Rebel Academy: Curse

Chapter Twenty-One MAGENTA

I squirmed in the uncomfortable basket next to the counter in the Princes' bedroom in the East Wing. It was oddly disconcerting to look up at the grand wardrobes with their mosaic battles between Immortals and Princes, Willoughby's bed that was carved out of ice with columns twisting to the ceiling, and Lysander's obsidian four-poster.

Everything was so much bigger than me; I was nothing at the feet of these Princes.

Was that how Midnight felt? Did Lysander insist on it?

Ah, the ego of fae.

My heart beat more rapidly because from down here, the Princes were caught in a twisted fairy tale.

As Blood Lover, I expected blood or kisses, possibly both at the same time. Belonging to the Princes could either be an exceptionally good or bad thing.

Tea would be part of their usual evening ritual, I was assuming?

Will bleed for tea. Was that not fair?

Echo would peck my behind for such an offer. But then, Echo would bleed for a kiss from the elf.

Flair’s demands would be cruder.

Juni had led me up here in stony silence, before shoving me into Midnight's bed like I was a treat for him or his supper.

Then she'd fixed me with a steely glare. "Do you remember how I once begged you not to harm my Princes?"

"Was there begging involved? I don't remember you saying please."

Juni's cheek had twitched. "Then please believe me that your presence has harmed Crown. It was my mistake for thinking that you could care for him like you do your Immortals or wish to protect him from his guardian. Instead, you've destroyed him." Had I? Once, I'd have been thrilled to have ruined a fae prince. Now, the thought had made my magic scream through me in distress, until it’d rained snowflakes. Juni had blown the snow off her nose. "Do you believe Crown can recover from the disgrace of being marked Dunce? Don't fail at the Enchanted Ball or you'll discover Titus’ true..." She’d glanced around the room uneasily, before turning on her heel and storming to the door. Then she’d hesitated. "You weren't the one who put Crown together, after he first arrived here." Her voice had shaken. Black cats, she wasn't crying...? "I was only a teenager, and mother put me in charge of the Princes so that I could have hands on experience of our business. Titus broke him, and I mended him. On my magic, I swear that if you break him again, then I don't care if you claim to be the wickedest witch, I'll destroy you."

Then she'd slammed out of the bedroom, and I'd blinked.

Well, I was most certainly spanked.

I curled my legs in the small basket, dragging the blanket over me.

Did Juni care for her Princes like Emerick cared for the animals who stumbled into the academy? Of course, it involved more controlling food privileges and monitoring the creases in their blazers, and less rectal examinations.

I hoped.

If I'd been raised by Damelza without Byron to guide me, would I've viewed the Rebels any differently to robins with broken wings?

A stray ash feather on the blanket tickled my nose, and I smiled. I stroked its softness. Then to my surprise, I felt the outline of something harder, tucked beneath the blanket.

Carefully, I unraveled the edge of the blanket and scraps of paper, which looked like they'd been collected from broken exercise books, fell onto my palm.

Of course, whipping boys weren't allowed to own anything. Perhaps, Midnight had found these scraps on the floor and hidden them.

Why?

I should put them back. They were secret. Willoughby's Crystal Diary had been private, and I'd been awfully strict with both Flair and Bask about reading it.

Yet, I hadn't received correspondence in...forever. Was it so terrible to wish to see who was writing to Midnight and whether they were love letters, his fang club, or hate mail...?

For all I knew, he was a train enthusiast or birdwatcher and had a penpal. Possibly, Fox knew. In Bacchus’ class, while they hung around together like bats, they were always whispering together.

Whipping boys stuck together.

I wished that there’d been another whipping boy who could’ve supported Robin. Yet how long had Midnight also been alone?

I sighed. Of course, I wouldn't read Midnight’s letters. I'd had my memories torn from me. I wouldn't read someone else's mail.

It might just take a little time to convince the nosy witch in me.

I wished that I'd known someone outside the academy who'd cared about me and my life enough to write. But I'd been the girl in the Bird Turret; nothing had mattered to anyone apart from my Blessedly Charmed magic.

Oh, and then I'd been dead.

That rather put a crimp on making friends, although I'd discovered, not necessarily lovers.

I started to shove the letters back into the blankets, when the words that were scrawled on top caught my eye:

I froze.

These letters were written by Midnight to Fox and me.

And he loved us and wished to serve us…?

I swallowed. Hecate's tit, didn't that rather blow down my moral house of cards on why I shouldn't sneak a peek? Yet Midnight hadn't given these letters to us. So, did that mean he didn't want me to see them?

Yet his love screamed even from the single line that I'd accidentally read. How could I unsee it, along with the despair that threaded through his unrequited love?

Because it wasn't a crush. I loved him too.

Why had he hidden this?

My hands shook. I had to save the Princes, including Midnight, and it needed to be at the Enchanted Ball, before Titus wrecked us all. I'd been delivered here as Midnight's snack.

Surely, I had a right to discover what I could?

Titus or letter morals? I bit my lip. How about a single peek?

I forced Fox's disapproving expression out of my mind because he'd never looked at me with anything but love before, and my magic sparked with displeasure that even imaginary Fox would glare at me.

"I beg your pardon," I muttered to the empty room. "Whoops, look how the letter slipped open on my knee... I’ll just gather it up again, shall I?"

Midnight's handwriting was as beautiful as he was. Yet the words made my stomach cramp with guilt:

I winced at the sharp pain, as the thought lanced through me.

"Like I'm born to serve," I replied.

Lucifer's expression darkened, and he pressed his hand to my forehead. "Who made you think like that? Who caged your mind?"

I shoved the letters away from me, hurriedly wrapping them up in the blanket. I'd known...of course I'd known that I shouldn't have read it.

I reddened. Now I truly wished that Midnight had simply been a train enthusiast with an obsession for noisy steam trains.

Were non-magicals still obsessed with their mechanical means of travel? How sad for them not to be able to dematerialize or ride on monstrous horses.

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

Dark magic wove through that line, as much as Willoughby's cursed silk suit. It reminded me of an incantation or ancient Mind Curses, which Byron had once told me punished with mantras.

I shuddered at the thought of any of the mantras from the Principal's Book of Mottoes looping through my mind. If I wasn't crazy now, I would be after that. Yet what if the motto was negative...underserving of love...born to be a slave...cursed?

It was appalling, unconscionable, cruel...and invisible.

How could I free Midnight? Sweet Hecate, I swore that I’d find a way.

When Midnight slipped into the bedroom, I patted at my hair. Although I was no Bask, who made love to the bathroom mirror every time that he styled himself in front of it (I had the distinct impression that he was tempted to ask it who was the fairest of them all), my bonding with my Immortals had been special, and I intended to look my best for Midnight’s.

Even if I was curled in a dog bed.

Midnight ignored me, however, staggering to the curtains and pulling them across the windows, before smoothing down the sheets on Willoughby’s bed.

He made a beautiful naked butler for the Princes.

Yet his eyes were ringed by purple shadows, and his shoulders were tight with exhaustion. When he dragged himself to the counter, pulling open the drawer to select two pairs of pink silk pajamas, I glimpsed a flash of Lysander’s emerald panties.

I flushed hot and cold, crossing my legs against the mounting desire.

Surely, he’d notice me now at his feet?

Yet Midnight only turned and laid out Lysander’s pajamas on the gleaming black bed, caressing his hands along the arms tenderly. Then he shimmied into his own pair.

When he turned back to the counter, Midnight’s ash wings were gorgeous against the pink. How much more stunning would they look wrapped in my magic?

I longed for him, but a family of killer unicorns could’ve nested in Midnight’s basket, and he was so tired that he wouldn’t have noticed.

The Sleep Deprivation Hex was a dangerous thing.

What was the official etiquette for announcing your presence as a Blood Lover in someone’s bed without making them faint from shock?

I was new to modern courting, but even though stalking appeared popular, I still believed causing a heart attack wasn’t romantic.

Perhaps, a polite cough or an offer to mix a Bloody Mary…?

Then the door slammed open, and Lysander stalked into the bedroom, vibrating with repressed fury. “How long can my royal personage stand by and do nothing…?”

I stiffened with outrage at how Lysander manhandled Willoughby, dragging him after him by the neck.

Was he choking Willoughby?

Did I need to carve Nobody Hurts My Rebels next to the D on Lysander’s forehead?

Wait, was that a paradox?

My magic exploded over Lysander like a firework. He jumped, twisting to me.

Ah, not choking, rather loosening the choking silk. Also, not manhandling, rather helping to stand.

Had Darby punished Willoughby for hours?

Surely, mine was what they called an honest mistake? Fae prejudice was a difficult thing to shrug off in a day. I attempted Bask’s innocent look.

Lysander’s eyes twinkled with amusement, however, before he demanded, “Whipping boy, is there any reason why you’ve placed an Immortal in your bed? Is she your new plushie? Do we all get one?”

I didn’t miss the way that Lysander glanced at his own bed like he hoped to find Fox sprawled in his covers with his pale limbs gorgeously on display, before finding it empty and scowling.

Midnight dropped to his knees. He peeked at me from between the veil of his hair. His charcoal eyes were wide with exhausted shock.

“M-my apologies my princes and m-my queen.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Pull out my fangs, I didn’t p-place you in my b-bed, did I?”

My heart cracked for him. He couldn’t even remember?

Lysander lowered Willoughby to perch on the edge of his ice bed.

Willoughby winced (how tight was his suit now?), and caught my look. “The Sleep Deprivation Hex is affecting Midnight’s memory. By my ears, he could’ve bitten Juni and not know it.”

I pulled a face. “That’s dangerous and disgusting.”

Willoughby inclined his head.

“Why are you here like an unwanted puppy? As much as one enjoys discovering you in my room at night,” Lysander glanced significantly at the glowing Punishment and Privilege Board and then at the swirling roof of Willoughby’s bed, “one doesn’t.”

The way that his dick hardened in his pants called liar.

I understood. Titus was woven throughout the academy, especially in the Princes’ room, and Darby controlled the ice and Willoughby’s nightmares.

In here, the Princes had to mask their true feelings. I hated that he had to hide from me.

Luckily, I’d grown to love what Sleipnir would call Lysander’s fae assholeness.

Lysander pulled off his tie, throwing it to the floor. He didn’t break his gaze from mine, as he shrugged off his blazer. He undid his shirt deliberate button by deliberate button. My mouth was dry, as his chest was revealed.

It was perfect.

“I assure you that this is quite literally a punishment for me as well,” I forced out.

Oh yes, the sexy naked fae punishment. Quite the deterrent. Now, if only he’d take off those pants, I’d truly learn my lesson…

He took off his pants.

My breath caught, and not only at the emerald panties that he also shoved down.

I’d been right: fae were blessed. In fact, his prick was stunning.

A pretty pink spread up Lysander’s chest, but he tilted up his chin, boldly meeting my eye like a challenge, even though I knew that stripping like this went against everything he’d been taught as a Court Fae.

My heart thudded because he wasn’t hiding anymore. If he couldn’t use words to show me…he’d give me this.

I smiled softly, and all of a sudden, Lysander’s expression gentled. I’d only seen him look at Willoughby like that before.

Then the mask was firmly back in place, as he pulled on the pajamas that Midnight had laid out for him. He unwound the ribbon from Willoughby’s hair, which swung forward like a waterfall.

“You were sent to us by Damelza?” Willoughby asked.

I nodded.

Lysander twirled on the spot; his wings spread out in a dominant display. Oh yes, he had the predatory vibe.

He stalked to crouch over me. “So, you’re ours for the night?”

He stroked his finger along my jaw, and I leaned into the touch and his sweet scent.

“Tea would be delightful, thanks for asking,” I said. “After all, you do have seven different jars of it all to yourself.”

Did that sound too bitter?

Lysander sat back on his heels, crossing his arms. “Have you not seen anything else tonight that you desire more than damn tea?”

My brow furrowed. Had I been too harsh in my tea envy?

Willoughby’s lips quirked. “My favorite blend is delicious. Our guest is most welcome to it, as well as my Thunder cup.”

Lysander glanced around at him. “Are you sure, Will?”

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.

Midnight caged me beneath him with his ash wings. Had they always been this large? There was nothing submissive in him now.

"Bones and blood, a bond is sacred. It's only equal, if you also..." He bit his lip.

"Feed from him," Lysander finished, quietly.

"Drink blood...?" I spluttered. "I believe that I ordered tea."

Midnight dropped his gaze. "It was unworthy of me to ask."

"It was most certainly not," Lysander hissed. Instantly, I was covered by Lysander's wings as well; gold mixed with ash. I couldn't help turning my face into their softness and sneaking a quick lick; both Midnight and Lysander shivered like I'd licked their pricks. Interesting. "Do you believe yourself too good to bond in such a way with a vampire?"

"Of course not!" My eyes widened. I'd known that Lysander had fed Midnight, but I hadn't realized what it truly meant. Lysander was Midnight's Blood Lover: willingly in an equal bond with him. They loved each other. I brightened, kissing the end of Lysander's nose. "Please tell me that I'll be bonded to you as well if I do this."

Lysander paled. "It breaks every Court Dictate for a fae to bond more than once."

"Lucky you're a rebel then, isn't it?"

Lysander's answering smile was as wicked as my own. "Prince of Rebels."

I knew how dangerous it was for him to identify as a rebel, when an entire tribe of fae had been executed or sent to the Wicked Reform School for precisely that.

Midnight's wings beat. "Titus..."

"Titus, everything that he forbids, and his Court Dictates, can go screw themselves," Lysander snarled. Instantly, the walls glowed with a warning hum. Lysander glared at them. "Go and tell tales to my guardian. My royal personage is no longer intimidated." He met my gaze. "Instead, one will be bonded to my lovers."

When Midnight’s fangs elongated, he grazed them down my neck.

"May I...?" Midnight nibbled and licked around my choker. "Do you wish me to hide my marking?"

"Mark me. I want the world to know that I'm yours."

Midnight's groan vibrated against my skin, and he rocked his crotch against me like he'd come at my words alone.

You didn't have familiars who'd once been vampires without knowing their dark desires.

I felt more alive, than I ever had before. Every sensation was heightened. The brush of Lysander's fingers down the other side of my neck. The scent of cherry blossom. The soft bed of feathers.

The coiling warmth inside.

"Oh, they shall know who you belong to." Lysander's sharp teeth nipped the other side of my neck.

I was surrounded by my two lovers. It was overwhelming and perfect.

Their teeth pressed at the same time on each side of my neck.

Bite me, bite me, bite...

They bit.

I arched, howling in ecstasy. Pain and pleasure melded into one molten core of need, need, need. This was right, where I belonged. I shivered, as my nerves blazed on fire. Midnight was inside me, drinking from me.

This was a service. I'd believed that I'd never be able to offer anything but death to my lovers.

But I was life again.

Lysander licked over the impressive hickey on my neck, before sinking his teeth into Midnight's throat. Midnight moaned; his hard prick pressed into my hip, and I slipped my mists down his pants to stroke his prick firmly to give it the friction, for which he was desperate. Midnight stiffened, before rutting into the mists, and my own pleasure spiraled higher and higher.

At last, Lysander pulled back from Midnight.

Why were his lips cherry red?

When Lysander leaned over me, his eyes blazed with love. Then he pressed his lips to mine and tongued Midnight's blood into my mouth. It was sweet as cream. I moaned myself into Lysander's mouth, as Midnight’s blood passed between us, uniting us.

When I swallowed, my back bowed again. Pleasure crested through me at the same time as Midnight stiffened. Lysander eased his hands into Midnight's pants to work him through the last of his orgasm.

Adoration, joy, and desire.

Midnight and Lysander's emotions crashed through me. I could feel them, but it wasn't like being bound by a Mind Curse. Instead, it was a connection like I had with my Immortals. They'd resurrected me with blood, but the Princes had now bonded me with it.

How had I ever doubted Lysander's nobility or Midnight's love? They couldn't hide now because I could feel...all of it...through the bond. And they'd known that I would and had chosen it.

Lysander eyed me, warily. "You shan't reject me now? You're truly claiming me?"

How much did I wish to kick my own witchy ass for the times that I'd led Lysander to believe that I would.

"You're my breath, heart, and Soul. Us Immortals have claimed all you Princes and I'm afraid, there's no escape," I warned.

"Really, witch?" Lysander drawled, dropping to lie by my side but feathering kisses down my jaw. "You're in my bedroom. Perhaps, my royal personage has claimed—"

"Sleep," Midnight commanded.

Lysander's outraged expression was delicious. He opened his mouth, before snapping it shut.

Midnight cradled Willoughby in his wings, pulling him into our snuggle pile. Willoughby's eyes fluttered open sleepily, before he smiled as he met my gaze.

"It worked," he rasped.

I nodded.

It felt right to sleep together on the thick carpet, instead of the beds that were symbols of the Princes' kingdoms that'd deposed and punished them.

Yet Midnight wouldn’t be able to sleep…

“I’ll stay awake with you,” I whispered, fiercely.

Midnight shook his head. “You sleep, and I’ll watch over you.”

I hooked a leg over Lysander, and an arm around Willoughby. Midnight laid his wings over us all, as if they were a feathered blanket.

His happiness soared through the bond. Had the Princes ever slept together?

"Goodnight," Midnight breathed like a prayer.

I kissed him lightly. "Good night, my knight. Well, isn’t that the tongue twister?”

Yet it was worth it because Midnight's eyes gleamed, and he shivered with desperate joy.

These three powerful creatures in my arms were predators. We were all wicked. They weren't controlled or tamed.

And I'd never wish them to be.

Although I'd freed Midnight from the Mind Curse, tomorrow I had the wards to bring down, and they were bound intricately with my own magic.

Was I fighting myself?

Together, both Immortals and Princes had to plan an Enchanted Ball that’d trick both the professors and families, as well as destroy the Membership once and for all.

Lysander had rebelled against Titus. Juni had warned me how dangerous that’d be. For a Court Fae, it meant death.

Was that where I was leading these Rebels? If I lost both Princes and Immortals, I’d long for the days when I’d been trapped alone in Hecate’s Tree.

I'd learned with Robin that the more you loved someone, the more it hurt when they died for you.