“Dirty missions. We’ll probably die. Teamwork.” Bask pouted up at Ezekiel with his innocent face at full blast. I defied anybody to resist that. “Does it please you that we were listening, professor?”
Ezekiel looked like he was biting his tongue…hard. Then he crossed his arms. “I’m here to teach you to survive, and that means more than how to swing a sword or do that swirly stuff with your mist.” I sniffed: impolite. “There’s more to being royal than becoming the most powerful,” his gaze swept to Willoughby who froze, “and more to war than drawing blood.”
When Ezekiel’s gaze swung to Lysander, the prince stiffened.
It was hard to hate the two princes, when they struggled with the same darkness as I did. Yet then my gaze fell on the pale curve of Midnight’s back, as he knelt in the shadows and the robins fluttered around his shoulders to console him, it was rather easy to hate them again.
“How about more to revenge than poking fae with iron…?” Lysander drawled.
Bask examined his fingernails. “Lay off, I said that I was sorry. Do you wish that my slinky self gets on my knees?”
His innocent self wasn’t kidding anyone now.
Lysander reddened. “Please don’t. I wish instead that you’d remember your place. One happens to be a true prince, and not that travesty of a clone.”
Bask winced.
Ezekiel beat his wings. “You happen to be a deposed prince.” This time it was Lysander’s turn to wince. Now that was a put-down worthy of a witch. “I swear that I told you to stick together as a team. Anyway, it helps for today because who’s up for a little role-play?”
Sleipnir groaned. “Lightning strike me now.”
Lysander glanced up at the roof hopefully. “Yes, please.”
“I wasn’t praying, twinkle wings.” Sleipnir glared at Lysander, who didn’t even have the good grace to hide his disappointment. “Couldn’t we just write a twenty-thousand-word essay or take a surprise exam instead?”
Wait, those options sounded appalling. Why was Sleipnir sacrificing us on the academic altar?
My heart thudded hard in my chest. Fox looked as panicked as me. His hand tightened around mine.
“I’ve never written a thousand-word essay,” Fox muttered, “or taken an exam that I’ve crammed for, and for once, that’s the truth. Great Pan, I don’t want to die. I’m one dead foxy, aren’t I?”
“I promise that I’ll protect you,” I whispered; his fingers were warm, entwined between my cold ones. “Even from an essay.”
Bask’s grin was wicked, as he ran his hands down his sides. “Role-play could be fun. Tell me what do you desire? Stern teacher and naughty student. I’ve arrived late to the lesson, and you have no option but to punish—”
“The wrong kind of role-play.” Ezekiel had pinked all the way down his chest. He wrapped his wings around himself but he couldn’t hide the way that his prick tented his harem trousers. Perhaps, he’d enjoy joining us for a little teacher and student get together? Although, it was possible that he’d act it out right now on Sleipnir by the way that his sparking gaze met his. “Don’t frighten the others. Just because you struggle with my learning methods, doesn’t mean that the rest will. I want two of you to step forward. The Prince will act out their kingdom’s take on leadership. They will role play,” Sleipnir snorted, “not their own views but the ones of those who brought them up. The Immortal facing them will counter their view with their own.”
My brows furrowed. “Why?”
Ezekiel swept to the far wall, leaning against it. “How can you fight against your enemy, if you don’t first understand them?” When his gaze met mine, there was an understanding that shook me. “And how do you persuade them to your side, if you don’t listen first?”
Bask pushed himself forward. “Let me do this.”
When Bask’s knees buckled, however, and Willoughby caught him, I smiled. Bask was beautiful, mesmerizing, and as brave as any of the Rebels.
“How about you work on keeping upright, and Lysander and I make this a Prefect battle?” I cocked my eyebrow at Lysander.
Lysander’s mouth tightened, and he paled. But as the rest of the Rebels formed a circle, he marched to meet me in the center with his hands held smartly behind his back.
“You’ll regret this.” Tremors ran through him, even though he held himself still. “This is a violation. The Fae Court should not be questioned in such a fashion.”
“Have we started yet?” I asked. “Or is that just your usual arrogant ranting?”
Lysander hissed in frustration, before lowering his head and steadying his breathing. When he raised his head again, however, I gasped in shock. His eyes were cold in a way that I’d never seen before. His face looked paler and pinched. He stood even stiffer than before, and witching heavens, I hadn’t thought that was possible. “Royalty have a duty to act as though above all others.” I flinched in shock. It was the same cruel voice that Midnight had spoken with in Divination. “If they fail, then they bring disgrace and shame on their entire kingdom. There can be no forgiveness for such fae. Royalty must crush all rebellion before there’s a chance for war. Fae must obey the hierarchy and respect it, even if that means killing.”
Lysander’s wings quivered, and sweat slipped down his forehead.
It was hurting him to say those things. Sweet Hecate, Lysander truly was a Rebel.
My eyes widened. “You don’t believe any of that.”
To my surprise, I was certain that he didn’t.
Lysander raised a haughty brow. “The purpose of the exercise is that you now counter with your views, rather than pretend to know my illustrious thoughts.”
Fox watched me intently, and I caught his eye. Well, if Lysander wished us to play it this way, then there was more than one way to skin a fae.
“What if you’re given an order that you can’t follow?” When Lysander flinched, I grinned. Got you. “It’s not disgraceful to think for yourself, treat others as equals, or value life. What if the order is to kill other fae, and you know that it’s wrong? Wouldn’t it make you less of a prince simply to follow such a command blindly?”
Lysander’s eyes were wild with fear, and his breathing was ragged. “One doesn’t wish to play this game anymore.”
“Then you forfeit the lesson to the Immortals?” Ezekiel said, casually.
At last I understood why Sleipnir had requested to be struck by lightning. Role-play was fiendish.
Lysander twisted to stare at Midnight, who’d hunched over, covering himself with his wings. Lysander shook his head.
Ezekiel gestured with his hand. “Your turn then.”
“It’s just…” Lysander took a step closer to me. He appeared lost. “… What if you lose everything by rebelling?”
My dress faded to mist, which darkened the room to fog at the memory. “I beg your pardon; did you forget already? I died, or is there more you’d have me lose?”
“You can lose more than your life,” Willoughby said, softly.
I glanced at the elf, and then I thought of burnished red hair and intense emerald eyes and I realized that he was right.
Lysander ducked his head. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no way back for a fae who disobeys.”
“If you’ve killed—”
“That’s what you think of me?” Lysander snarled, and even his anger was swallowed by his hurt.
Why did I feel such guilt squirming in my gut? Perhaps, I’d better hold back with answering what was on the tip of my tongue: ehm, of course; you’re Titus’ nephew.