Rosemary Johns - Rebel Academy - Curse

My magic spun out, dragging Willoughby to me. His wide gaze met mine.

We were the Ice Royalty: the same .

I couldn’t live without Willoughby, and I wouldn’t lose anyone else.

If Darby was ruthless enough to hurt his own brother in such a way, then wouldn’t he also be ruthless enough to kill a father to steal the throne?

Unlike Willoughby, I wasn’t blinded by brotherly love, nor by the dark magic that’d forced his mind into a hazy fog. Perhaps, Darby had used such sorcery partly to make sure that his own treachery remained hidden and he could turn his brother into the scapegoat?

Now I’d met him, I could see that Darby was (as Flair had already announced to me loudly), a little traitorous prick who’s begging for a spanking .

I soothed my magic down Willoughby’s sides to ease his pain. “If you don’t wish to doubt your brother, then it’s your choice. But I won’t leave you behind.” Willoughby took a sharp intake of breath. “Together, we’ll fight this.”

Willoughby’s expression hardened, and he nodded.

My shoulders slumped with relief.

Witching heavens, how did I tell someone that their brother could’ve destroyed their life?

“Who sent the assassins to attack you?” I asked, carefully. “Surely, such a sacred pilgrimage to receive your Crystal Diary was secret? You’ve been kept so busy blaming yourself and paying penance. But what you did was an accidental loss of control. Who ordered the assassination?”

Willoughby’s eyes cleared for the first time, as if he was shaking off the bonds of Darby’s magic through fury alone. Yet as he did, the full realization of everything that’d been done and what he’d lost shook through him.

Even the loss of his innocent childhood.

He’d loved his brother. How much easier would it’ve been if he’d hated him?

I drew my magic back from Willoughby. He touched my cheek, as if in thanks, before turning to face Darby. When Willoughby stalked to the Head Table, Darby startled, sitting straighter in his chair like he was a schoolboy who’d been caught out for bullying.

Then he appeared to remember that he was king, and sneered at Willoughby, “Do you wish to kiss the crystals of your rightful king?”

Willoughby crossed his arms. “Who would that be, brother? The man who tried to kill father?”

Darby coughed, nervously. “Are you also crazy now? You didn’t try, you did kill him.”

“Not me,” Willoughby replied. “ You .”

Titus rested his chin on his hand, watching the exchange thoughtfully. But there was something predatory in his gaze.

“Silence, monster,” Darby snarled.

Willoughby’s expression was icy. “So, you did send those assassins to kill father, but you let me believe…”

Darby burst out of his seat and pointed at Willoughby.

The silk of Willoughby’s suit wove around his neck.

Willoughby spluttered, desperately falling to his knees, as the silk choked him.

When my three wickedly delicious Immortals freed me from Hecate's Tree, resurrecting me, I'd been granted a second chance at life.

I hadn’t guessed that Robin had already been blessed with his or that I’d be lucky enough to also have a shot at my second chance at love.

But even second chances required sacrifice.

Willoughby knelt before the head table this night of the Enchanted Ball, as his younger brother towered over him, strangling him with the cursed silk. Darby had bound Willoughby in the uniform to control his body, mind, and magic. But he hadn't been able to break his brother: the prince who should be king.

My magic billowed out of me in furious waves, rattling the windows. The Rebels, both Princes and Immortals, were only held back from throwing themselves forward to protect their lover by Lysander's restraining hand. Sleipnir broke off his song, looking ready to chuck his guitar at Darby's head, despite treating it almost as a lover only a moment before.

I couldn't help the shiver at the thought of his hot fingers playing down me with the same talent that he'd stroked sounds from that instrument.

I'd never seen such an enraged scarecrow as Fox made.

Lysander's gaze met mine, and he nodded at Titus, whose gaze hungrily devoured the scene in front of him.

Lysander knew Titus better than anyone. I had to trust my fae lover. He'd protected Willoughby for years. If he believed that Willoughby needed to face his own haunted past, then I had to let him.

After all, I'd faced mine.

Titus lazily tipped his goblet at Damelza. "Is an eleven execution the traditional start to a Rebel Academy ball? It makes an improvement on that atrocious so-called music."

"Hey," Sleipnir protested.

"Last time, I only had to endure being stood up at the altar and my total humiliation in front of my Fae Court and witch society alike, destroying all my dreams. I'd hoped this time would be an improvement.” Titus eyed Darby. “Sit down, would you, boy?"

Darby stared at him in shock. "I'm a king."

"You're a petty sadist who breaks his toys." Titus' lips pinched.

Willoughby gasped desperately for breath, clutching his neck.

"You're spoiling our enjoyment of the wine." Bacchus' eyes swirled amber, as she slammed down her goblet. Her wine spilled. I scrunched up my nose at the intoxicating spicy scent. Juni slipped her hand over Snow's, edging him further down the table away from Darby. "There's chaos and darkness, and then there's being a brat, darling. Guess which you're being?"

Bask whispered proudly, "She calls me a wild panther ."

Darby opened and shut his mouth, all of a sudden looking stripped back to the teenager that he truly was, despite the sting of his powerful magic and the trappings of kinghood.

Damelza slipped out of her seat and stalked to him, closing her fist around his hand. "One of my favorite mottoes is: It never kills to be polite. But your rudeness is killing one of my students, and you've no idea the paperwork that an execution at a public event entails."

Sweet Hecate, was that the first time that I'd been pleased to hear one of the academy’s mottoes?

With a frustrated sneer, Darby let the silk drop away from Willoughby's neck, and Willoughby fell forward.

"Who sent the assassins, brother?" Willoughby demanded with a voice as rough as sandpaper.

Darby raised his chin. "Dark Elves... like you ."

Willoughby's eyes were slits of ice through the frozen waterfall of his hair. "You're lying."

"How dare a monster speak to me like that."

The tips of Willoughby's hair tinged to ice, as he straightened his shoulders and raised his head; my heart sped up because I'd never seen anyone so regal on their knees before. "I wish that I'd realized I wasn't the only monster in our family. But I was too destroyed by grief and guilt. Now I can see clearly, however, and I know that I'm a killer. I shall always repent that. But you're a traitor—"

"Silence!" Darby reddened, leaping towards Willoughby.

To my shock, however, Damelza's eyes glittered pink, and she froze Darby with her magic. When he struggled against the paralysis (his eyes wide with alarm), she only patted his arm in the parody of reassurance.

Was paralyzing your guests a type of ball etiquette that I hadn't learned?

Willoughby pushed himself to his feet. In a sudden rush, us Rebels dove to his side, clasping him in a cuddle of lion ears, feathers, and ruby slippers.