the point unmistakable. “And both he and your mother gave me permission to kick your ass if you don’t listen.” Someone behind us choked on a laugh. Elara leaned in slightly, her voice dropping so only I could hear her next words. “Keep pushing,” she said softly, “and see if I don’t make good use of their permission.” For a heartbeat, instinct screamed at me to push back. Then I saw it. Not anger. Not bluff. Certainty. Slowly, deliberately, I let my hands fall back to my sides.

“…Noted,” I said through clenched teeth.

She searched my face for another half-second. Then released me. I straightened, heat crawling up my neck as suppressed laughter rippled through the group. I caught Orla’s eye for half a second—she had her hand over her mouth to hide her smile. Elara turned and resumed walking as if nothing had happened. “Move,” she said. “You’re already behind.”

I followed. Jaw tight. Pulse loud. This place wasn’t going to bend for me. And for the first time, that thought didn’t just make me angry. It made me nervous.