“I don’t like taking part in this game at all,” Magenta sighed, “but if we must, then that appears the best compromise.”
“Come on, get on with it,” Lysander spat. “Lay hands like the brutes you are on my royal person.”
Bask snickered.
“Hey, there aren’t enough chocolates in your private larder to bribe me into touching your person.” I lifted my brow. “The punishment is for Prince Lysander. Tonight, you have to serve your whipping boy.”
He blinked. “How?”
I grinned wickedly. “That depends on the café and your whipping boy, but since you’ve had this whole master and servant thing going on, I have a feeling that you’re in for a long night of humiliation, slave.”
Always hit them where it hurts, and for Prince Lysander, that was right in his pride.
Lysander’s cheeks pinked, before his eyes darkened with a deadly rage. “Have your fun. But tomorrow, I’ll be certain to win the Game, and you’ll regret making me suffer. Roles can be reversed for a single night, but the whipping boys shall be whipping boys still and princes shall always be princes. I’ll be certain that yours remembers that as much as mine.”
My eyes narrowed at Lysander’s threat to Fox. Didn’t he get that we could seriously hurt him with the Game, but instead, were trying to teach him to treat his own whipping boy with some respect?
Even though Magenta had manged to make a friend of one fae prince, another had become a deadlier enemy. Lysander looked set to wreck us, before we could wreck him.
Chapter Sixteen
BASK
I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the suede sofa in the Rebel Café. The rest of the Immortals and Princes sprawled in a circle, eying each other warily. You could bring rival bad boys (and girls) to water, but you couldn’t make us magic it into cocktails and drink. If Ezekiel had wanted tonight to be a team bonding session, I didn’t think that he’d imagined it to go like this.
Snowflake patterns swirled across the walls, until I was dizzy. I tossed my blazer and tie to the side; my skin itched and crawled with need. I was burning up. My hair was limp, and my arse was barely pettable.
Shoot me now.
I perked up when Serenity dropped from the ceiling an even more deliciously snuggly pile of pillows than my West Wing stash. I narrowed my eyes at Fox, who gazed at the pillows with as much longing as me.
“Sorry,” Magenta pulled Fox against her, stroking a curl behind his ear, “but they’re for my crow familiars to nest in. They’re ghosts, you know, but they need pampering too.”
“Finally, someone who understands about my importance in the healing that is relaxation,” Serenity gushed like she was about to come from being appreciated alone. “Familiars suffer stress too.”
“Why the snowflakes?” Magenta gestured at the walls. “Wouldn’t a tropical island be a rather pleasant break for us?”
“Scientists have proved that repeated patterns like snowflakes reduce distress. Aren’t you soothed already? Come on, what’s with the tension in here? How about a group wank?”
“A group…what?” Magenta demanded.
“Laugh,” Serenity answered with pretend innocence. “It’s perfect therapy. How about I start…? Hahahaha…”
I winced as Serenity’s shrill laugh echoed throughout the café.
“Wow, I’m all relaxed now,” Fox gritted out, before twisting in Magenta’s arms. “Okay, that’s a lie, I’m sitting in this freaky circle with the Princes and the female version of Hal. Do you know what’d help…?”
He glanced significantly at the fluffy pillows.
I drew in my breath. Fox was trying to steal my snuggle patch. Yep, I was claiming it.
Magenta cocked her head like she was listening. “Flair says: How about his beak biting into your cock like a worm? You’re never getting our nest, you foxy fuck.”
Rude.
When Fox paled, I snickered. Although, what would the invisible crow do to my dick…? I covered my crotch. Rule 11 of the Incubi Night Code stated: Guard your dick and balls like they’re truly as precious as the royal jewels.
Magenta even managed to resist the power of Fox’s puppy dog eyes. She had some talent. I’d have at least shared…one…of my pillows by now. Away with you, I could be generous.
I glanced across the circle at Sleipnir who sprawled in only his rolled-up shirtsleeves; his cotton candy pink hair fell in gentle spikes. He wore his tie around his neck like a bandanna again. Note to self: when not dying for lack of touch, take more clothing risks. Sea serpent tattoos coiled up and down his arms like they were dancing to his gentle strumming, as he played Depeche Mode’s “Master and Servant”. Serenity even supplied the whip and chain sound effects for the song.
I grinned, but Lysander grimaced, flinching at each whip effect. Sleipnir had a wicked sense of humor. Watching Lysander next to me was almost amusing enough to forget the buzzing wrongness that edged through me, the fear of the Duchess’ return, and the weirdness of sharing a night out with the Princes.
A double weirdness because when Midnight had ordered Lysander to kneel with surprising firmness (payback was a bitch), and told Serenity that Lysander was there to serve for the evening, she’d magicked him into a French maid’s frilly black uniform.
I’d told Sleipnir that my role play list was anything but a waste of time: Willoughby in a maid’s outfit had been fantasy role-play Number 49, but Lysander in one had been Number 48.
There were few things that I treasured: Nile, holding my brothers after their births, and Magenta’s first kiss. Now added to those was Lysander’s yelp and expression of mortified horror when he’d realized that he’d been dressed in nothing but a maid’s outfit, which had barely covered his arse.
Sweet (scorching hot) memories…
To be fair, Lysander had pouted but hadn’t moaned as much as I’d been expecting. Perhaps, he secretly enjoyed a taste of taking orders for once, rather than giving them. Midnight was kind with his power, like I’d known that he would be, and it was only in play. The thing of it was, that it wasn’t play for Midnight…he was a true slave to the Princes.
I smiled softly, as I studied Fox who was cuddled in Magenta’s arms, kissing down her neck. It didn’t matter that I was his Patron; he’d never be my slave.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t owed a twinge of envy that it wasn’t me kissing Magenta’s long neck.
Lysander spooned chocolate dessert on a golden spoon into Midnight’s mouth, as Midnight lay on his back with a blissed-out expression. I sighed. Why couldn’t I just snatch Midnight and make him my whipping boy as well?
Yep, it’d be kidnap. Why was that wrong again?
I shivered, as a wave of pain swept through me. I clawed my nails into my palms to stop myself scratching my shoulders. I’d even take Lysander’s touch right now. Buzzing jangled my nerves. My eyes screwed shut.
Too much, too much, too much…