Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

Lysander rushing in late like he'd run here after corporal punishment was becoming as familiar as me being tied to Midnight.

How long had Titus been showing Lysander just how he felt about him losing the Rebel Cup and Dragon Polo Tournament?

Titus was a dick. Why couldn't we turn that into the school song and chant it?

Oh yeah, because then we'd be limping too.

Willoughby straightened on his stool, scrutinizing Lysander like he could see the injuries beneath his uniform.

I tensed because last time that Lysander had been late, he'd failed to take responsibility and Willoughby had been transfigured into a sky-blue throne as punishment. Then Willoughby had spent the class with Bacchus' face on his ass.

I shuddered. Yuck.

Lysander ran a shaky hand through his sweat dampened hair, before throwing back his shoulders like he was on parade. Bacchus prowled closer, circling him. He stared at the far wall, rather than meeting her eye.

"One is truly sorry," Lysander opened with (and thank Pan he'd learned from the whole Willoughby Throne incident). Could my fae become a rebel as well? Wait, my fae...? I refused to take that back. I was embracing my whole Fae Kink side, and it felt good . "My lateness is my responsibility alone." He darted a glance to Willoughby, and his expression softened. Willoughby's eyes lit up. "One accepts your punishment."

Lysander’s hands clenched at his sides, and he screwed shut his eyes.

Would he be transfigured into an emerald couch with golden tassels?

Please choose a cute Pomeranian...

"Must this academy heap punishment upon punishment?" Magenta vibrated with fury; her eyes glittered. "You shan't harm him."

"It's a miracle; you can now read minds, right?" Bacchus rested her hand on Lysander's shoulder, and he flinched. "Except, you can't because I shall ."

I held my breath.

Bacchus rapped her nails on Lysander's shoulder. "No excuses?"

Lysander's lips pinched. "My royal personage was being chastised justly by my guardian. One is aware that's no excuse for tardiness."

Bacchus gave a satisfied smile, before steering Lysander next to his own whipping boy and then pressing him down. "Kneel, Dunce." A muscle twitched in Lysander's jaw, but he knelt with his head ducked. His wings curled around himself in comfort. "Transfiguration is for students, but you're only a Dunce now. Do you think you deserve even my ass on you?" Lysander pinked. "I can still use you though. You can be helpful in this lesson, just like your whipping boy is."

I shivered at the malicious delight that Bacchus took in each humiliating word. But then, Midnight opened his wing and wrapped it around Lysander. In shock, Lysander raised his head to meet Midnight's compassionate gaze. The same whipping boy who he'd made crawl was offering his support now that his patron been brought even lower than himself.

Midnight was epic, and Lysander wasn't the bastard that I'd thought he was. My furry tail wanted them both, and furry tails (especially crooked ones), shouldn't be denied.

Magenta offered Lysander a smile, which appeared to shock him as much as Midnight's feathery snuggle. Lysander offered a tight smile in return.

Bacchus prowled to lean against the wall, crossing her arms. "The Mind Control Spell is more powerful than any other because it creates a connection that's deeper than you'll ever taste between the caster and their puppet. It’s the true bond of gods and their followers. That's magic, darlings. Who holds the power, and who dances to their tune. Do you think you’re in charge of your own mind, fate, or will? Con others but not yourself.”

“I rather think that you’re the one who’s deluded. Don’t con yourself that since you have an unhealthy relationship with your god, we all do. My god is awfully nice.” Magenta blew a kiss to Sleipnir, whose hair softened to candy pink waves.

Sleipnir attempted to coolly nod his head, but Mist jumped up like he was trying to catch the kiss. Sleipnir could never hide his emotions now that Mist had been created.

By my prickles, don’t let anyone create a mist version of Mr. Fierce because I’d be screwed .

Bacchus’ knuckles whitened around her thyrsus. “Don’t speak about the darkness of eternal dedication that you could never understand. I’ve given up my Soul for my god, girl.”

“Ah,” Magenta said, brightly, “but have you ever given him a blowjob?”

Sleipnir covered his face with his hands.

So, this was what Religious Studies was like. I’d always considered that it’d be more about differences in belief and less my god is better than your god face-offs, where the bout was won with blowjobs.

Respect.

Bacchus’ smile was all teeth. “If you already have such power over gods, then step forward and let’s see you cast this spell over the Princes’ whipping boy.” She glanced dismissively down at Lysander. “The Dunce, despite his failures, is still magically powerful. He can cast the spell on your whipping boy.”

Magenta stiffened at the same time as Lysander, who caressed a reassuring hand over Midnight’s wing, before pushing himself to his feet.

Even though Lysander swayed, he still defiantly tilted up his chin. “I refuse—”

“As Flair would say,” Magenta hurriedly cut in, materializing in a fog of black mists in front of Lysander (was it weird how fuzzy it made me that she was protecting Lysander now?), “ Fuck you, fuck your hex, and fuck your pointy fuck wand. ”

Bask snickered and then paled as Bacchus spun in a furious circle, chanting an invocation.

Sticky red dripped from the walls like they were bleeding. “What you and this Flair need is a Fuck You Not Hex.”

“Dear Hecate, don’t let that be a celibacy hex.” Magenta shivered.

“It’s a ban on swearing. It can even include words that are considered dishonorable.” Willoughby looked lost, staring down at his hands. “It was cast on the nursery, which belonged to Darby and me.”

“My room at the Fae Court too,” Lysander muttered. “But I was creative.”

I rubbed my hands together metaphorically (although, only metaphorically because I was still tied up in purple silk), exchanging a mischievous glance with Sleipnir.

There were advantages to being mates with Loki’s son.

It was funny how I barely swore but now that I couldn’t, I’d never wanted to scream fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck so much in my life.

“What happens if you swear without being creative?” I asked.

Never let it be said that I was too stupid to ask the questions that other students were too smart to ask.

Wait, I meant…

“Try it,” Bacchus suggested.

“My king, don’t .” Midnight’s panicked gaze met mine.

“But the fucking witch just told me to swear, and it’d be taking the piss not to bloody listen to her.” Wow, I was bad at normal swearing.

Dad would be so cross with me right now. Although on the other hand, proud.

I didn’t like the way that Lysander’s eyes, however, gleamed with amusement.

The back of my tongue started to tingle. I smacked my lips in confusion, as the tingling spread along my tongue, roof of my mouth, and even into my gums. Then in a roar like dragon’s flame, heat exploded. I gasped, and my eyes watered.

Hot, hot, hot.

Willoughby winced in sympathy.

My tongue burned like it’d been dipped in hot sauce and then rubbed down in chilies for that extra kick.

What was that high whine? I shook my head, trying to clear it from my ears.

Oh, it was me .

“Stop this,” Magenta demanded.

“It’ll wear off.” Bacchus snorted. “Mage Baiting should be a sport.”