I studied his lean muscles and perfectly sculptured figure in the silk suit that was tighter than any clothes I’d ever seen. Witching heavens, the fuck him hard and dirty plan deserved definite consideration.
And I understood Echo's obsession with his pretty hair.
I stared at the back of Willoughby’s head. "Ehm, have you put yourself in the naughty corner? Are you waiting for further chastisement? What happened over your luxury breakfast? Did you complain that there weren't quite enough flavors of tea for you to choose from?"
On a witch's tit, I admit that I might've been a little bitter on the tea issue.
For a moment, I thought that Willoughby wouldn't answer. Then his fingers curled against the wall, and he rested his forehead against it.
Perhaps, I'd been a little cruel with the tea jibe?
I shifted from foot to foot, reaching out my hand but not quite touching his stiff shoulder. "I'd understand about the tea, by the way. There's no such thing as too many flavors..."
"I can’t fight today," Willoughby's voice was low.
I tilted my head. Screw a mage, he needed me, and I needed him to break the wards. When I wrapped my fingers around his shoulder, he stiffened in shock like he'd never expected that I'd touch him. But then he sighed, relaxing.
"Are we playing hide and seek instead, then?" I asked.
Willoughby raised his head, straightening. "I don't know how to play that. How about Silent Elf? Then nobody would need hear me for the rest of the lesson and I hope, ever."
Now that was quite enough.
I clutched him tighter, twisting him around. He gasped; his eyes were frosty blue pools.
"I battle every day not to fade away again. I know what it is to be invisible and trapped. You shall not let yourself disappear because of your grief or shame. You'll hold on."
I gripped onto him like I could reach into his mind, even though he felt such a long way from me. He was buried beneath dark magic. It burned me. I ached to save him. I didn't care whether it was a crush or love, but it no longer mattered. "You shall stay with me."
His breath caught, and his gaze was suddenly desperate and searching.
I flushed.
Then Willoughby stroked the back of his hand down my cheek, and it was me flushing. Even though his kiss was butterfly light on my forehead, it settled hot in my stomach, furling out warmth through me and lighting me up with sparkling magic.
"Even though I’m a Prince, I would obey," he replied. "But this is warrior training, and I can’t fight."
I raised my eyebrow. "After what I saw last night..."
Ah, someone kick my witchy ass.
Willoughby reddened, trying to pull back, but my mists reached out and dragged him even closer. "I can't control myself."
"Stuff and nonsense." I wrapped his arm through mine, dragging his bewildered behind (and the rest of his cute self) to the middle of the gym. "I claim you as my sparring partner. Do you imagine that I'm ever fully in control? Hexes and curses, how naive. Why don't we be the storm together? It's much more fun that way."
Willoughby's amazed face would've been comical if it didn't show how little anyone had trusted him before. "But you saw..."
"Do you not also see the entire academy covered in ice?" I pointed out of the window with my chin. A chill breeze swept through the window, but I didn't shiver; I welcomed the thrill of nature. "I rather trump you on the whole they're dangerous threat level. You shan't have my Ice Witch Crown, but we could always be frozen royalty together."
Say yes...
Willoughby gasped, and his cool face lit with sudden joy. He leaned closer into my side; and the feel of his arm through mine was solid, safe, and right.
Like he'd always meant to fit there.
Witches above, I was taking that as a yes.
Then the door to the gym slammed open, and Lysander burst inside. His black blazer and pink silk shirt were as perfect as always; it was Lysander who wasn't. His alabaster skin was pallid; and there were shadows under his large emerald eyes.
Had he slept at all last night?
His equally emerald hair hung between his drooping golden wings. Why did I wish him to beat them in that arrogant way of his like fae could buy up everything within the academy (even me), just like his guardian Prince Titus, rather than the fake pretense of being fine.
I'd watched the Rebels from the window of the Bird Turret as a girl many decades ago. So many had worn masks to hide their fear, pain, or grief. Yet I'd been a hidden witness to the truth. And I could see it now in Lysander.
Was he also limping?
Lysander stared first in amazement at the way that Willoughby's arm was hooked through mine and then at Bask, whose legs were hooked around Sleipnir's waist, as Sleipnir ground against him.
It was indeed a charming sight.
Lysander's jaw clenched, before he marched, as if onto a battlefield, towards Bask.
For a moment, I had the disconcerting feeling that he intended to join in their fun to add a dash of fae for my pleasure. Well, that killed all the lightning spark tingles that’d been warming my happy places.
I couldn't quite help the tilt of my head, imagining Lysander's tight behind added into the mix of my lovers. It was simply a shame that it was attached to the rest of him.
Lysander pointed a quivering finger at Bask. "My royal personage received your message." He glanced darkly over his shoulder at me. "And of course, your cursed witch's."
Sleipnir casually dropped Bask to the ground, but there was nothing casual about the way that he twisted to Lysander. His muscles bunched, and his hair bristled to red. "I'll show you cursed, asshole, if you disrespect Magenta again."
Lysander's wings beat, as he stared intently at Bask. "One merely meant..." His cheeks reddened. Where was the witty insult? Perhaps, he was ill? Was that why he looked like he might even apologize? Mage's balls, let's not go entirely crazy. "Have you not marked me? Were you not both claiming me as yours with...?"
Bask's eyes widened, and he desperately sought out my gaze. Lysander thought that we’d been claiming him?
Sweet Hecate, who knew that fae even had social etiquette for coming on someone's bed? I hadn't been trained on coming misunderstandings.
My education had been sorely lacking.
The silence had gone on too long.
Lysander's eyes flashed with hurt and a desperate insecurity. "Who would wish to be claimed by such pitiable Immortals anyway?"
Wait...had he?
Bask blinked, reaching out. "If you wish..."
Lysander sneered, turning on his heel and marching towards the opposite wall. He clicked his fingers at Willoughby. "Here."
I stiffened, just as much as Willoughby. "I wasn't aware that he was your dog."
"But are you aware that he bites?" Lysander tossed his hair, unbuttoning his shirt like all of a sudden, he was too hot. I couldn't help the way that I watched his nimble fingers, and the sudden pale strip tease of his skin. "One has already suffered this morning at the hands of Juni because she believes that I've lost control of my fellow Prince. While you've played at friends with this witch, I've been played with by our Tutor."
Willoughby flinched. "I'm sorry. May I heal you?"
I hadn't expected the concern or the way that Lysander's expression gentled. Perhaps, it'd be harder to win Willoughby away from the Princes than I'd thought.