Fox bounced excitedly to greet me, twirling me around.
“Oww.” When something sharp poked me in the side, I batted him away. “I know that you’re pleased to see me, but Titus is just over there…”
Fox grinned. “I’m always pleased to see you, but it’s my straw.” He hefted the straw belly of his costume up and down.
“You’re a scarecrow,” I deadpanned.
“All the better to finally scare the witches of the House of Crows.”
I squinted at Bask. “And you’re a pretty alien…?”
Bask preened, running his hand down his metallic costume. “I’m the Tin Man.”
Willoughby raised his eyebrow. “I’m the Ice Prince. Elven princes don’t do dressing up.”
“Pfft, you just didn’t like my suggestion of Toto,” Fox sulked.
Willoughby’s lips twitched.
I studied Midnight, who was wearing a lion’s tail and mane; his eyes were still circled with shadows, but he was trying hard to mask his exhaustion. “And you make the fiercest king of the animals.”
Midnight smiled, puffing out his chest. “Thank you, my queen.”
“Way to miss the point,” Fox muttered.
When Lysander prowled over from checking on the feast, there was something…awkward…about his prowl. Confused, I glanced at his feet.
Well, I had no idea that he enjoyed wearing ruby women’s shoes as well as panties. What bravery to do so in front of his guardian.
Lysander, however, narrowed his eyes at Fox. “You told me that everybody at Oz balls wore ruby slippers.”
“Did I?” Fox asked with pretend innocence. Bask snickered. “Yeah, I did. But then, I lie for comic effect. And don’t tell me that you don’t look good in them. Have you ever tried a Tinker Bell costume?”
At Lysander’s growl, Fox dived behind Midnight. Midnight’s knightly protection surely wasn’t meant to be used for pranks. Although, as I spied Flair and Echo like gargoyles perched on the window ledges plotting their fox hunt, he needed it.
The breath caught in my throat.
Fox was Robin, and I loved both men.
I dived around Midnight, catching Fox in my arms. He let out a surprise oomph, before stroking up and down my neck.
“I’m not really scared,” he admitted softly against my hair. “The prince is noble, even if he’s a dick.”
“I’m right here,” Lysander protested. “I can literally hear you.”
“Of course, otherwise it wouldn’t be fun.”
I pulled back, pushing Fox away until I could study him. “How are you feeling?”
Fox bounced on the balls of his feet. “Pan’s cock, it’s brilliant. It must be Sleipnir’s epic singing or my even more epic dancing but I no longer feel half dead. It’s like coming alive again.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, but I couldn’t hide the tremor that ran through me.
In turn, Fox studied me, before he asked, “And how are you? Are you okay, our Rebel Prom Queen?”
“I will be.” My gaze became frosty. “As soon as we’re free.”
When I caught Willoughby’s gaze, he couldn’t hide his agony or the way that his lips pinched and his fingers stiffened.
Something was hurting him.
Somebody.
I twirled to the Head Table.
Darby slouched in his seat. The stars’ light glistened off the crystals in his hair, which should rightfully have been Willoughby’s. His magic stung mine. His dark gaze rested on his brother like a threat.
Darby’s fingers casually twirled round and round, twisting Willoughby’s suit tighter and choking him, slowly. Darby’s cruel lips were curled with delight at Willoughby’s attempt not to reveal each tiny tightening.
I hated how similar Darby looked to Willoughby, when he was nothing like his brother.
The brat believed that Willoughby was still alone, but now he was messing with Immortals, Princes, and their Rebel witch.
He had a broomstick up his behind situation coming his way…
Except, then Willoughby’s expression stopped me. His hand rested on his neck like he wanted to pull at the cursed silk but knew that it wouldn’t help.
Nothing would.
His brother could punish or kill him from any distance.
Willoughby couldn’t escape with us, while he wore his brother’s curse, and Willoughby had always known.
Yet he wouldn’t let himself be the reason that we remained.
Bas had said that if you love someone you always want them to be free, even if…you die, fade away, or are left behind.
My magic spun out, dragging Willoughby to me. His wide gaze met mine.
We were the Ice Royalty: the same.
I couldn’t live without Willoughby, and I wouldn’t lose anyone else.
If Darby was ruthless enough to hurt his own brother in such a way, then wouldn’t he also be ruthless enough to kill a father to steal the throne?
Unlike Willoughby, I wasn’t blinded by brotherly love, nor by the dark magic that’d forced his mind into a hazy fog. Perhaps, Darby had used such sorcery partly to make sure that his own treachery remained hidden and he could turn his brother into the scapegoat?
Now I’d met him, I could see that Darby was (as Flair had already announced to me loudly), a little traitorous prick who’s begging for a spanking.
I soothed my magic down Willoughby’s sides to ease his pain. “If you don’t wish to doubt your brother, then it’s your choice. But I won’t leave you behind.” Willoughby took a sharp intake of breath. “Together, we’ll fight this.”
Willoughby’s expression hardened, and he nodded.
My shoulders slumped with relief.
Witching heavens, how did I tell someone that their brother could’ve destroyed their life?
“Who sent the assassins to attack you?” I asked, carefully. “Surely, such a sacred pilgrimage to receive your Crystal Diary was secret? You’ve been kept so busy blaming yourself and paying penance. But what you did was an accidental loss of control. Who ordered the assassination?”
Willoughby’s eyes cleared for the first time, as if he was shaking off the bonds of Darby’s magic through fury alone. Yet as he did, the full realization of everything that’d been done and what he’d lost shook through him.
Even the loss of his innocent childhood.
He’d loved his brother. How much easier would it’ve been if he’d hated him?
I drew my magic back from Willoughby. He touched my cheek, as if in thanks, before turning to face Darby. When Willoughby stalked to the Head Table, Darby startled, sitting straighter in his chair like he was a schoolboy who’d been caught out for bullying.
Then he appeared to remember that he was king, and sneered at Willoughby, “Do you wish to kiss the crystals of your rightful king?”
Willoughby crossed his arms. “Who would that be, brother? The man who tried to kill father?”
Darby coughed, nervously. “Are you also crazy now? You didn’t try, you did kill him.”
“Not me,” Willoughby replied. “You.”
Titus rested his chin on his hand, watching the exchange thoughtfully. But there was something predatory in his gaze.
“Silence, monster,” Darby snarled.
Willoughby’s expression was icy. “So, you did send those assassins to kill father, but you let me believe…”
Darby burst out of his seat and pointed at Willoughby.
The silk of Willoughby’s suit wove around his neck.
Willoughby spluttered, desperately falling to his knees, as the silk choked him.
Chapter Twenty-Four