Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

Titus’ large wings were folded, and his neat emerald hair hung to his broad shoulders like an army of servants had spent all day making sure that it fell just right for fear of a whipping. He wore a rich silken black uniform, which was decadent but had the same steel behind it as his emerald gaze.

Dominant. Dangerous. Damaged.

He’d have been beautiful if I was into the hot daddy vibe (I could safely say that wasn’t my kink). Yet there was a coldness in his eyes like once he could’ve been Prince Charming but now, he’d been hollowed out and filled up with dickishness.

All that was left one was one big dick.

A golden scimitar hung at Titus’ waist, and I didn’t miss Lysander’s longing look at it.

Was it agony for a fae to be parted from their weapon?

Bask snatched my hand, at the same time as he grabbed Magenta’s. He twirled us around to face Lysander. He nodded his chin at him, pointedly.

Magenta’s death had been because of Titus. Yet even though her breaths were ragged, her gaze was hard and determined. She was seriously tough.

Loki would approve.

It was Lysander, however, who’d ducked his head. His wings quivered, as he snatched a riding whip and tapped it with a crisp smack — smack — smack like he was trying to beat the fear out of himself.

He was terrified, and even more frightened of showing it.

Titus was his brutal guardian. I’d grown up with love, but what had Lysander’s childhood been like under such a tyrant? Why had his own uncle sentenced him to be sent here?

What crime had Lysander committed?

Huh, I felt kind of weird even to care because a couple of days ago, I’d thought that Lysander was nothing but a haughty jerk who was out to impress his even bigger jerk of an uncle. Now, I noticed the tremor in his wings and how his fingers curled into Willoughby’s arms not out of cruelty but for support as much as chastisement.

Valhalla! Lysander didn’t love his guardian. He feared him.

How deadly was Titus?

Did that mean that Lysander had always desired to join us Immortals, but hadn’t been able to risk his guardian’s punishment? I hated that Titus had been keeping Lysander as my rival, rather than letting him melt into my arms, as well as Magenta’s, like he had as he’d danced with us in the Rebel Café. His tight ass, as he’d pushed it against me, was also hard to forget.

My pulse quickened.

I could break the wards, if I could convince him to rebel.

Couldn’t Lysander see that he’d never be accepted as a fae prince again? Titus wouldn’t let him leave Rebel Academy. He’d already lost his home, kingdom, and freedom.

Titus was lying to him, and he needed to stop lying to himself.

But hey, so did I.

As if knowing that he was being studied, Titus lazily turned his head and met my gaze. I froze. There was danger and death in his eyes; the hairs on my nape rose.

I wasn’t frightened. Neither Titus’ charm nor his threats worked on me. He wasn’t my patron or guardian. The asshole might intimidate his nephew but he didn’t intimate a god, and I’d prove it to him.

I raised my eyebrow at Magenta, and she nodded with a smile. I dragged her closer, before kissing her with a tenderness that spoke of a protective love and everything that Titus and the Duchess weren’t . It was a promise of eternal safety, as her tongue licked across the seam of my lips, before pushing into my mouth and dancing across my own tongue. She stroked my hip in tingling circles, and my balls ached.

Bask narrowed his eyes at the Duchess, who slopped hot chocolate onto her lap in shock, before licking down Magenta’s neck and sucking hickeys.

He loved to mark his lovers, and I didn’t blame him for being possessive tonight.

Both Magenta and Bask glowed, fed by our joined pleasure.

“Is the infernal scoundrel watching?” Magenta murmured against my lips.

I glanced over her shoulder.

Titus’s burning gaze met mine. His lips tightened in his ashen face. His hands clenched in the blanket in his lap, before he hurled it off him into the snow.

I chuckled. “He looks like he’s just been forced to suck a troll’s balls. The brat’s throwing a tantrum. Hey, look at that, so’s the bitch Duchess.”

Magenta’s lips twitched. “Excellent.”

Ambrose slipped out his whip and pointed it at us Immortals.

I’d thought that Ambrose and I had an understanding. Did the tournament open with a ritualistic thrashing? That’d be the sort of dickish thing that the House of Crows would enjoy.

For the first time, I was glad that Fox wasn’t here.

When Ambrose snapped the whip against the ground with a sharp crack , Bask jumped.

Willoughby and Lysander marched to stand like they were on parade in front of him like good little Princes.

Magenta and I exchanged a glance, before we drew back from each other, and strolled to join them.

Did they award Privilege Points for Best Slouch? I rolled my shoulders. I was going for it.

Bask would seriously win the best Best Slinky Ass Wiggle, as he sauntered to join us.

Ambrose grimaced, clearing his throat. "On my feathers, this is what I've been training you daft rascals to survive." He shot a glance at Titus on the platform, and his hand tightened on his whip. I didn't think it was possible for someone to hate our fae patron more than me, but hey, Ambrose was going for it. But then, he was a Seelie fae at the mercy of his natural enemy, an Unseelie. No wonder he'd been creative in making Lysander suffer in turn. "This is a contest, so no messing around up in the air. The first to three points wins. Our...respected...patron commanded a grand show. Aye, like I can pull that out of my..." He caught himself, biting his lip. "Nay, we'll show him. So, this is a phoenix hunt. Rebels are born out of flames. When you see the phoenix, burn it with your dragon's fire. Our patron demands to witness the excitement of rivals: Immortals versus Princes. Give him what he wants."

I didn't miss his warning.

When he stepped back, raising his whip, I tensed ready to dive in front of Magenta, but he didn't lash it down on us. Instead, as at his command, timber goal posts like gnarled tree trunks grew out of the castle turrets. The ground shook and rumbled. Willoughby staggered into me, and I righted him. Magenta gasped, doubling over. Her magic sparked.

"I can feel... his magic ...rearranging my academy," she hissed.

I glowered at Titus, before twisting to watch as giant trees grew out of the back of the Groundskeepers cottage as well.

Ambrose pointed at the newly created pitch. "You swagger into my class, all of you. Now show our guests that same attitude in the skies. You're not broken, right?"

Us Immortals shook our heads, but the Princes stood as still as soldiers.

Ambrose shrugged. "I tried."

All of a sudden, Willoughby did move. He turned to Magenta, dropping to his knees before her like he was about to propose.

On the World Tree, was he about to ask her to marry him?

Not before me he didn't...

Yet before I could also throw myself into the snow, Willoughby grasped Magenta's hands between his. His eyes were emerald pools in the pale of his face.

"What on my wings do you think you're doing?" Lysander gasped, glancing underneath his eyelashes at Titus.

Willoughby continued to stare at Magenta like he hadn't heard Lysander. "It's dishonorable for me to take part in the tournament. Ask me not to fly. How can I? We're not rivals, and if I win, then you and Fox shall—"

"Stop making a spectacle of your royal self." Lysander tugged on his arm.