Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

Willoughby’s eyes became hazy like he’d become lost to the past, before he shook himself and nodded.

Lysander clicked his fingers at Midnight. “Serve tea.”

I spun my mists around Midnight, stroking along his sides and coaxing him towards me. Midnight’s grin was shy but also dangerous, as he crawled towards me, until he was sprawled on top of me.

“Sweet Hecate, this may be a dog bed, but Midnight’s not your dog,” I growled.

I carded my fingers through Midnight’s hair, and he wound his arms around my waist. He gazed up at me with an adoration that I’d only ever seen in Bask.

Midnight was silenced and ignored. Yet how had I missed his burning love?

Exhausted tremors ran through him.

Lysander gaped at me. “But he loves orders. He enjoys obeying.”

“I’m born to serve,” Midnight said tonelessly just like a mantra .

“Can’t you see how wrong this is?” I demanded.

“Of course we do.” Willoughby’s frosty gaze met mine. “What could be right about this academy?”

“Why don’t you take my bed?” Lysander offered. When I rolled my eyes, he huffed, “ By yourself. You can take your tea with you.” Then he muttered, sullenly, “One hopes that it keeps you nice and warm.”

My arms tightened around Midnight. All things considered, the Princes were being more gentlemanly than I’d expected, but I still had to Blood Bond, and I couldn’t forget what I’d read in the letters.

Midnight didn’t love to obey or serve. Any opportunity that he’d had to stand up for himself, he’d shown that he was as naturally dominant as Lysander.

I had to tell them about my suspicions of a Mind Curse, and that meant admitting that I’d discovered the letters.

I traced my fingers along Midnight’s forehead, tucking his waves of hair behind his ear.

Then I took a deep breath. “I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse. ”

Midnight’s eyes widened, and his hand shot out to the corner of blanket that hid his letters. His shaking fingers clutched around them like he could still hide his secrets from me.

“There’s no need to be so harsh on yourself,” Lysander shuffled closer, stroking down my arm, “or so dramatic. Very well, if it means so much to you, my noble self will share your bed…”

“ No, no, no…” Midnight wailed; his breathing was ragged. “Please, please , don’t tell. Don’t hate me.”

Willoughby blinked. “Did my brother strangle me so hard tonight that my mind’s scrambled?”

“Unfortunately, it’s Midnight’s who’s cursed,” I replied.

Midnight froze, becoming ashen. “Why, my queen? I know that I’m a Cursed One but… I thought… I hoped …”

When a tear trailed down his cheek, I knew that I didn’t have the right to brush it away, but Lysander did, winding his arms around Midnight and pulling him onto his lap. He caressed his shaking shoulders.

Lysander’s gaze was flinty; for the first time, I felt like an outsider… an Immortal …in the Princes’ bedroom. “What did you do?”

“You get a reputation for cursing an academy and people believe that you curse everything . It’s not my work. I found his letters in here and…”

“ You read them ?” The tips of Willoughby’s hair tinged to ice, and the room became chilly.

So, that was what he looked like just before he tipped you over his knee?

“Peeked at them,” I ventured. “Truly, I had no intention to invade Midnight’s privacy, but in my defense, the letter was addressed to me. Plus, I think he’s Mind Cursed.”

“That line you said…?” Willoughby dived across the room, dropping to cradle Midnight as well, before murmuring, “Why did you not tell us of your suffering?”

Midnight’s wings wrapped around both the Princes. “I didn’t want you to reject me, see?”

Lysander arched his brow. “Why would we reject one who’s been violated by a terrible curse, which takes your worst thought and turns it against you? If you don’t submit…obey…your own mind punishes you. The Seelie are creative in their punishment of Unseelie prisoners. One has heard tales of how they use Mind Curses to break Unseelie. My noble self was taught how to throw them off, in case I was captured but I don’t know if I can break the curse on another.”

Midnight raised his head; his eyes were lit with a burning hope. “I’m not a Cursed One?”

I reached out to clasp his hands. “A vile emasculated skunk of a fucking rascal, as Flair would say, cursed you . You’re not bad because of it. But we’ll free you.” I glanced at the Princes. “If we combined our magics together, then could it not work?”

“Or explode the academy…or bring down Titus on us,” Lysander grumbled.

At the same time, however, he laid his fingers delicately on Midnight’s head, and Willoughby covered Lysander’s hands with his. I surged my magic through their connection.

Lysander was powerful. His magic rushed to meet mine in a blinding flash.

Willoughby’s healing power had been cruelly taken from him, but his other magic was still strong: it ran through him like cold rivers down a mountain in winter. I shivered, as our powers danced around each other, before combining and encircling the wrong, wrong, wrong that screamed through Midnight’s mind.

I don't deserve love. I was born to obey. I'm nothing but a curse.

The dark thought had been implanted in Midnight’s brain. But when? Had he been a child or had he even been cursed at birth?

Our magics spun around the toxic thought, squeezing it like Willoughby’s suit squeezed him.

The thought didn’t deserve air to live.

In our arms, Midnight shuddered.

Sweat dampened the back of my neck.

Witching heavens, let me be able to free him…

Lysander paled with concentration, and Willoughby looked like he’d stopped breathing.

Hecate above, he had.

Then Midnight convulsed, as the thought shattered and the curse broke.

Branching pink tore through the roof of the academy, and roots curled through the floor. The bedroom shook like an earthquake; I was ripping it up. I forced my magic away from the Princes’.

I was in control, in the name of Hecate, control...

The rumbling settled, and my magenta slithered back inside me, leaving in its wake a blanket of tiny pink violets. Midnight gasped in delight.

Lysander twisted to Willoughby, who slumped to the side.

We’d saved Midnight, but Willoughby’s breaths were shallow… barely there .

Midnight glowed; his exhaustion was forgotten in his excitement. He leaned over Willoughby, licking up his neck like he was testing his pulse.

When Midnight’s gaze caught mine, it was clearer and fiercer than I’d ever seen it. “I’ve crept through life, listening to a voice inside myself that told me I was unworthy of love or respect. On my oath, my life is yours for freeing me.”

“Your life is your own,” I answered with equal fierceness, “that’s what freedom means.”

"Then with that freedom, I shall always be your knight."

Lysander kissed Willoughby's forehead. “Stupid elf, he never knows his limits.” When he caught my concerned gaze, Lysander added, “He’ll recover, and we’ve just pulled off magical three-way connection. Hardly the Dunce , wouldn’t you say?”

“I’d say that a three-way sounds tempting.” I smirked. “But only after I feed Midnight because Damelza was most insistent."

"I shall never feed from the unwilling. I'm not that sort of Fallen." Midnight's voice was sharp, sending tingles through me in a decidedly pleasant way.