Page 17 of If The Shoe Fits (A Howlin’ Good Fairytale Retelling #2)

chapter sixteen

I pause, scanning the room and realizing I’ve lost some of them. A few students look confused, others are whispering to their friends, and a couple seem more interested in their phones than my explanation.

Okay. Time to regroup.

“It’s like this,” I say, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. “If you’re on a sports team, think about the last game you played. Sportsmanship is a huge test of ethical values, right? Did you play fair? Did you respect your teammates and opponents?”

Some heads nod, and I see a flicker of understanding in their eyes.

“But the same can be said for those of you who take your classes seriously. Remember, the Academy works on an honor system. Have you been honest in your work? Are you putting in the effort you’re capable of?”

A round of ohs ripples through the crowd, and I breathe a little easier.

“So, if it doesn’t fit, we’re what? Losers?” Steven pipes up, earning a smattering of laughter from the students around him.

A smile teases at the corner of my mouth. “No, you’re not a loser, Steven,” I reply, keeping my tone light.

“If the slippers don’t fit— and they won’t for many —you’ll receive a message only you can hear. It’s a suggestion on where you can apply yourself to improve. For example, when I tried them on, the slippers suggested I work on reining in my temper when it comes to certain errant students—” I shoot a pointed look at Steven, earning more giggles from the crowd, “—and maybe not giving so many pop quizzes.”

“I second that, Professor Troy,” another student chimes in, to a chorus of laughter.

I grin, glad to see the tension in the room easing. But before I can continue, Aggie catches my eye and mouths something urgently.

What?

I think, trying to decipher her frantic gestures. Finally, it clicks, and I clear my throat.

“Oh! One thing I forgot to mention,” I say, my voice rising slightly to recapture their attention. “In trying on the slippers, yes, you’re opening yourselves up to judgment—but you’re also getting a glimpse into your actual soul.”

A collective gasp sweeps through the room.

“Our souls?” someone asks, the words dripping with disbelief and a little awe.

“Well, the things that move and motivate you,” I clarify. “If you take what the slippers have to say to heart, they can help set you on the path to obtaining your heart’s truest desire. That’s the goal here. To give you insight. Guidance. A way forward.”

The room goes silent, the buzz of nervous energy almost tangible as students exchange glances, elbowing each other and daring one another to go first.

I step back, gesturing toward the designated area where the line should begin. “So,” I say, smiling encouragingly, “if you’d like to gauge your moral compass, please form a line here.”

No one moves at first. The students look at each other, hesitant, their nerves on full display.

And then Wulfy speaks.

“So, who’s first?” he asks, his deep voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The shift in the atmosphere is immediate. His tone—calm, commanding, and utterly serious—has the effect of a starter pistol. One brave student steps forward, then another, and soon, the line begins to form.

I glance up at Wulfy, his sharp golden eyes surveying the crowd with an intensity that makes my breath hitch.

There’s something about the way he stands beside me—strong, steady, and completely unwavering—that fills me with a sense of calm.

“This is going to be brilliant,” he murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

I nod, feeling the weight of his words settle in my chest like a promise.

This is going to be brilliant.

And for the first time all evening, I believe it.

But I still worry. Not everyone wants a deeper look into their own souls. Certainly not in front of an audience.

“I-I’ll go first, Professor,” a timid voice says from the back of the crowd.

The room goes quiet, and my heart squeezes when I see who it is.

Bethany.

She steps forward hesitantly, her head slightly bowed, but her bright green eyes peek out from beneath her lashes.

I knew there was a reason Bethany is one of my favorite students—not that I play favorites, but if I did, she’d be near the top of the list.

Shy, studious, and with a heart so big it barely fits inside her slightly plump frame, she’s the kind of Witch people don’t always appreciate.

Sensitive souls often bear the brunt of unnecessary cruelty, and I see it in the way she holds herself now, biting her lip nervously as she moves through the crowd.

“Perfect! Come here, Bethany,” I murmur, holding out my hand.

She takes it, her palm slightly clammy against mine, and I smile warmly to reassure her. Tonight, she looks absolutely lovely.

Her soft, flowing dress falls in a cascade of Autumn colors— rich golds, deep oranges, and earthy reds —all layered in delicate ruffles that swirl around her ankles as she walks.

She looks like the season itself, and for a moment, I want to pull her aside and tell her how much she shines.

“What do I do?” she whispers, her earlier bravado faltering as she glances at the glowing glass slippers.

“Just try them on, Sweetie,” I tell her softly, squeezing her hand for good measure.

Her lips twitch upward into a tentative smile, and I walk her toward the little fenced-in area where the slippers sit, shimmering under the ballroom lights.

The crowd watches, murmuring amongst themselves, the tension in the air almost palpable.

“She’s going to try them on? Ha!” someone snickers from the back.

“Teacher’s pet!” another voice chimes in, earning a ripple of mean-spirited laughter.

“Shut up, guys!” a sharper voice interjects, and I can’t help but feel a swell of pride at the unexpected defense.

“Yeah, Bethany was brave enough to go first. Be quiet and let her have her turn!”

T he comments stir a mixture of emotions— anger at the cruelty, pride at the kindness —but before I can react, Wulfy steps forward, his tall, commanding frame practically vibrating with authority.

“Quiet!” he orders.

The effect is immediate. The students fall silent, their nervous chatter dissolving into a hush that echoes across the room.

I glance at him, grateful for his presence. Wulfy stands tall, his sharp amber eyes sweeping the crowd, daring anyone to say another word.

And they don’t.

I turn back to Bethany, nodding at her to focus on the task at hand. She looks up at me, her lips pressed into a tight line that’s more grim determination than a smile, but I’ll take it.

“Go ahead,” I murmur.

She bends down, her hands trembling slightly as she reaches for the slippers. She takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and slides her short, plump foot into the glass.

And they fit.

Thank the Goddess.

The slippers glow faintly, a soft golden hue that seems to radiate warmth, and I see the exact moment Bethany realizes what’s happening. Her eyes widen, her lips part in surprise, and a faint blush spreads across her cheeks.

A ripple of awe moves through the crowd, the earlier tension dissolving into whispers of amazement.

“They fit,” Bethany whispers, more to herself than anyone else, her voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

“They fit,” I repeat softly, smiling as I kneel beside her. “And do you hear it?”

She nods, her eyes glistening as she listens to whatever message the slippers are whispering to her.

I don’t know what they’re saying, but the way her expression shifts— from nervousness to quiet confidence —makes my heart swell.

When she finally looks up at me, her smile is genuine. “Thank you, Professor Troy.”

“You did it all yourself, Bethany,” I reply, giving her hand one last squeeze before helping her up.

Wulfy steps closer, his warm presence grounding me as he addresses the room.

“Bethany was brave enough to go first,” he says, his voice carrying effortlessly across the ballroom. “Who will be next?”

The crowd shifts, nervous energy still lingering, but now there’s a spark of something else.

Hope.

Bethany steps back, her head held a little higher than before, and as she moves toward the crowd, I catch Wulfy’s eye.

He gives me a small, knowing smile, and for the second time tonight, I feel like maybe this whole thing is going to work out.

Maybe everything will.