I wet my dry lips. "Free Fox and the professor from the walls before they... We won, just...please."
"Mother," Juni called, "time is an issue, wouldn't you agree?"
Damelza ignored her daughter, scrutinizing me, instead. "How delightful that I've discovered how to make you beg, and I didn't even have to cast a Make Them My Bitch Hex. Do you imagine that the House of Crows act in such a way? Your mother would be so proud. Do you know what you sound like?"
"A lover?" I gritted out.
"A friend?" Sleipnir added.
"Someone with a heart?" Bask guessed.
"A witch who's forgotten our traditions." She glanced over her shoulder at the academy's guests. She was putting on a performance no different to the tournament. She was a prisoner of their patronage, just as the Rebel professors and students were prisoners of the House of Crows. "Allow me to remind you of the importance of families and not disappointing them."
I steeled myself to look at Titus. I clenched my hands, and my nails bit into my palms.
Titus sprawled in his seat, tapping his elegant fingers on his thigh. He watched us like it was an insignificant drama put on for his amusement. When his half-lidded gaze met mine, smoldering and dark, I felt dirty.
It didn't matter that his beauty glowed in the night’s gloom. So did his predatory danger.
I expected Titus to join us as the academy's patron, but it was Darby who leapt from his throne with indecent enthusiasm. Willoughby stiffened, only shuffling forward reluctantly, when Damelza crooked her finger.
Darby's sorcery crackled and smarted across my own. He strutted towards Willoughby, whose look was agonizingly hopeful.
I pressed my nails harder into my palm.
Don't hurt, reject, crush him...
But I knew that he would because I wasn't blinded by love.
How could Willoughby still love his brother?
Yet I was an only child. Perhaps, I could never understand Willoughby’s closeness to his brother. I could tell that despite all, Willoughby still missed his family.
I ached for what he'd lost and had yet to grieve.
"Brother..." Willoughby breathed.
"Silence, killer," Darby commanded. Willoughby jerked like he'd been struck. Then he gasped, clutching at his neck, as the cursed silk wound higher around his throat. "I'm your king, and you're nothing but a prisoner who should long ago have been executed."
Willoughby's face crumpled, before he forced himself to blank his expression.
My magic wove out, stroking down his sides, and he leaned into the caress. When I slipped my mists higher to tug at the silk to loosen it, Damelza tutted in disapproval.
"I would like to remind my more ill-disciplined students," Damelza's gaze met mine, as she raised her finger and thumb, "that I have the power to activate the brands in a second. So, best of behavior in front of our guests, hmm?"
I nodded, swallowing.
She could torture or kill all of the Rebels with a click of her fingers. Loving the Rebels meant letting them suffer.
Witching heavens, how could I bear this?
Because they did.
I tilted up my chin, donning the same shuttered mask as Willoughby. "I'm nothing but the model of the perfect student."
Bacchus rolled her eyes.
Darby held out a strand of his long hair to Willoughby. "Kiss the crystals of your rightful king."
Willoughby blanched.
I'd spank that brat's behind with my broomstick, until he wasn't even able to sit on his brother's throne again...
With a tenderness that Darby hadn't been expecting, rather than a shamed humiliation, Willoughby drew a crystal to his lips and kissed it. "Forgive me, brother. I've paid penance and I shall for as long as you need it. All I ask is...forgive me."
Darby wrenched back, but his wide eyes met his brother's gleaming ones; he raised a shaking hand to push his hair behind his ear. "I told you not to shame us, monster." Sleipnir flinched at the same time as Willoughby, before storming towards Darby and swinging the Rebel Cup like a club. This time, it was Lysander holding him back with a restraining hand on his elbow. "How was this performance supposed to impress me? You were warned to win every tournament, prize, and trial. Was this a rebellion? Do you wish to make your penance even harder on yourself?" His expression became ravenous, as if feeding from Willoughby's quickening breath. "Have your dreams been sweet, Dark Elf?"
"Enough," Lysander bit out. "As Prefect, the failing is mine and not Crush's. I take full responsibility."
He shrank, as Titus' expression darkened.
Damelza's smile became sly. "Well, my favorite Rebel Motto is: Share both in the winning and the losing. Don't worry, there's enough punishment to go around. Now, it's late, I'm bored, and we have either a rescue mission ahead of us or two corpses to bury so..." She pulled out from her shawl a black crystal vial and passed it to Willoughby. "The stakes for you was the loss of your magical healing power. Bottoms up."
"You'd bet with mother's gift?" Darby demanded. "You truly are a changeling.”
Willoughby's hand shook, as he raised the vial to his lips. "Since I'm not your brother, why should you care?"
My mists coiled out, stopping the venomous potion that'd steal away the magical power, which meant everything to Willoughby. It was the only thing that he had left of the Other World, from which he'd been banished.
"On my bouncy bosoms, I shan't allow this." Why was I shaking worse than Willoughby? "What do you want? What can I do or...?"
"No more deals," Willoughby's voice was low and intense. "I'm sacrificing not for the academy but for those I love. It's honorable."
"He's right," Lysander said. "Don't involve yourself in princely affairs. Not now that your whipping boy is safe."
Bask slipped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. I needed the comforting feel of him, and knew that he was as desperate for the touch as well.
My magic smarted, twisting and torn apart that my lovers were in danger, and I couldn't protect them.
Yet.
Breaking this curse would set us free, and destroy those who'd trapped us.
Willoughby glanced around at Midnight. "Before you take this from me, let me heal my whipping boy’s wings."
Damelza shook her head.
Willoughby's shoulders hunched, and his knuckles tightened until they were white around the vial.
"Drink." Darby arched his brow. "Or are you still such a traitor that you'll disobey your king's direct order?" He circled Willoughby, and my breath caught. His hand hovered over the back of Willoughby’s neck, and the silk tightened again. "Perhaps," he whispered, "you wish to kill me too and take the throne?"
Willoughby closed his eyes. "I'm not...I'd never... You'll never forgive me for killing father, will you?"
He downed the potion, hurling the empty vial away into the shadows.
Then he dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. He gritted his teeth, hissing in pain. When my own magic wound around me, I could feel it: the magic dying inside him.
It was worse than death.
Tears chased silently down Willoughby’s cheeks.
It was too much.
I dived on Willoughby at the same time as Bask fell to his knees next to him. When Bask flung his arms around Willoughby’s neck, Willoughby turned his head against Bask’s shoulder, and I stroked his hair.