Was it pleasure or love? What was the difference?
“More than,” I murmured, kissing Sleipnir’s ear. He shivered. “But I’d rather that Flair didn’t peck you here.” I squeezed his prick, and he clenched his hands in the sheets. His prick, however, hardened even further. I loosened my hold, stroking it as if in apology. “I have rather high hopes for my future with Mr Dick—”
“Okay, now my balls have shriveled up and fallen off.” Fox stumbled out of bed, stretching. “That’s what happens when people go around talking directly to their dicks or naming them. It’s as creepy as watching your partner sleep.”
Wait, had Fox noticed my aww, he’s sleeping so peacefully moment earlier…?
Bask laughed, before slinking to hover over Fox’s shoulder like he was desperate to slip his arms around his neck. “Or making their partner watch them sleep.” When we all looked at Bask, he wrapped his arms around his middle. “That was just the Duchess then?”
When my hand tightened into a fist in instinctive rage, Sleipnir howled.
“Sorry,” I gasped, pulling away my offending hand and kissing across Sleipnir’s furrowed forehead. “I’m still practicing my technique.”
“Honestly, I’d never have known. It’s okay, Mr Dick,” he poked his tongue out at Fox, “forgives you…if he isn’t broken.”
I paled. “Sweet Hecate, I broke your boner…? Then we need to call Bacchus.”
Fox and Bask were laughing (which I thought decidedly unkind of them), but they both yelled no.
Sleipnir’s expression became grim. “On fear of the Valkyries, Professor Bacchus may be our tutor but she’s not on our side. Swear you’ll remember that.”
I nodded.
Fox scuffed his foot against the floor; he wouldn’t meet my gaze. “So, who’s going to mention the white elephant in the room?” When he was greeted by silence, Fox slammed his hand against his chest, and I flinched. “My execution on Saturday. You weren’t lying to your crows about all…that. I’d rather you didn’t bring down the next apocalypse but I mean, I’d rather not die either. If that was okay.”
My gaze softened. “Then we win today.”
“Seriously, it’s interesting how much you underestimate the Princes.” Sleipnir leaped off the bed, before doubling over with a wince like he’d forgotten his injury. Then he held out his hand to me, pulling me to the wall at the back of the bedroom. Fox and Bask trailed after us. “The Membership,” he announced like it was a magical spell the same as Open Sesame.
Ah, it was the same as Open Sesame because the wall opened, and a board that curled with the RA emblem and neon pink writing slotted out:
RANDOMS
Confess — Whipping Boy
Curse — Whipping Boy
IMMORTALS
Crow — Prefect
Crave
Sleipnir
PRINCES
Crown — Prefect
Crush
The braziers flared with fire; their shadows flickered across the board.
“Randoms, Immortals, and Princes: R.I.P,” Sleipnir said, quietly. “When we die, our names fade. This isn’t simply an academy: it’s a prison. The Membership is what controls our brands, wards, and the missions. It’s the spell that holds the entire academy together because it was kind of written into the academy when it was created.” His gaze darted to me. “I’d guess you know about that.”
“Since I was a baby at the time, not really.” I couldn’t look away from my name because seeing it so boldly up there made the entire situation more real.
Even without the brand on my hand, I was trapped within the spell that my magic had helped to create. Oh, the cruel irony.
“Why is it divided like this? We’re all Rebels. What would happen if I used my magic to modify the spell…?”
A slow grin spread across Sleipnir’s face. “A chaos moment. If you broke the Membership, then the House of Crows would know, but if you moved a couple of the players around the board…? Huh, but that’d mean convincing the Princes or Midnight to join us as Immortals, and if you haven’t realized yet, this entire academy is set up to keep us as rivals.”
I twirled a strand of hair around my finger. “I have my ways,” then I glanced between the gorgeous Immortals, “and so do you.”
Bask smirked. “Who could resist such a pettable arse forever?”
“Please pick the elf.” Echo jumped up and down on the window ledge. “Think of all the snowmen you could build together.”
“How about you crows fly away now?” I arched my brow.
“Charming,” Flair grumbled, “like we don’t have Princes to watch in showers. Come on, brother.”
The familiars took off in a rain of feathers, flapping out of the open window.
Fox paled. “Prisons have parole. I’ll be the model prisoner. They don’t execute top students, even though I’m not the top… Okay, I’m the worst…but I’ll pledge to turn it around…”
Sleipnir caught Fox’s hands gently between his. “There’s no parole, and it kind of doesn’t matter what you do because you were born a mage.”
I hated that truth my entire life, but when I saw the devastation on Fox’s face, I could’ve torn up every witch tradition and rewritten worlds.
“B-but if I try harder…?” Fox whispered.
“To not be a mage?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“To not have magic?”
“Stop it.” Fox tried to pull away his hands, but Sleipnir held on.
“To have been born a woman?”
“Enough, Slippy, or does it please you to be cursed forever to discover only an empty toilet roll when you need paper?”
Sleipnir took a step back, holding up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I was only trying to stop Fox from becoming like the Princes. I wouldn’t wish that Fate on anyone, even a stuck-up asshole like Lysander.”
Mist galloped across to Fox, landing on his shoulder. Then he nibbled on his ear as if in apology. Fox chuckled, nudging him away. Mist settled beside the warmth of the brazier instead, lowering his head to sleep again.
“Are we talking about the Fate to become pampered and top scoring students with luxury meals and quarters, as well as the best chance of winning the Rebel Cup?” Fox asked, sullenly. “Wow, save me now.”
Sleipnir and Bask exchanged a glance. “Omens and runes, I swear that the only reason the Princes fight to win with such ruthlessness is that they believe the contest is about more than a trophy.” Fox’s startled gaze met Sleipnir’s. My heartbeat raced, and my magic prickled through me. “I sort of feel sorry for their asses because they’re led to believe that there is an escape. If they only try hard enough and prove that they deserve to be princes, then their kingdoms will want them back. This Rebel Cup…and everything that they suffer in the academy…is their redemption.”
My guts clenched, and my throat ached. I thought of the Princes, and I shuddered at their hope because I understood the need for redemption. I didn’t know what they’d done in their own kingdoms to be deposed as princes and sent here or what they were trying to make up for, but it didn’t matter. I’d been responsible for Robin’s death and the curse of perpetual winter. I knew about the search for atonement. I’d been lucky enough to find it in the protection of my Rebels.