Lysander bristled. "I prefer to sit—"
"In the shadows because you're all mysterious…?" Bask asked, teasingly. He patted the stool next to him.
Lysander huffed, slamming down onto the stool next to Bask. It was weird how different it was to look out at the classroom and see the Immortals and Princes sitting together, just like Midnight and I were next to each other as whipping boys. It didn't matter what rival Wing we'd been forced into; we'd still face this together. When I saw Lysander sitting next to Bask, they no longer seemed different.
The academy forced us to wear different uniforms, eat and sleep separately, and compete in trials against each other. But we were all students and prisoners here. We were the same.
By the way that the other Immortals were eying Lysander, I had the feeling that they sensed the same thing. Had Bacchus placed him there on purpose?
Bacchus' long nails rapped on the Willoughby Throne. "As today is Torment Thursday, we'll be studying hexes." Of course, we would. "Other academies have to study from books, but magic doesn't come from dried up pages. It's in our hearts, souls, and the connections between everything living and the dead. This academy has always been lucky enough to have whipping boys. You can create your own hexes and test them out on your whipping boy."
"It's funny how you see me as a girl," Magenta's voice was tight and clipped, but her mists swirled around her at the same time as her magic sparkled, "but I'll still hex your immortal behind if you suggest such harm to my lover. It's charming that you forget I've traveled through the veils and defeated death. How great do you believe my magic to be?"
Bacchus laughed. "Not as great as mine. I've made the homes of creatures across all veils my bitches. I've journeyed to realms that you don't even know exist. Your magic is linked to nature, but mine is linked to worlds beyond nature. We can battle over who has the biggest broomstick later, but this lesson is to learn to hex. So, Lysander and you have the strongest magic. Step forward and start throwing your best hexes. Let me see what I have to work with."
When Lysander sidled to stand in front of me, I tensed. He wouldn't meet my eye. Only Midnight's fingers, still stroking mine, steadied me.
This was going to hurt.
Would it be the Poison Ivy Penis Hex? Nerd Social Awkwardness Curse? Please, not the Justin Bieber on Perpetual Loop Hex…
Magenta glared at Bacchus, storming to join Lysander. To my shock, Lysander smiled reassuringly at Midnight.
Then Lysander shook his head. "My royal personage failed to take responsibility for Willoughby. It’s a lesson about leadership that I already know, and I’m ashamed that I forgot it. One won't fail again. My apologies, but I won't be partaking in this lesson." He tilted up his chin. “My noble self refuses.”
Well, blow me down with his golden feathers.
Magenta stared at Lysander with wide eyes. "Well said. I refuse too."
"Ehm, thanks for not hexing me," I ventured.
I didn't think that they heard me. They were too busy staring into each other's eyes. Perhaps, I could play some violin music for them...if my hands weren't tied down...or I knew how to play the violin. Who knew that not torturing my foxy ass would be what united them or brought out Lysander’s very, very, very deeply buried nobility.
"Mutiny, huh?" Bacchus examined her nails. "Will you hold to this defiance, even if I inform your guardian?"
Fear flickered across Lysander's face, before he was able to hide it. "Better that I suffer than my whipping boy."
Bacchus' lips quirked. "You do know that you were given a whipping boy precisely so that he could suffer for you?"
Lysander stiffened. “One wouldn't like to be boringly conventional."
Wow, he was a Rebel Fae.
"I take back at least fifty percent of the rude things that I've said about you." Sleipnir gave an approving nod, and his hair transformed to aquamarine at the same time as Mist's mane. "Hey, let's not go crazy: forty percent."
"You're too kind," Lysander deadpanned.
Bacchus trailed her hand down Pocus' spine, and he purred, arching. "Of course, rebellion can be as conventional as obedience, and in this case, twice as stupid. I won't force you into anything. I can taste the ancient paths of fate winding through this castle and tugging on all our tails. So, all I'll do is point out that if you refuse to take part in my class, then you'll lose it. Who won Warrior Dueling?"
"The Immortals," Magenta said, softly.
Lysander's hands balled into fists. Uh oh, the Rebel Fae was about to wave the white flag. I knew that I'd jinxed it by imagining the feel of his golden wings on my prick. Wait, I hadn't said that out loud, right?
I peeked up at Lysander. He still looked furious but less like he wanted to kick my furry ass and more like he wanted to save it.
No more daydreams about fae's feathers circling my balls.
"Then it'll be your fault that the Princes lose the Rebel Cup." Baccus' scrutinized Lysander, whose shoulders slumped. She'd wrecked him. I understood now that he cared in his own way for the Princes like Magenta did for us, although his way included more manhandling and kneeling than kisses and love. "Curse will have his wings broken because those are the stakes." I linked my pinkie with Midnight’s at his whimper. Why did it boot me in the balls worse to think about his beautiful wings being broken than my own death? "And at the Dragon Tournament, Prince Titus will witness the Rebel Cup being presented to the Immortals for the first time in a decade. Do you honestly think he'll believe you redeemed or wish to bring you home after that shame?"
"Stop this cruelty," Magenta hissed. Her magic sparkled around her. "Why in Hecate's name are you crushing him?"
"It's called motivation, darling." Bacchus sighed. "After all, this is your chance to save the mage. You're the reason that the original mage died a slow death, walled up alive. I kind of thought that you'd care more about saving this one. My mistake."
Magenta’s gaze shot to mine like she was pleading for something. Her scent of yew trees cocooned me like she could protect me even now.
My chest was tight, and my breath was raspy. I'd known about the original mage, but the idea of being walled up alive had been theoretical. Now it was as real as Magenta. When she'd been first alive, there'd been a mage and because of her, he'd died in the walls of this castle.
Would I be executed in the same way?
How was it that the fact I only had two lessons left to save my life had only just truly sunk in?
"You must breathe," Midnight murmured. "You're paler than a ghost, see."
My bark of laughter was close to a sob. Bask shot me a concerned glance. I'd known a ghost, and I wasn't one yet: I was just a dead fox walking.
"Are you both motivated yet?" Bacchus leaned back in the Willoughby Throne.
Lysander's gaze was intent on Magenta's. "I shall win the Rebel Cup. No one is breaking my vampire's wings."
A slow smile spread across Bacchus' face. "Now that's the kind of Rebel Academy spirit that I'm looking for! I adore battles between Prefects."
Magenta paced closer to Lysander. "Look at that, my motivation has just been set alight as well. I'm quite aflame with hate for a certain fae right now."
Lysander's wings burst out in a display of dominance, cradling around Magenta. "And my blue-blooded self feels something quite the opposite of love for a certain witch."