The Lycan Trials (A Reverse Harem Academy Romance)

Can't die twice

CELIA

A knock sounds on the carriage door, pulling me out of my thoughts almost immediately

“All candidates are to disembark,” a voice calls from outside. “Carriages are not permitted beyond this point.”

Huh?

I groan before muttering under my breath. “Oh Jesus Christ.”

Because why would anything in this world be remotely convenient?

Before I can even move, Keiran speaks, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. “Carriages are not allowed inside the academy grounds.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and push the door open instead.

The moment my feet touch the ground, I pause.

Because—

Okay.

Jeez.

The place is magnificent.

The academy stretches out before me in a way that feels almost unreal, like something built to remind you exactly how small you are the moment you step into it.

The buildings are tall and imposing, carved from pale stone that catches the sunlight in a way that makes everything look almost… ethereal.

Arched walkways connect different sections, banners hang high above, and everything about the place screams power, discipline, and a level of control I am not entirely sure I like.

People are everywhere.

Male and female alike, dressed in robes and fitted training gowns, moving in clusters or standing in place as they take in the surroundings just like I am.

Some have duffel bags slung over their shoulders, some stand beside their carriages while servants unload their belongings, and others are walking in from the main entrance like they’ve come a long way just to be here.

A few servants move past us, already gathering luggage.

“Your belongings will be delivered to your assigned quarters,” one of them announces without slowing down.

Quarters.

Alright then.

I glance briefly at my trunk being carried off before my attention drifts back to the crowd.

There’s a difference.

It’s subtle, but it’s there.

Some of them stand straighter, dressed better, with that quiet confidence that comes from never having to question where you belong.

Others look… less certain. Their clothes are simpler, their movements more cautious, and the way they look around reminds me a little too much of how Annabel usually acts when she's around Laureline and her mother.

Laureline steps down beside me, smoothing out her gown as if she just arrived at a social event instead of enduring that carriage ride from hell.

Then she speaks.

“I don’t know what His Majesty was thinking, opening the Royal Academy to commoners this year.”

Her voice is soft, but the disgust in it is not.

I follow her gaze to see a small group walking in from the entrance, their steps slower. One of them is carrying his own bag over his shoulder like there was no one else to do it for him.

Commoners.

Oh.

So that’s what this is.

Laureline lets out a quiet scoff. “They won’t last a week anyway,” she continues, her lips curving slightly. “The trials will take care of them soon enough.”

Again, I don’t say a word.

“Come with me,” Keiran says instead, also not replying Laureline, his tone low but firm.

I glance at him briefly, then fall into step anyway because standing here arguing with either of them is not how I want to start whatever this is.

People are already moving toward the main building, and we end up blending into the crowd almost naturally, walking through the large archway that leads deeper into the academy grounds.

The closer we get, the quieter it becomes. And the louder my heart beats.

We pass through a set of massive double doors, and the moment I step inside, I slow down.

Because—

This… It’s an auditorium.

A huge one at that with a very high ceiling. The kind of huge that makes you instinctively look up just to take it all in.

Rows of seats rise in tiers, already filling with people, and the air is thick with low murmurs and shifting movement.

But that’s not what has my attention.

It’s the people.

Some of them look… normal.

And then some of them very much do not.

My eyes land on someone sitting a few rows ahead, and I blink once, just to make sure I’m not imagining things.

Their ears look longer than normal. Very noticeable and V-shaped, their hair tucked behind it.

And the hair.

Wait.

It doesn’t look dyed nor is it styled to look unusual. But this particular one looks strange.

It's a lilac colour.

My eyes shifts to the person sitting beside the lilac haired person.

Same type of ear. But the hair is soft rose gold, something that looks dangerously close to silver with a hint of yellow running through it.

In front of them, someone stands.

And my eyes widen, almost popping out of their sockets as I come to a halt.

A tail.

An actual tail.

I stare for half a second longer than I probably should.

My brain, in its infinite wisdom, immediately goes:

Cosplay.

Which is ridiculous.

Because—

Right. Elvaria. Brujah.

And slowly and heavily, it clicks.

“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath.

So this is real.

All of it.

Does Jesus even exist here?

I drag my gaze away and take in the rest of the room, trying not to look like I just had a full existential reset in public.

The place is almost filled. Students occupy most of the seats, most armed, some sitting in composed silence, others leaning toward each other in quiet conversation.

There’s an unspoken tension in the air, like everyone knows something is about to happen but no one is quite sure what.

At the front of the room is a raised platform where a podium stands at the center.

But there’s no microphone.

Which is… quite concerning.

Because unless they expect whoever is about to speak to scream at all of us, that means—

Yeahhhh magic.

Of course.

I exhale slowly, my eyes scanning the room once again before I decide to sit in the empty space beside Keiran, Laureline at his other side.

The seat is firm, and I try to sit properly, but my body still feels like it has not recovered from that carriage ride.

My eyes scan the room again.

There are a lot of people here, the auditorium already filled up.

Based on my guess, we should be up to around three hundred or so.

There's a constant hum of conversations layered on top of each other. Some people look relaxed, like they have done this before, while others look like they are trying very hard not to look lost.

I’m not sure which category I fall into.

Probably somewhere in between “holding it together” and “one inconvenience away from losing it.”

Then the floating light balls around the podium flicker to life, brightening the center.

The noise begins to die down, not all at once, but gradually, like everyone is remembering at the same time that they are supposed to be paying attention.

I watch as a man steps onto the stage.

Tall. Blonde. Dressed in fitted trousers and a structured top, with leather boots and a sword at his waist.

His entire aura and pose screams ‘noble’ as he walks to the center, stops behind the podium, and looks out at all of us like he’s already decided what he thinks.

“My name is Spencer Kirksmoth,” he says, and his voice carries easily across the entire room without him raising it. “I will be overseeing your assessment for this year’s Royal Academy entry trials.”

My breath catches in my throat as I side-eye Keiran.

There’s going to be an assessment?

Well… how will I know? It’s not that I asked anyone about the academy except Annabel whose knowledge about the academy is narrow.

A voice somewhere behind me whispers, a little too audibly, “Master Kirksmoth looks even better in person.”

“If he looks this hot, imagine how his cousin, Prince Dorian would look.” another replies.

I sigh softly, sinking deeper in my seat. Even here, priorities remain intact.

The Spencer guy continues. “Welcome to this year’s Royal Academy selection.”

There’s a pause, and it’s not long, but it’s enough to make sure everyone is actually listening.

“This year,” he says, “will be different.”

That gets everyone’s attention properly.

You can feel it in the way people straighten, in the way conversations completely stop, and in the way the air itself feels… tighter.

“The quota for entry from allied races has been expanded,” he continues. “From one hundred to two hundred candidates among which a limited amount will be selected.”

There’s a ripple through the room and he continues anyway.

“And,” he adds, “for the first time, entry has been opened to twenty exceptional commoners selected from across Mooncrest, Brujah, and Elvaria.”

That one hits harder and there’s an actual reaction this time.

A scoff somewhere to the left. Murmurs before me.

Laureline lets out a quiet, offended breath beside me, and I don’t even need to look at her to know exactly what expression she’s wearing.

I keep my face neutral, but my mind lingers on that.

Twenty.

Spencer waits for the noise to settle before continuing.

“The final selection,” he says, “will be determined through the Lycan Trials.”

“The trials will span three days,” he continues, “and by the end of those, the most important nobles who really need to go through the academy will be selected, other applicants who stand out will be selected too, and your rankings will be established.”

My brows raise?

There's nepotism here too?

Well, I can only hope the Valmorra household is part of the so-called important nobles even if one also has to prove where one stands.

I just want to get in here and skip the death-y marriage part.

He pauses again, then adds, almost casually, “You will not be observed by the faculty alone.”

That draws attention again.

My brows knit slightly as I try to focus.

“This year,” he continues, “the Crown Prince will personally oversee the new intake.”

That lands properly as the reaction is instant.

Even Laureline goes still for half a second.

I might be the only one who's trying to prepare f***s to give about the crown prince from scratch.

“Prepare yourselves,” he says. “The trials will begin shortly.”

Waittt. What? Shortly?

I sit up.

Shortly as in—

Today?

Because if that’s what he means, then I would really like a moment to panic properly before we start.

I look around the room again, and I can indeed confirm it's today, based on the tension and anticipation in the air.

The way some people already look ready, while others are trying not to look like they’re about to pass out.

Three days.

That’s all it takes.

Three days to decide who stays and who gets sent back.

I lean back slightly, my fingers resting against the edge of the seat as I let out a slow breath.

Yeah.

Might as well give it my all.

Can't have me dying twice right?