The other bed in the room, which faced Lysander's on the far wall, was carved out of ice. It glittered like crushed diamonds. It must be Willoughby’s.
It was sad that the two princes didn't share a bed. It’d break Echo’s heart to lose that cherished fantasy. Perhaps, their tutor didn't allow it…? The Immortals slept together because Bask needed the touch as he slept. But didn't fae need it in precisely the same way?
Bask pulled up his pants, tucking himself back into them. "Where's Midnight sleep?"
Midnight was the Princes' vampire whipping boy. I'd witnessed him being forced to kneel naked in corners like he was a bicycle waiting to be ridden.
I truly hoped that wasn't what happened at night. I mean, either the kneeling or the being ridden.
My brow furrowed. "Considering the alternatives, the floor looks tempting."
Bask snorted. "A bed of nails coated in itching powder would be tempting."
He grabbed a pillow, which was silk with a black swan feather sewn on the front, before starting to reach for another one.
After living in Hecates’ Tree with two crows, I could tell a nest when I saw one being built. "When an incubus marks a bed, does it mean that the pillows become his?"
Bask froze. He carefully pushed away the pillow, although I noticed that he didn't let go of its corner. "Away with you, I wasn't planning on stealing it."
He assuredly was.
I studied the feather, which had been attached with such care to the front. The pillow was special, worn, and older than the ones around it.
It didn't fit.
"I'd put that back," I warned. "I'd imagine that the fae lies here at night cuddling and kissing it, just like you do Nile."
Bask gasped, dropping the corner like it'd burned him. "Nile will expect a kiss on his crocodile tooth to make up for that.” He shuddered. “I have second-hand Lysander love all over me. Am I less slinky already?"
I struggled not to smile. "You'll never be less slinky, and don't worry, it'll wash off."
Yet as I caught sight of the feather, I suddenly shook with the memory of Robin's Your Heart's Desire book, which he'd created for me by plucking his own feathers, while in bird form.
Was this Lysander's version?
Had someone made it for him? Was this a love token, so that Lysander could remember them, while he was trapped in prison?
Who had Lysander loved and lost?
In Hecate’s Wood, when I'd passed my fingers over the spelled feathers of the Your Heart's Desire Book, they'd sung with Robin’s silvery birdsong. It should've meant that he could always be with me, wherever I'd gone. He'd intended to give it to me as a courting present at the Enchanted Ball. But then, mother had arranged my marriage to Lysander's uncle and guardian, Titus.
Lysander wasn't his uncle. If I thought it enough times like a mantra, then I’d believe it.
I gritted my teeth together.
I knew that Lysander wasn’t the same fae prick, although he was a prick. But I couldn't help how he reminded me of the man who controlled the academy as its patron and who'd destroyed both Robin and me.
Robin once told me that to be a ghost was to eternally crave. Yet even now, I spent every moment craving Robin. I'd never forget my first love, whose kiss had tangled his soul with mine. Yet I also craved the lovers who'd brought me a second chance at love after death.
Bask was the Rebel who was in danger now. If I didn't find a way to break him free from the Duchess, then she'd break him again.
I swung my legs over the bed, hauling Bask with me. "On Hecates' tit, delightful as touching you was, we have to work out a way to stop the Duchess from touching you as well."
I hated the way that Bask's gaze became glazed. He must be remembering something, and I'd guess that it wasn't the Duchess and him playing with puppies.
Unless the Duchess had a disturbing habit of naming her bonded incubi’s balls.
Bask wandered to the far side of the room, fiddling with the objects on a marble counter. The Immortals’ Wing didn’t even have a counter.
"Look, wi-fi!" Bask exclaimed.
I hadn't thought that I'd shattered Bask by mentioning the Duchess but apparently, I had. "My apologies, I didn't mean to startle you into baby talk. Do you also perhaps perceive we-fe, wo-fo, and wu-fu?"
Bask turned to blink at me. "Have I told you how sexy I find your Victorian weirdness?"
I flushed. "Do go ahead."
He licked his lips. "I'll prove it later."
Promises...
Then my foot knocked against a large basket, which was lined with a blanket. It was rough and stuck out against the pampered luxury of the rest of the bedroom.
I scuffed my boot against the basket. "Why would they keep such a thing?"
Bask's eyes lit with excitement, before he twirled around like he was looking for something. In the name of Hecate, were we about to be consumed by carnivorous gargoyles? "It's a wee dog's bed. I bet that it's an adorable Pomeranian."
"I'd have guessed something more proving my manliness like an Alsatian."
Bask snickered. "Bacchus turns students into Pomeranians." Ah, that quaint dog transfiguration tradition. Perhaps, Bask would get to play with a puppy, after all. "Come on, ex-prince who I want to snuggle and carry around in my satchel, don't hide from the cuddly incubus."
"To be fair, he'll just have witnessed you wanking on Lysander’s bed. It wouldn't fill him with trust."
Bask smirked. "That's just like a handshake for an incubus."
I crouched beside the basket. It was worn like whoever slept there had been trapped in the academy for a long time. And there were feathers stuck in the blanket, but this time not golden, rather black.
The breath caught in my throat.
It couldn't be...
I slowly stood. "There's no dog. I’d wager that we've discovered Midnight's bed."
"And to think that I was considering giving at least the elf petting privileges," Bask hissed.
When I turned away, however, the exquisite porcelain tea set at the back of the counter, caught my eye like it'd always been waiting for me.
I clapped my hands together in delight. "Why, what do I have to do around here to get the perk of my own personal tea?"
I fingered a cup that was decorated with a black stallion, which galloped across the white of the cup as if across a snowy plain.
Bask eyed me. "Add that to the list of questions never to voice to the witches who run this place."
I arched my brow. "Noted." Then I stared at the seven glass jars of different tealeaves. Their scents mixed like the grasses on a mountainside. It was the fresh earthiness, which took me back to every single morning that I'd sat with my father, Byron, drinking tea together in the Bird Turret. It'd been a quiet ritual, which bound us together. In that moment, we'd been safe and free. "But seven...?"
Bask snickered. "Is there something magical in that number? There are seven dwarfs and deadly sins, but you don't desire them."
With a last...admittedly envious...glance at the tea, I narrowed my eyes at Bask. "How do you know? A wicked witch has needs."
"Kinky." Bask winked. "Let's see if the Princes are kinky too."
He waggled his eyebrows, before dragging out the drawer beneath the counter. When emerald silk panties spilled out, Bask whooped in victory like he'd discovered a dragon's hoard.
I tutted, but Bask only shrugged.