Lysander wrapped his wings around himself, studying us in confusion.
The other Rebels nodded.
“The Princes’ whipping boy,” Magenta said, softly. Pocus lifted his head to stare at her, but the only sign that Midnight had heard was a twitch of his shoulders. “He’s knelt in the corner all this time. Such treatment is barbaric. Yet positive change is better than negative destruction. I wish to reward him with the rest of the day off.”
Bacchus rapped the thyrsus on the floor. “Done.”
“You can turn around now,” Magenta urged.
Cautiously, Midnight straightened and twisted, glancing at her from underneath his eyelashes. She flushed, and I couldn’t blame her. Midnight was hot in a smoldering vampiric way, with charcoal eyes that begged save me at the same time as his fangs and muscles screamed before I bite your throat.
Who could resist that combo?
Yet Midnight appeared as flustered as her. Had he been included in any reward since he’d arrived here? Huh, I didn’t even know how long ago that’d been. He’d already been the Princes’ whipping boy when I’d arrived.
Fox whooped. “Whipping boys on vacation go wild…”
“When we say that he gets the day off,” I wagged my finger at Lysander, and Mist snorted aquamarine flames at him as if to punctuate the point, “that means no crawling, answering to your bullshit orders, or any other whipping boy asshole duties.”
Lysander shoved himself away from the desk, marching to the door. “If you insist.”
“Hey, look at that, I do.”
“Gloating is unbecoming,” Lysander’s voice was dangerously low. “Shifter Training is this afternoon with Prince Ambrose. Us fae are formidable enemies, and you made a mistake to turn him against you. The torments of Seelie Fae can be creative and excruciating.” Lysander shuddered. Was he speaking from experience? “One was shocked to hear about the escape of my dragon, and how you Immortal delinquents were involved. Perhaps, now that I no longer have a steed, Ambrose will allow me to saddle you up…? It’s clear you need a good dose of my riding whip to break you. Are you capable of being trained, monster?”
When he laughed, slamming out of the room, I stormed after him. Magenta snatched for my sleeve, but I shook her off.
Mist retreated to the back of my pocket, trembling. But my own eight-legged horse reared inside me in distress at the thought of being ridden by the prince. Loki had taught me that shifting was a sacred power that mustn’t be forced but only ever be willing, but the professors treated it as something that should be controlled.
Just like me.
What if Ambrose forced me to shift?
I trembled as violently as Mist. The horse was small and no more dangerous than a toy. It was no wonder that the Rebels had accepted him so easily. But this afternoon, if I became Lysander’s replacement dragon, they’d discover that I was truly monstrous.
Chapter Fifteen
SLEIPNIR
I stormed ahead of the other Rebels, avoiding them like I had between classes since the nightmare that’d been SHP. I huffed a breath into the freezing afternoon air. Storm clouds fled across the gray skies. I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my black woolen overcoat. Then I sniffed its collar, calming at the sweet scent that still lingered from when I’d bundled Fox into it for the Discipline Run.
Valhalla! I wished that whipping boys were allowed to train at Dragon Polo because if anyone could understand the struggles and shame of a shifter, then it was a shimage.
When I breathed in the faint aroma of raspberries, it was kind of like Fox was as invisible as Magenta had once been but he was holding me as tightly as I needed him to right now.
Was that friendship?
I stared up at the towering barred stalls of the stables. This lesson was going to suck dwarf balls.
Honestly, after Bacchus’ fun and games, the last thing that I needed was to face an irate fae who wanted my dick on a spike. Oh yeah, and this fae was a professor.
My breath sped up, and my hands curled into fists. Misshapen…born wrong…monster…
Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop…
I punched my fist into the stable wall.
Crack — in the fight between stone and bone, my knuckles lost.
I grimaced, shaking out my fist. On the runes, my brothers were right: I could be a dumbass sometimes.
Mist poked his head out of my coat pocket with a squeal, stamping his eight hooves in pain.
“Sorry,” I stroked my finger over the flowing wisps of Mist’s mane, which curled around me like smoke.
Mist allowed himself to be petted, before nudging me with his head.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you start.”
My own eight-legged horse inside pawed at me to run. But on the Norns, it wasn’t truly Prince Ambrose that I was scared of but my own darkness. Every academy had its secrets, but so did I.
Prince Ambrose wouldn’t miss me for one lesson, would he?
I twisted on my heel, but before I could take a single step, Magenta materialized out of a cloud of pink and black mist that burst towards me, pinning me against the wall with my hands held above my head.
Woah, she could do that…?
Perhaps, I’d better save the impressed questions for after she’d flayed me because she looked pissed.
“I’d considered that gods may be arrogant, but do you not care that your behavior has the incubus believing that he’s displeased you, until he shakes like he’s been most soundly beaten, and the tender mage is close to tears?” Her eyes flashed, as she leaned closer. I didn’t struggle because how hadn’t I noticed the distress of the other Rebels? I’d been wrapped in Fox’s scent, but I’d allowed him to suffer. “Our emotions and our actions affect others. I’ve learned this in the harshest way. I wish yours to be gentler.”
My cheeks burned, and I couldn’t meet her gaze. “I wasn’t punishing them. I was…” Punishing myself. I bit my tongue hard to stop myself finishing the sentence, but Magenta appeared to have understood anyway because her expression gentled.
“I wish that you could see your merits as I do. Why should you require punishment?” When Magenta rested her forehead against mine, the intimacy of her touch suddenly meant that I trusted her with my shame.
It gutted me that I’d never had such a close connection with anyone outside my family before, and yet once she’d heard the truth, I was certain that it’d be shattered.
My breath hitched, and Mist trembled, sinking down into my pocket like he could hide from the words. “Dad’s Loki, this powerful shifter god. And mom…well, she’s even more powerful or that’s what dad said. She was a Seraphim, which are kind of the angels’ gods. It’s me who came out wrong.” My voice dropped to a whisper; forcing out the words was like birthing snakes. “Loki refused to abandon me, which was another black mark against him.” My gaze flicked to Magenta’s and then away. Her breath gusted against my cheeks, and the feel of her fingers encircling my wrists was real and anchoring in a way that I never wanted to lose. Only, I knew that I had to, and that wrecked me. “You don’t really want me. No one does. You should run from me like everybody else.”