I only just restrained myself from jumping onto the stage with Willoughby. I was one protective kitty when someone was hurt by their family or witches. If my lovers wanted to claim this Prince (who joined in with my banter, which was always a plus), then I didn't care what brand a Hecate statue burned onto him.
After all, she'd branded me with R for a Random whipping boy, which was simply rude. Luckily, I didn't have a complex.
"You know this Love an Elf Plan?" Sleipnir hissed, leaning over Bask. Magenta arched her brow. "I'm kind of thinking it'll be more dangerous than the mission on Friday. Look at the letter." When he gestured at the ceiling, I winced. I'd rather not, cheers. "How did we all get distracted by his lullabies and hair?"
Bask sighed. "But such pretty hair."
"He's a murderer and a traitor. He tried to take over his own kingdom." Mist's eyes were wide and his ears pinned, as he pawed at Sleipnir's pocket. "Do you know how many centuries my dad and me were hunted by our enemies? But this one," his gaze darted to Willoughby, "is bad like...a pretty Stalin."
Bask stiffened. "Take that back or from tomorrow morning, your socks will be perpetually damp."
I shuddered. Bask's curses were terrifying but also, if anyone deserved damp socks, it was Sleipnir after calling Willoughby that.
Sleipnir blanched but raised his chin in defiance.
Magenta blinked. "Who?"
Of course, she was a Victorian who'd been burned alive and then trapped as a ghost in a tree. I allowed myself a moment to mentally rub my hands gleefully. What could I convince her had happened in the last century...? Hmm, I’d begin with the Third World War that was started by a genetically modified zombie hamster, which would be particularly fun since she didn’t even know about the first two wars…
"He means a pretty Nero,” I explained, polishing my halo for not pulling out the zombie hamster just yet. “Since I was once Nero in a past life (emperor, charioteer, and fiddler as Rome burned), I can tell you that he's wrong."
Bask glared at Sleipnir. "His kingdom thinks that he's a monster. You're not a monster." Sleipnir flinched. "What if the Prince also isn't?"
When Magenta traced her fingers across her black pearl choker, I wet my lips, wishing that those soft fingers were tracing my skin with such careful deliberation. "He's the Princes' weakest link. Nero or monster, he's also mine."
"Midnight doesn't want to be a whipping boy," I ventured. In fact, neither did I. Whipping didn't exactly sell it, nor did being the guinea pig for testing potions or having hexes thrown at me. "He can be my special project."
Magenta smiled. "I believe that he already is."
I flushed. Yeah, he was my knight, I was his king, and Magenta would be his queen. The vampire had said that to me like wedding vows.
Did that make me a vampire bride?
Sleipnir snorted. "Lysander's haughty ass will never turn."
I glanced across at the pink seats, as the theatre was arranged like a chessboard, and Lysander who sat alone. Midnight knelt on the floor, and I couldn't see more than the curve of his pale back.
Lysander's emerald hair, which hung to his waist, had been caught back. His large eyes gleamed in the dim light. His golden wings were folded back. Just for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine that he wasn't a princely sized prick, and to see just how beautiful his alabaster skin was, as well as how dangerous a warrior he looked even sitting stiffly in his seat.
Perhaps, it wasn't healthy to have a thing for predators. But I couldn't help thinking how much I'd love to hunt alongside him. Then I sighed because he'd be more likely to kick my foxy ass flying into a snowbank.
Lysander was still wearing his smart black trousers and blazer with the P crest embroidered in silk to one side. His silk shirt hung open, revealing tantalizing glimpses of his collarbone. Did the Princes sleep in their uniforms? I bet that they lay ram-rod straight in their blazers like they were in the army.
Beetles and slugs, that was depressing.
Despite all the Princes' luxuries (and I swore on my whiskers that I'd find a way to bust open their private larder and lavish the treats on my lovers), I'd rather wake up in the East Wing in the tangled mess of the Immortals' arms, even with Bask half smothering me like a limpet, Magenta's cold breath tickling my neck, and Sleipnir sleep talking.
I'd never known that you could dirty talk in your sleep. I could never look at a banana in the same way…or eat one.
Magenta assessed Lysander. "Maybe there's more to both his haughty self and his ass than his fear of Titus and his search for redemption. When the fae finds himself alone and divided from the other Princes, then he'll know how I felt. It's remarkable how it forces you to grow up. He'll have to choose either to rebel or to run into the arms of his oppressors."
"Since you're here now...?" I cocked my head.
Magenta's grin was wicked. "I rebelled."
In a flurry of feathers, Damelza appeared on the stage. The light glistened off her hair, until it appeared like polished silver. Her dress swooshed across the floor, as she swept towards Willoughby. Yet there was a gleam in her eyes like she was a zookeeper circling a witch-eating lion.
That’d be brilliant.
Instead, she was a prick of a Principal, prowling around an elf, who was humming the Lion King’s “Circle of Life”. Weirdly, none of that struck me as odd anymore or that an elf would find Disney show tunes a comforting retreat from the upcoming violation of his mind.
I knew what it was like to stand shaking in the spotlight because a spell was about to rip open your mind for everyone to see.
I should’ve tried belting out “Bare Necessities” (okay, so I might also know the dance, since I forced Aquilo to watch it with me one summer…don’t judge this dancing cat). Except, that would’ve led the rest of the Immortals to jump on me and not in the sexy way.
Damelza rolled her eyes. “You’re playing the ignore me game, are you? After your atrocious behavior over your brother, the king’s letter, you’re in dire need of this discipline. Perhaps, I should set the mood.”
Then she glanced significantly at the ceiling.
When The Automatic’s raucous “Monster” burst out, with its stomping lyrics and screaming guitar, I startled. So, this theater was alive the same as the Rebel Café with its mischievous AI, Serenity.
The only difference was that the Memory Theater was a prick.
When Willoughby broke off humming and flinched, Damelza’s eyes glittered with malicious amusement. Yet my hands clenched because Sleipnir had flinched too.
No way on my whiffling nose would Damelza torment Willoughby like she had me.
“Wow, I’d forgotten just how motivational you were,” I gritted out. “Do you run self-esteem seminars too? Classes to Boost Confidence? Wait, I was wrong, this is your romantic mood setting, right? Pan knows, I’m feeling pressured in an inappropriate way right now.” Bad mouth…stop talking…that’s enough…stop while you’re behind. “Why don’t we all just go back to our separate beds, before I report you?”
Whoops.
Bask snickered.
Damelza peered at me. So, that was what it felt like to be a mouse, before the bird of prey swoops. I swallowed.
“I’m sorry that mages are so easily turned on by rock music.” Her lips pinched. “Please do report me to Bacchus.”
I eyed her warily. I’d fallen into this trap before. “Really? She won’t transfigure me into a footstool?”