When I pulled my finger out, Lysander groaned, and so did Fox and Bask.
Magenta snatched me by the shoulders, twisting me to kiss her with a passion that was flustered, messy, and perfect. I sucked on her lip, and she bit mine back.
Then we both laughed. Her breath gusted across my mouth.
"Well, that was educational." Magenta licked across my lips like she needed to taste me. "Remind me to request that service in bed."
"Yeah, same here." Fox waved his hand, eagerly. "But no ruining my hole because I can't simply order a new one. I shudder at how that request would go down with Bacchus."
I chuckled.
Lysander ducked his head, flushed. He stared at the carpet, avoiding my gaze and picking at a fraying thread.
BASK flashed in pink across the walls, followed by WILLOUGHBY in black.
Willoughby stiffened.
There was so little time left to discover the truth about the Princes, but this game offered us the chance to reveal their secrets and our own.
Let the hunt of the Princes begin…
Chapter Nineteen
FOX
The hunt for the truth wasn't as simple as knowing when somebody was lying. My Power of Confess thrummed snatches of music, burst bright lights, or pounded through me at even an avoidance of the truth. I should've at least been granted the title of Lie Referee, since I was the one who took the boot to the balls if somebody broke the rules and lied.
Yet it was far more interesting to watch whether the Princes would even tell us the truth.
I'd bet my furry tail that Willoughby and Midnight would, and I was attached to my tail. On the other hand, Lysander was still a dick. I wouldn't risk my tail for him.
Yet when I looked up at Magenta, and her scent of yew trees wound around me like love and home, I knew that I'd do anything for her. This game could help us to free Magenta and everybody else in the academy. I'd made promises to Snow, and I wouldn't break them. I'd also promised Midnight, just like he'd sworn oaths to me.
I pressed closer to Midnight, and his wings curled around me. When I slid my hand along his thigh, his skin was as cool as moonlight. I glanced up, catching Lysander's pointed glare at the way that my hand rested on his whipping boy.
Wow, I was even thinking in his haughty fae voice.
I smirked, turning to catch Midnight's lips with mine. Then I gasped, as Midnight pushed me back firmly, deepening the kiss. His fang caught my lip, and my mouth was flooded with tangy blood. He groaned, and his hard dick pressed against my hip.
I couldn’t help the smug pride that my blood was a turn-on to a vampire.
Then I realized that my dick was also hardening like an eager wolfhound, answering its master's call (yeah, wolfhound and not chihuahua).
Down, boy.
I might only have a hazy idea what my kinks were, but why was the way that Midnight now licked over my cut lip with deliberate care making my dick disobediently press against my pants?
I’d have to whack him with a rolled-up newspaper later.
I winced. Then I edged backwards, until I was able to glare down at my lap. Dick, you won't become a vampire fanboy or they'll be no coming for a month...okay, a week...okay, at least two days, right?
That should do it.
Magenta's smile was soft. "Our two whipping boys appear to have invented games of their own. Perhaps, we could all join in later."
Midnight grinned at the same time as me.
But Lysander's eyes narrowed. "My royal personage should've made it clearer that silence for this hour included good behavior. Your mage has bred such ill-discipline in my whipping boy that he imagines public kissing to be decent."
"You should try it," Magenta offered with a sweetness that made Lysander stiffen.
"It's Bask's turn to play," Sleipnir's voice was hard. Mist snorted awake in Sleipnir’s blazer pocket, which Sleipnir had slung over the back of the couch. Then Mist slid down the couch like it was a slide. He landed on his rump with an oomph and flickers of aquamarine flames. "Truth or Dare?"
Bask wriggled around to face Willoughby, who'd straightened his shoulders as if he was on parade. Bask considered Willoughby thoughtfully, before reaching out to touch his silk uniform. Yet Willoughby shied away like the suit would taint Bask.
"Your uniform hurts you," Bask said. "I hate it. So, Truth: Why are you always wearing this bastard suit?" Then he shook his head, correcting himself, "Why are you forced to wear this uniform?"
Lysander stalked to his feet. "You go too far. No Immortal has a right to demand such—"
"Sit down," Willoughby's voice was as sharp as a whip. Lysander instantly dropped onto his ass. "Would you have me play the coward? It's unworthy to lie no matter the consequences."
So, that was where Willoughby had been hiding his princely side.
The cafe dropped in temperature, and the tips of Willoughby's hair froze to ice.
Would I be turned into a snowcat if I pointed out that he'd been lying by omission since the start of term or that not lying as a policy was probably why he was locked up in the Rebel Academy?
"I was once cursed with the inability to lie. I ended up speaking in a language that I called sarcasmese. For example, I broke the TV, but when dad asked me if I broke it, I replied: Sure, I totally broke that TV. I mean, since that's my main form of entertainment, I'd love to ruin my only fun. The fact that you'd blame me is such a surprise." I glanced around at the raised eyebrows. I wet my lips. "The curse was lifted..."
Willoughby ignored me. Instead, he touched the silk that was wound high around his throat. The tips of his fingers caressed it in jerky motions.
"My brother, Darby, denounced me as a Dark Elf." Willoughby stared at the floor, avoiding our gazes. It was the truth. Yet his anguish vibrated through me as powerfully as any lie. Lysander's expression was thunderous, but he remained seated. Perhaps, he was the puppy prince. "Yet he used dark elven sorcery to bind me." His eyes fluttered closed; his hair hung over his face. "The silk is cursed. The uniform is part of my sentence. It punishes me by magically crushing my magic, body, and mind. It traps me deep inside myself, blocking any access to the Other World. Through it, I'm most thoroughly banished and controlled."
I gasped, and Midnight's wings wrapped around me again. He was shaking, but so was I.
Willoughby’s silk uniform was the same as my Blood Amulet, which Sleipnir had freed me from, when I'd first arrived.
When I'd revealed myself to be a mage by transforming into a Birman kitten, mum had forced me to wear an amulet, which had stopped me using my shimage magic.
I knew how wrong it felt to be locked inside. I shuddered, as the sensation that I'd never escaped swept through me.