Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

What wouldn’t I do to rescue him from such hurt?

Sleipnir shrugged. “Hey, that’s lucky, since we like you.”

Sleipnir tongued like in revenge but this time, as if he was tonguing the head of Lysander’s prick.

Lysander staggered back a step, and Willoughby caught him.

Never take on Sleipnir in a Banter Battle.

“To the Immortals, victors of the Dragon Polo Tournament!” Fireworks exploded in the sky, and Ambrose fluttered down to land between us like a golden eagle. He held the obsidian Rebel Cup. He smiled, beating his wings in joy, rather than agitation. Sweet Hecate, was his normal rage because of his misery? “On my feathers, it’s my honor to announce that they’re double champions of both the Rebel Cup and the tournament. It’s time to present the Rebel Cup.”

Ambrose held out the huge cup, which was shaped like a dragon. The dragon’s tail wound around the trophy and back into its mouth. Lysander’s yearning as he stared at it was physically painful.

I wished that he'd been able to have this moment.

Lysander’s fingers clenched at his sides like he was forcing himself not to snatch the cup.

As a child, I’d watched from the Bird Turret, as the trophy had been presented below in the grounds to different teams. I’d known how much it mattered to the Princes. Yet to me, it held no more meaning than one of Juni’s Privilege Points. It was the carrot, rather than the stick to keep us students behaving and compliant.

I needed the Princes to understand how hollow trophies, awards, shiny gold stars (or much as I hated to admit it, a Prefect’s title), as well as their cruel families’ approval truly was.

Damelza clicked her fingers. Midnight rose from behind her throne.

I bit my lip hard. All this time he’d been forced to kneel in the shadows. How terrible it must’ve been to watch our contest in the skies, when his own life was staked on it…and the Princes had lost .

Damelza bustled over to Ambrose, while Midnight prowled at her side, despite the fact that his broken wings were still strapped down with leather and his feet looked like they'd been frozen to blue blocks. I winced. When he shivered, even his poor cock and balls shook. It was admirable that they hadn't retreated inside his body to escape the cold. When Damelza once more pointed at her feet and Midnight began to kneel, Lysander let out a hiss of frustration, clutching Midnight by the shoulder.

Midnight's startled gaze met his. Then Lysander shrugged off his luxurious cashmere coat and laid it on the slushy ground, before gently pushing Midnight onto it.

Cauldrons and potions, that was gentlemanly.

I recognized the look in Midnight's eyes as he looked up at Lysander. What was it called again?

Oh yes, adoration.

My chest was tight. I'd judged both Lysander and Midnight, but perhaps, Midnight had always been the one with the power, despite being the whipping boy.

Sleipnir tilted his head, studying them speculatively.

Lysander clasped his hands behind his back, standing guard over Midnight. Willoughby stalked to join him.

Damelza pursed her lips, as she scanned their united group. They truly were a team even in defeat. Then her lips became even more prune like, as she looked between the cup and us Immortals.

"Now, Professor Ambrose, there's no need for all this pomp. How about I take that trophy for safe keeping?" When she grabbed the Rebel Cup, Ambrose didn't let go. Damelza's eyes glittered pink, and her feathers ruffled up. "I'm your Principal. I run this school. Have you forgotten Ezekiel or your son?"

"Nay, never. I don't forget my place here or your threats to Ty." Ambrose pulled the trophy closer to his chest, curling his wings around himself and trapping Damelza in a mockery of a lover's embrace. Damelza reddened, scrabbling at his chest with one hand and holding onto the trophy with the other. Bask giggled and when he caught Willoughby's eye, Willoughby’s lips quirked into an answering smile. "The Immortals fought and risked their lives for this trophy. They earned it, and by my wings, they shall have it."

Sleipnir disentangled himself from Bask, before prowling to Ambrose all deadly god, as fury snapped in his eyes. He thrust his hand into the struggle of professors, curling it around the dragon's tail. Then he yanked, pulling out the Rebel Cup, before holding it above his head.

Sleipnir shot a glance at Bask and me; it spoke of such pain and love that it stole my breath. "This is for Fox."

" Fox ," Bask and I whispered together.

I didn't expect the Princes to echo us; shivers ran down my spine.

Damelza stumbled back from Ambrose, rubbing a feather away from her nose and sneezing. She smoothed down her dress in quick, sharp motions.

"What a pity that Confess can't hear your touching tribute, but then, the castle walls are pretty thick. On the other hand, it's effective insulation against the cold." She waved her hand dismissively at the trophy like she hadn't just been trying to wrestle it from her own professor. "Don't lose it."

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.