Yet I no longer had the luxury of time with Lysander and his whipping boy, Midnight. Every moment that they resisted, risked Fox's life, but I'd still never force them like once mother had attempted to force me.
My bad choices were like choosing between kissing a frog or a toad, even if I could admit (although only to myself), that I desired to kiss all the Princes, including Lysander.
Why did my stomach flutter at the thought of that?
Yet had I cursed myself, rather than the academy?
I'd been taught that dark magic with wicked intent always had a price. Had burning alive not been enough, but rather I’d be forced to repeat the greatest loss of my life...the death of my first shimage love?
When tears burned the corners of my eyes, I ruthless wiped them away. Fox needed me to be strong.
I would be whatever he needed.
When I clenched my jaw, tilting up my head, Fox met my eye.
This time, his smile was wide, even if he was pale. "A really, really, long time," he mouthed.
Bask's laugh sounded more like a disguised sob.
I couldn't help the way that my gaze slid to the magic mirror, in which once I'd revealed my ghostly self and real name to my Immortals. Long ago, my portrait had hung there. My mother, Henrietta and founder of the Rebel Academy, had walled Robin up alive beneath it because he'd dared to be the first lover to kiss me on the night that I would have been wed to Prince Titus, Lysander's uncle and Guardian.
Cauldrons and broomsticks, on the night that Robin and I had kissed each other as equals, and my magic had bound our souls eternally together.
I was startled out of the aching pain of my thoughts by the sudden stomp of footsteps down the corridor.
Why in the witching heavens was Lysander marching to join us? And why did it make my heart beat faster at the thought of him standing at our side?
Lysander's black blazer with the P crest embroidered in silk on the pocket and the pink silk shirt that hung open at the neck, revealing a glimpse of his translucent collar bone, was smart, and he held himself ramrod straight. But his skin was clammy, and his emerald hair tumbled to his waist in a tangled mess like he hadn't checked himself in a mirror.
It was ideal Prince baiting material, but he'd looked like this before when the Princes' Tutor, Juni, had punished him.
Was he limping?
Why was he in trouble? He hadn't been the one to fail the mission.
Lysander hesitated, hovering next to Fox like he wanted to lay his hand on his shoulder reassuringly (like I'd seen Willoughby do to him), but didn’t quite know how.
Fae Courts clearly had a shocking lack of affection and atrocious parental skills. But then, Lysander's parents had died, hadn't they? I shuddered at the thought of being raised by Titus.
"If you've come to gloat," Sleipnir growled, as his hair spiked an even deeper shade of cinnamon red, "then turn your pretty fae ass around, before I bite it."
He thought Lysander's behind was pretty? He yearned to bite it…?
Ah, possibly not bite in a good way.
Lysander blanched, but his gaze became steely. "One is not here for amusement or cruelty. Do you truly think so little of me still?" His golden wings beat. "My tutor ordered us to witness the punishment as a way to..." He grimaced. "...teach us how grateful we should be that our own whipping boy's wings had only been broken. One requested that one alone represented the Princes at this spectacle because as much as they begged for the chance to say goodbye, I knew that...seeing this...would destroy both Willoughby and Midnight. They’re overly attached to your whipping boy.” I huffed. I had the suspicion that Lysander might be as well. “Of course, we had enough diplomacy to heap thanks in suitable ways upon our Tutor for her mercy."
I gritted my teeth. If any of those ways had involved anything more intimate than foot rubs, then Juni would discover that once I was unleashed, the storm could be deadly. I shivered at the sudden image of Lysander on his knees, rubbing his soft, cherry blossom scented wings across my tingling feet.
But then, he had to open his mouth...
"My guardian was also adamant that I be in the audience, so that I’d be able to report back to him." Lysander shot me a careful look. "It's not so surprising that Prince Titus has a special interest in walling up mages."
I didn't realize that I'd screamed, until my magic burst out of me, wild and unrestrained. My powers whipped up a storm that buffeted the castle with snow tears. The window shattered; the blizzard howled down the narrow corridor.
I thrummed, and my magenta snowed in glittering pink amongst the true snow.
Lysander cursed, shielding his face.
Bask's eyes glittered. "Does it please you to be cursed with a limp dick for the rest of your life?"
Lysander took a step back. "One merely meant..."
Sleipnir let go of me to snatch Lysander by the collar and crush him against the wall. Lysander choked, as Sleipnir pinned him with his arm across his throat.
"I. Will. Wreck. You," Sleipnir snarled, shaking Lysander on each word. "No one hurts Magenta or Fox, and not some asshole fae who wouldn't know love if it kicked him in the balls."
"Of course not," Lysander rasped. "Unseelie don't love, feel, or sacrifice. Emotion is beaten out of us. So, wreck me."
Taken aback, Sleipnir's gaze flicked to mine.
Well, that was unexpected.
Was it guilt or was Lysander offering to have his fae behind more than spanked, simply to help my lovers and me cope?
So, that was how uptight fae showed that they cared.
My expression softened. "Most of us simply say I'm sorry."
Lysander swallowed. "One is truly sorry if my manner implied that..." He sought out Fox's gaze. "My noble self fought for you. You don't need to believe me. In fact, one highly doubts that you will because a fae couldn't possibly love, I believe." He glanced at me, flushing. "But...my royal personage did."
My hands clenched. Was that why Lysander had been limping? Had he rebelled against Juni in defense of Fox, just like he'd tried to save Midnight, and earned himself Punishment Points?
It looked like Lysander was determined to strip away all my fae prejudice and was also closer to becoming one of my Immortals than I'd realized.
Fox gently pushed Sleipnir's hand away from Lysander's throat. When he stroked over the skin beneath, as if in apology, Lysander's wings fluttered.
"Cheers, mate. Sticking up for me to Juni takes balls.” Then he glanced significantly at Sleipnir. “As the one whose furry ass is actually being punished today, I'm putting a stop to fae hurting. Call it a dying wish." Bask clung round Fox’s neck, as if that would force him to take back the words. "Okay, more like a request...okay, hope... This academy is set up to make Princes and Immortals rivals, right? In public and classes, you have to play along to con the professors. But on my prickles, let the truth be that Princes and Immortals don't hurt each other."
Lysander nodded. "You have my word."
Sleipnir snorted. Not helpful.
"As Prefect," I could allow myself that boast, "you have mine."
The storm calmed, and the snow died down. Lysander wasn't fully on our side. But he could be.
There was hope.
Fox sagged in relief against Lysander, absentmindedly running his fingers through his feathers. Lysander stiffened, and despite everything, I smothered a laugh. A fae's wings were as sensitive as a prick, and I could see in Lysander's startlingly tight trousers that his prick was already perking up, despite how he was attempting to shift and hide it.