Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

And it had a cost that would hurt my princely lovers.

I glanced at Lysander who stood straight backed at my side but close enough for our shoulders to touch. Silver moonlight flooded through the arched window in the West Wing, illuminating the sharpness of his cheekbones and the bruising that shadowed along it.

I winced.

In this gallery, amid the portraits of every Rebel who’d ever been killed, in a place where Robin had died and Fox had been taken from me, it was wrong that it should be a fae prince who kept me silent but reassuring company.

Yet it was fair. Lysander had, after all, paid for Ezekiel’s freedom.

I studied the way that Lysander’s jaw clenched, and his pulse fluttered in his throat. He worked so hard not to show his distress, but why hadn’t I realized before that his protection of the Princes was admirable?

We were both Prefects. Perhaps, I’d spent too long alone to understand true responsibility.

I scrunched up my nose: my chest felt all squishy and squirmy that a fae had taught me something.

Bask certainly believed that we could teach interesting things to the Prince. Although, his idea of both teaching and interesting were quite different to Lysander’s.

Lysander caught my eye, before brushing his fingers against mine. My skin tingled like electric had jumped between us at even the slight touch. My heart beat faster. Our magic reached out, desperate to explore. I wrenched it back, although my hand crept into Lysander’s like I couldn’t hold it back.

Traitor hand.

Lysander’s eyes widened, but then he smiled in a genuine, soft way that I’d never seen before. This time, the squishy sensation traveled into my guts as well.

Perhaps, I had wind.

Lysander clasped my hand, however, pulling it tight to his chest like I’d change my mind and wrench away from him.

Typical possessive fae.

I tried to ignore Damelza, who was tapping at the wall beneath the magic mirror and pressing her cheek against it. It was disconcertingly either like someone checking for damp, an infestation of rats, or a medium calling to the spirit world. I didn’t know whether she was pranking me or truly trying to work on the spell.

Possibly both…?

With a hoarse cawing , Flair and Echo flapped through the open window. I winced, as they landed on each of my shoulders, and their scaly claws bit into me through my dress.

“ We watched you win the tournament like a fucking legend, boss ." Flair rambled a series of clicks with a sense of pride. Cauldrons and potions, I wasn't imagining the pride. "The freaky as fuck horse had almost as pretty wings as us. "

I tapped Flair’s beak reprovingly.

Echo rubbed his pink feathery head against my cheek. " Why'd you drop the elf on his arse? His hair's even prettier. " His eyes opened with horror. " You could've broken his prick. "

I frowned. "I don't break pricks. I mean, I almost broke Sleipnir’s, but that was the one time…"

Lysander raised his eyebrow. "Good to know, although there is such a thing as overshare, especially about the Immortals’ private parts. One is reassured."

Sometimes,, I forgot that my familiars were invisible to other people.

I flushed, hissing at my familiars, "Why are you even here? Fly away."

Lysander's eyebrow raised so high that it disappeared into his hairline. "Well, if my royal personage isn't welcome, you only had to say."

He attempted to pull his hand out of mine, but I held on tight.

" Nosiness mostly ," Flair replied, as if Lysander hadn't answered. " Plus, we couldn't bear another century stuck with you wailing and ..."

" But she's so beautiful when she cries ." Echo sighed. Was that sweet or disturbingly psychopathic? I could never decide with my familiars. " Because you love the fuckable mage, my Magenta. So, we do too ."

My eyes burned with tears.

"M-my apologies," Lysander stuttered, dragging me closer. "One had no intention of distressing you. My noble self has much more cutting remarks prepared for such an occasion."

I huffed, wiping at my eyes. "I believe you. You have a spectacular talent for insults."

Lysander inclined his head, and there was that beautiful, genuine smile again that coiled warmth through me all the way to my curling toes. "My thanks." Then his gaze softened. "They've alive; I feel it."

My chest tightened. Against my will, I glanced at Damelza, who was now pressed against the wall with a look of intense concentration like a constipated starfish.

I pushed myself onto my tiptoes, before pressing a gentle kiss to Lysander's bruised cheek. He gasped, staring at me in wonder. Then he pushed his fingers across the imprints of his guardian's palm that'd marked his face.

Had my kiss wiped away his uncle's touch?

By the way that his hand squeezed my hand tighter, I witching hoped so.

Flair's eyes narrowed in jealousy. " How long have we got before that witchy bitch pulls the broomstick out of her arse and frees the mage? I could peck off the fae's balls. It'd make a perfect gift for the mage: Prince's Balls as handy stress relievers. "

I cringed, as Flair clicked his sharp bill.

"Stop talking nothing but balls ." I shrugged my shoulders in a hint for my familiars to take their feathery behinds a safe distance from Lysander’s vulnerable (as well as impressively large if he was identical in all ways to Andro, his clone), privates.

Finally, the crows flew to the windowsill.

Lysander's expression morphed into naughty outrage. "It appears that I’m not the only one who’s talented at insults."

" Peck, peck, peck ," Flair encouraged. " What's he even using them for? After all, you won't screw him, when he's dying for a fuck. "

"I need the fae's balls, and I shall be using them soon," I blurted out.

Lysander's startled gaze met mine, and I reddened.

My witching goodness, was it possible that I’d forgotten the art of romance and courting? Once, I'd have announced my intentions with glove flirtation.

Was this what they called being corrupted by the modern world?

"One appreciates the advance warning." Lysander's tongue darted out and wet his lips. "My balls shall look forward to it."

Wait, had his privates just accepted my invitation...?

Before I could demand greater clarity on the terms, Damelza twisted to us. " Ah-ha! It appears that my theory is correct about how to break this spell."

I rushed forward, and my magic spread out like ivy across the surface of the wall, as if I could seep through and reach Fox. He was on the other side... alive ...I could feel it the same as Lysander.

I knew it. He had to be. Please...

"Magenta," Lysander's voice was tight, "hold on. Just...a little longer. Control your magic, otherwise it won't be stable enough."

I should've hated him. For commanding and leashing me... for telling me the truth.

I closed my eyes, clenching my hands. Slowly, I wrenched my magic back inside. I hurt. When I glanced over my shoulder, Lysander was pale, and his breath was ragged. He hurt just the same as me.

"Thank you," I breathed.

He flushed, dropping his gaze, but not before I'd seen the spark of surprised happiness in his gaze.

Damelza waved her hand. "Now don't get your little hopes up. This is unprecedented. No mage has ever been released. They're our enemies, although clearly the new generation have a problem remembering that. Perhaps, I need to create new rules about fraternizing because there's a message in that somewhere. As one of my favorite mottoes states—"