Please let him be ours...
"One does not know why one is here." Lysander sat stiffly like even the air was contaminating his princely arse (and every other part of his bastard self).
Fox shook his head, sadly. "Fae dementia is a sad thing."
I snickered.
"Why you wanted to force us to this dreadful place, you fool," Lysander curled his hands into fists in his lap. "Why you'd threaten to lie about..."
"Your prank to melt your asshole tutor…?" Sleipnir offered, helpfully.
Lysander clenched his jaw. "Have you no idea the penalty that we'd suffer for that? No doubt you do and would delight in our suffering." Why was he avoiding looking at Magenta? Ah, did our haughty fae have a true crush? Who’d blame anyone for loving my Magenta? Although, I had almost vomited when he'd kissed Fox in Bacchus' lesson and had looked like he'd kiss Magenta as well at any moment. Unlike Willoughby, I didn't think that Magenta could love him back. She'd been hurt by a fae prince (by Titus, his own family), and I knew enough to see that she'd lost everything because of it. I almost felt sorry for Lysander. Yuck. Now I felt dirty. "Why would you challenge us to a childish game, when tomorrow afternoon you must risk your lives on a dangerous mission?"
Magenta clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, you do care! How kind."
"We always go to bed early on the night before a mission," Willoughby explained; his gaze was mildly curious.
I examined his silk uniform. It set my Incubus Envy-O-Meter tingling because it was beautiful. Yet tonight, I could see that it was wound too tightly. How could my cute elf breathe? His eyes were glazed. It was like he was struggling to focus on staying here with us.
Where was he being dragged to?
I narrowed my eyes. No one ignored an incubus. I'd just have to try hard to keep his attention on us tonight.
Sleipnir slouched against the wall, and Magenta's magic curled around his shoulders like she was still clasping onto him. His hair sparkled aquamarine. When his tongue darted out, his piercing glittered.
It could do magical things that piercing (just ask my dick).
"By the runes, you're the asshole who lost the Rebel Cup. If we wanted to delight in your suffering, then we'd just watch Titus' fury over that. After all, the dickhead's coming to watch the Dragon Polo Tournament." Lysander paled, flinching. Why was sympathy washing through me again? Away with you, sympathy for the devil was a thing. "So, we're offering you the chance tonight to reclaim some honor by being the team who gets to kick off the Dragon Polo. Whoever wins the Stop Game earns that right."
I'd planned the Stop Game to melt the Ice Prince. But Sleipnir had insisted that Lysander was so competitive that he wouldn't play unless there was a winner, loser, and a prize that meant something to his screwed-up honor.
He only did anything if he thought that there was an advantage in it for him. It was almost incubi-worthy.
When Lysander hugged his wings around himself more tightly, I noticed the wolf sized teeth marks in his feathers. It'd been a fine sight yesterday to see him dragged out from the wood, snarling. I'd been terrified that I'd see a limp fox clamped between the Omegas' fangs, instead.
I'd whooped, hugging Magenta, unable to let go because Fox was alive, alive, alive...
My brave, clever, whipping boy.
Caught in the sudden happiness of the memory, I twisted to Fox, pressing my lips to his. His eyes widened in surprise, then his smile against my lips was delicious in its pleasure.
Lysander coughed behind me. "Sorry to interrupt...whatever this is...and thank you for the reminder that Midnight's wings shall be broken because of my failure, as well as my guardian's impending fury for losing the Rebel Cup."
Fox's pleasure soured. Was that guilt? I pulled away from the kiss, but kept my hand possessively curled around his neck, as I twisted back to face the circle.
Sleipnir shrugged. "You're welcome."
"Where's Midnight?" Magenta asked.
Lysander's eyes narrowed. "Shockingly, he didn't feel up to celebrating. Will you punish me for granting him that reprieve?"
Punish? Were fae masochists as well? Wow, I had a lot of theories to test tonight. But as the old incubi saying went: For every kink there’s a season.
Magenta's mists swirled around Lysander, before he could flinch away. She reached across the circle, clasping his hand.
"Do you believe me so cold and heartless?" Magenta worked her fingers between Lysander's, unballing his fist. "It's the professors who punish and not me. We're all students. Can't you allow yourself one evening of merriment?"
Lysander wrenched away his hand. "One was raised as an Unseelie fae prince at Court. You’ve no conception of the burdens, which were placed on me from the earliest age. The things that they demanded I do... There was no time for games."
"Well, that sucks." Fox pushed me gently off his lap. I pouted, straightening out my uniform. He should fear my plotted incubi revenge (or snuggles, I was one changeable hottie). "But you're at the Court of Fox now, and I say: fun for everyone." Then he shot Willoughby a sideways glance that I didn't understand. "Just theoretically...I mean, in theory...if I accidentally...lie to you...or hypothetically wreck you...then you wouldn't go around telling everybody, right?"
Willoughby's lips twitched. "Hypothetically, it’d be dishonorable to tell on you."
Fox's shoulder's relaxed, and he gave Willoughby a bright smile. "Stop Game here we come."
Lysander held up one finger. "My noble self will take part in this farce, but there must be rules first, whipping boy. Of course, I understand that you struggle with those. What is this filthy place anyway? Couldn't we at least have played somewhere that wasn't—"
"This is the most magical part of the castle. Can't you feel it?" Magenta said, softly. I shivered, as her magic thrummed and sparkled. It tingled across my skin, and pleasure wound through me like her roots were inside me now, hot and pulsing. My dick pulsed in time like a musical beat. "I'd crawl through the tunnels to reach it, when mother was cruel to father or I needed somewhere secret. The magic would hold tight to me like it was kissing away every fear."
Willoughby's eyes fluttered closed, and he whispered. "I can feel it. It's calling me to the Other World."
"Snap out of it." Lysander shook Willoughby, until his eyes opened. "Hiding in magic doesn't work, just like a scared child hiding away from the truth."
Magenta became ashen.
Oh no, he didn't just hurt Magenta...
I wasn't a warrior, but I'd just got into biting. The Omega had already sunk his fangs into Lysander's wing; I'd bet that it’d sensitive if I latched onto the same place...
Sleipnir shook his head at me, however, and I sat back with a frown.
"The asshole fae doesn't want to hide. Let's help him with that." When Sleipnir's gaze met mine, it glittered with mischief.
He was hot when he was dangerous. Almost as hot as me.
I grinned. "Two teams — Princes and Immortals — each take it in turns to select one player. Then that player sits in the middle of the circle. It's the rival player's job within a minute to make them forfeit by saying stop."
Lysander's wings beat in agitation. "But you could do anything: hexes, torture, or..."
"Lay off! Your mind would go there. This was a game played between incubi bonded who feed on giving pleasure and not pain."