Rebel Academy: Crush

Chapter Nineteen FOX

The hunt for the truth wasn't as simple as knowing when somebody was lying. My Power of Confess thrummed snatches of music, burst bright lights, or pounded through me at even an avoidance of the truth. I should've at least been granted the title of Lie Referee, since I was the one who took the boot to the balls if somebody broke the rules and lied.

Yet it was far more interesting to watch whether the Princes would even tell us the truth.

I'd bet my furry tail that Willoughby and Midnight would, and I was attached to my tail. On the other hand, Lysander was still a dick. I wouldn't risk my tail for him.

Yet when I looked up at Magenta, and her scent of yew trees wound around me like love and home, I knew that I'd do anything for her. This game could help us to free Magenta and everybody else in the academy. I'd made promises to Snow, and I wouldn't break them. I'd also promised Midnight, just like he'd sworn oaths to me.

I pressed closer to Midnight, and his wings curled around me. When I slid my hand along his thigh, his skin was as cool as moonlight. I glanced up, catching Lysander's pointed glare at the way that my hand rested on his whipping boy.

Wow, I was even thinking in his haughty fae voice.

I smirked, turning to catch Midnight's lips with mine. Then I gasped, as Midnight pushed me back firmly, deepening the kiss. His fang caught my lip, and my mouth was flooded with tangy blood. He groaned, and his hard dick pressed against my hip.

I couldn’t help the smug pride that my blood was a turn-on to a vampire.

Then I realized that my dick was also hardening like an eager wolfhound, answering its master's call (yeah, wolfhound and not chihuahua).

Down, boy.

I might only have a hazy idea what my kinks were, but why was the way that Midnight now licked over my cut lip with deliberate care making my dick disobediently press against my pants?

I’d have to whack him with a rolled-up newspaper later.

I winced. Then I edged backwards, until I was able to glare down at my lap. Dick, you won't become a vampire fanboy or they'll be no coming for a month...okay, a week...okay, at least two days, right?

That should do it.

Magenta's smile was soft. "Our two whipping boys appear to have invented games of their own. Perhaps, we could all join in later."

Midnight grinned at the same time as me.

But Lysander's eyes narrowed. "My royal personage should've made it clearer that silence for this hour included good behavior. Your mage has bred such ill-discipline in my whipping boy that he imagines public kissing to be decent."

"You should try it," Magenta offered with a sweetness that made Lysander stiffen.

"It's Bask's turn to play," Sleipnir's voice was hard. Mist snorted awake in Sleipnir’s blazer pocket, which Sleipnir had slung over the back of the couch. Then Mist slid down the couch like it was a slide. He landed on his rump with an oomph and flickers of aquamarine flames. "Truth or Dare?"

Bask wriggled around to face Willoughby, who'd straightened his shoulders as if he was on parade. Bask considered Willoughby thoughtfully, before reaching out to touch his silk uniform. Yet Willoughby shied away like the suit would taint Bask.

"Your uniform hurts you," Bask said. "I hate it. So, Truth: Why are you always wearing this bastard suit?" Then he shook his head, correcting himself, "Why are you forced to wear this uniform?"

Lysander stalked to his feet. "You go too far. No Immortal has a right to demand such—"

"Sit down," Willoughby's voice was as sharp as a whip. Lysander instantly dropped onto his ass. "Would you have me play the coward? It's unworthy to lie no matter the consequences."

So, that was where Willoughby had been hiding his princely side.

The cafe dropped in temperature, and the tips of Willoughby's hair froze to ice.

Would I be turned into a snowcat if I pointed out that he'd been lying by omission since the start of term or that not lying as a policy was probably why he was locked up in the Rebel Academy?

"I was once cursed with the inability to lie. I ended up speaking in a language that I called sarcasmese. For example, I broke the TV, but when dad asked me if I broke it, I replied: Sure, I totally broke that TV. I mean, since that's my main form of entertainment, I'd love to ruin my only fun. The fact that you'd blame me is such a surprise." I glanced around at the raised eyebrows. I wet my lips. "The curse was lifted..."

Willoughby ignored me. Instead, he touched the silk that was wound high around his throat. The tips of his fingers caressed it in jerky motions.

"My brother, Darby, denounced me as a Dark Elf." Willoughby stared at the floor, avoiding our gazes. It was the truth. Yet his anguish vibrated through me as powerfully as any lie. Lysander's expression was thunderous, but he remained seated. Perhaps, he was the puppy prince. "Yet he used dark elven sorcery to bind me." His eyes fluttered closed; his hair hung over his face. "The silk is cursed. The uniform is part of my sentence. It punishes me by magically crushing my magic, body, and mind. It traps me deep inside myself, blocking any access to the Other World. Through it, I'm most thoroughly banished and controlled."

I gasped, and Midnight's wings wrapped around me again. He was shaking, but so was I.

Willoughby’s silk uniform was the same as my Blood Amulet, which Sleipnir had freed me from, when I'd first arrived.

When I'd revealed myself to be a mage by transforming into a Birman kitten, mum had forced me to wear an amulet, which had stopped me using my shimage magic.

I knew how wrong it felt to be locked inside. I shuddered, as the sensation that I'd never escaped swept through me.

Breathe, come on, breathe...

Then Magenta's sparkling magic coiled around mine, and I could taste my freedom on every prickling stroke. If I wished, I could transform right now into a fox, cat, or hedgehog with serious attitude.

I was free, but Willoughby was still trapped by the cursed suit. It must be the reason that he often looked like he was lost, crushed beneath the curse. Perhaps, it was also why Lysander manhandled Willoughby into classes and pushed him into seats.

What if sometimes that was the only way that Willoughby could function?

Shuddering, I studied Willoughby, sadly. I was adding him to my Must Free List, which was becoming as long as my Wank Fantasy List. In fact, the two had a fair bit of crossover.

"If we're talking truth," Lysander said, "that's not all the silk does."

Willoughby's head jerked up; his eyes were wild. "Is that not enough?"

Bask slunk to him, running his hand down his side. "If you wish it."

Willoughby tilted up his chin, meeting Magenta's eye. "I swore not to be a coward. The suit also controls my powers. If I took it off..."

"True, but not what one meant." Lysander hugged his knees to his chest. "Do you not disturb my sleep with your nightmares? Is it not my noble self who suffers to keep you safe from the monstrosity that they force you to wear?"

"It's his truth." Magenta leaned forward, catching Lysander's chin and turning him to face her. His startled gaze met hers. "He only needs to share what he chooses. Perhaps, a fae finds it remarkable to believe, but I don't wish to force anyone. I'm not the same as my family."

"And neither am I," Lysander whispered.

"Darby can hurt me with this curse even from his kingdom," Willoughby's voice shook. "If I don’t play the perfect prince, then at night, it tightens." Hex my balls and call me a witch...that was brutal. "And if he truly wishes, he can execute me with a thought."

Mage's balls...

"Are you all feeling relaxed now?" Serenity's voice oozed from the walls like syrup. "How about a burst of scented candles?"

The aroma of lavender flooded the room like Mr. Fierce had decided to roll about in a field of lavender, which come to think of it, did sound relaxing. I choked, holding my sleeve over my nose.

"Just perfect,” I forced out between clenched teeth. “I’m totally calm now."

See, sarcasmese.

"You're not, see. In fact, my scans show that your pulse is too high and so is your body temperature. I can help with that, mind," Serenity purred.

Freezing water splashed magically out of the air over my face.

I spluttered in shock. Now I was a wet hedgehog in a lavender field. When I shivered, my only consolation was that Midnight licked the water from my cheeks. It almost made the cold water worth it.

Almost.

"Although you don't appear to have an ass," Magenta's magic sparked dangerously around the room, as if it was testing the walls for weaknesses, "if you attack my Rebels again, then I shall find a way through to you...spirit...and kick it."

Magenta's defense of me definitely made the cold water worth it, especially when I shook my curls and Lysander gasped as he was sprayed.

Serenity was suspiciously quiet, but new names flashed on the wall: MAGENTA in pink (so, magical AI's could be vengeful). Then LYSANDER in black.

Mentally, I rubbed my hands together. Okay, I actually rubbed my hands together, before ducking my head at Magenta's stern glance.

Great Pan, please get her to ask if he'd ever role played as Tinker Bell.

Lysander's eyes widened, but then his face became an expressionless mask. “Do as you wish with my royal self.”

Now that was a statement that rated high in the Sentences that Princes Would Live to Regret.

I rubbed my hands together again, simply because it made Lysander’s cheek twitch.

“Truth.” Magenta assessed Lysander. “Why is there a swan feather sewn into your pillow?”

Lysander became ashen. I edged my feet back, in case he hurled.

Perhaps, he had a swan shifter kink, just like I had a fae one or had he plucked the swan himself, stuffed the feathers in his pillow and it was the equivalent of a serial killer’s trophy?

On a kitten’s crooked tail, I didn’t know which was worse.

“When did you…?” I’d never seen a vein in someone’s temple literally throb with rage before. I watched Lysander, fascinated. If he self-combusted, then we’d all be covered in golden feathers. “Oh yes, when you violated the sanctity of our Princes’ Wing. You shan’t violate me any further. There’s nothing that could make me answer that. Nothing…just…nothing.”

His chest rose and fell rapidly; he was breathing too hard.

SECRET flashed like lightning through my mind, along with a burst of Little Mix’s angsty “Secret Love Song”. I’d never expected a fae prince to project a girl pop group, rather than Beethoven or at least the Beatles. More than that, “Secret Love Song” was filled with Romeo and Juliet vibes.

What was Lysander hiding? Why did his secret about the feather shake me like it was connected to a tragic love story?

I rubbed my throbbing forehead. I knew that I should’ve pushed for the title of Lie Referee.

Lysander hadn’t told us the truth.

Magenta leaned forward, concerned. Even though Sleipnir studied Lysander coolly, he couldn’t hide his true emotions because Mist trotted to the edge of the couch and nibbled worriedly at Lysander’s hair.

When Magenta held out her hand to Lysander, as if to tug him up onto the sofa between Sleipnir and her, I held my breath.

Come on, Prince Who Loves Girl Bands, just lift your hand and…

Lysander shoved himself to his feet, turning away, instead. “What’s the dare?”

“I don’t care about the dare,” Magenta burst out, leaping up. “I care about…”

Lysander turned back to her.

Wow, when silences turn bad.

Lysander arched his brow. “You shall not make me fail this game by forfeiting the dare. Give me a dare this instant.”

Magenta’s eyes sparkled, and the windows of the café frosted. I valued my balls, but Lysander clearly wanted to set his up for target practice.

“How foolish of me to imagine that you were, in fact, different to your family, when in truth you seek to command me,” Magenta’s voice was frosty. Lysander winced. “And how cruel of me to try and spare you. I shall be certain to challenge you now with something memorable.”

Lysander’s hands balled into fists. “One would have it no other way.”

Prickles and worms, now he’d just added his cock as a target too.

Magenta inclined her head.

I bounced onto my knees. “Oh, oh, I have one!” What was wrong with being helpful? “He has to crawl around the café twice, sexily.”

Lysander’s cheek twitched again.

“Too easy.” Sleipnir lounged to his feet, sweeping his arms around Magenta.

I tilted my head. “Ice down his pants…? Lap dance…? Wait, I know: he has to beg you to screw him in three different ways and…” Magenta raised her eyebrow at me. I pouted. “Don’t judge the sexually frustrated fox.”

Lysander’s whole body appeared to spasm.

Magenta crossed her arms. “Your dare, Prince, is to strip.”

I choked on my own tongue.

Lysander stilled, but he didn’t say anything. Perhaps, he hadn’t heard her.

Midnight uncurled himself from me, shuffling to sit at Lysander’s feet. To my surprise, he worked at Lysander’s boots, pulling them off.

Lysander blinked, as if coming back to himself. “Stop.” Instantly, Midnight froze. “You cannot expect me to undress here in front of…you.”

“Why not?” Magenta asked. “You expect Midnight to remain naked in front of us all.”

Lysander stared down at the whipping boy at his feet. He opened his mouth like he was about to answer along the lines of but I’m a Prince and my dangly manly bits are golden and would blind commoners like you…but then snapped it closed.

With angry motions, which were far hotter than they should be, he undid his tie and tossed it onto the floor. Then he did the same with his blazer, before working on the buttons of his shirt.

Willoughby crawled across the circle, resting his forehead against my cheek. A tremble ran through him. I pushed him back, catching his mouth with mine to chase it away. With a burst of strength that drove the breath from me, he dragged me up, pressing me against the wall. His power thrummed through him, but he controlled it. He pulled me up, until my legs were wrapped around his waist.

It felt right to be held like this by him. Yet I knew that it was comfort. He didn’t want to watch, while Lysander was stripped.

Yet on the other hand, I would’ve given my prickles not to miss it.

Lysander undid the last button of his shirt, and it hung open over his alabaster chest. That was a good look on him. But then, he hesitated, like he couldn’t make himself shrug off the shirt.

“You don’t have to complete the dare, remember?” Magenta said; her eyes were soft with concern. “You can say no.”

I was one stupid (horny) mage, which wasn’t helped by the way that Willoughby was grinding against me. Magenta had never wanted Lysander to take off his clothes.

It’d been a bluff.

She’d simply wanted him to stand up for himself and rebel, even if it was only against her and our competition. If at the same time, it’d made him think about how he treated Midnight, then that was a bonus.

It was just a shame that Lysander was so stubborn…or epic because it’d mean that I’d get to see him naked.

Win-win.

Okay, I was a naughty foxy.

“Do not treat me as though I am weak,” Lysander hissed.

“Then strip, fae,” Sleipnir commanded, surging forward with predator speed and grasping Lysander by the neck.

Lysander flushed, and his golden wings flapped. His fingers hesitated over the buttons of his pants.

Was he bluffing too?

We were playing a deadly game between Immortals and Princes. Desire, rivalry, and temptation. The game would crush us all…

At last, Lysander ripped off the shirt, hurling it to the floor in a crumpled heap. My feline side was desperate to snuggle down in the silky pile, but my dick was more excited about Lysander’s pink nipples and the glimpse of emerald lace panties showing above the line of his uniform pants.

Now I needed definite membership to FKA: Fae Kink Anonymous.

When Sleipnir stepped back, Lysander clasped his hands smartly behind his back like a soldier. It was Midnight who slid his hands up Lysander’s thighs, before with startling intimacy, unbuttoning his pants.

On my prickles, this was it…the big (or possibly small) reveal…

“Witching heavens, enough,” Magenta’s voice was choked. “I only meant for you to strip to your pants. How else would anyone take it?”

Midnight sat back on his heels, and Willoughby tightened his hold on me.

A shirtless Lysander with his golden wings outstretched in defiance was the most beautiful thing that I’d ever seen, until he spoiled it by opening his mouth.

“That you meant me to strip naked,” Lysander drawled. “But if my body offends you, then I’m more than happy not to be ogled by a witch.”

“What about a mage?” I raised my hand, as Willoughby carried me back to the circle like I was in cat form, rather than human.

“Or an incubus…?” Bask waved his arm in the air as well.

With a huff, Lysander sat down, but I noticed that he settled next to Midnight, absentmindedly stroking his feathers like he’d forgotten that he was meant to be acting the strict Prefect with him.

Being stripped by your whipping boy was a brilliant leveler. If the thought didn’t make me gag, maybe we only had to think of a way to trick the professors into stripping.

We could call it Strip Therapy or the Strip Social Policy.

WILLOUGHBY burst in neon pink across the walls, followed by BASK.

Pan's prick, Serenity wasn't picking at random. She was playing Revenge Truth or Dare, which actually sounded an exciting but deadly game.

I smiled at Bask, wishing that I was snuggled in his arms right now, rather than his rival's, who held the power. Weirdly though, it no longer felt like we were divided in that way.

Willoughby assessed Bask. "Dare: Dance with the two clones, Andro and Bas."

Was it just me or did that sound like a reward? Yet when my gaze darted to Bask and then Lysander, they were both shifting uncomfortably.

How would I feel if there was another Fox?

Bask narrowed his eyes, pushing himself to his feet with a sinful wriggle of his hips. "Dare accepted."

Why had that sounded like a challenge?

A green mist formed in front of Bask, and Andro stepped out of it with a flutter of his golden wings. The mist bled into his long emerald hair that hung to his waist. Unlike Lysander, he didn't have pants to cover his nakedness. Yet the soft expression was so unlike Lysander that despite the fact they were identical (which meant that it would've been a big reveal), there was no doubt that he was the clone, especially when he dropped to his knees.

Andro stared up at Bask adoringly. Bask ran his hand over Andro's head, before tipping up his chin and placing a single kiss on his lips.

Willoughby was watching him intently. "Bas."

Ruby sparkles lit up in front of him, forming into a gorgeous naked clone of Bask, who bounced onto Willoughby's lap, knocking him away from me in a whirlwind.

I chuckled. So, Bas wasn't as submissive as Andro then.

"I've fierce missed you." Bas kissed along Willoughby's neck, straddling him. "What do you desire? My arse is at your service. Let me please you." The words tumbled out of his mouth so fast that I thought he'd hyperventilate. "Pet me."

Willoughby smiled, gently pushing back Bas. "Calm. I'm here now."

A twinge of jealousy shot through me at the familiar way that they rested their foreheads against each other, and Willoughby placed his hand on Bas’ shoulder. It was the same genuine closeness, as the way that Bask tucked a strand of Andro's hair behind his ear.

Lysander's mouth twisted, before he pushed himself stiffly to his feet. Before he could attempt his usual storming away trick, however, Magenta jumped up and snatched him around the waist. Her fingers stroked over his skin; I tingled, wishing that she was touching me.

When her mists coiled around him, Lysander stared at them in shock.

"Andro isn't you," Magenta insisted. "Simply because he's loved and part of our group doesn't mean that you can't be."

Was she still bluffing?

Lysander stiffened.

Willoughby glanced at Bask. "And Bas isn't you. Do you truly wish that I'd love you?"

He shook with hope.

Great Pan, say yes...because I wasn’t bluffing anymore.

To be fair, despite my compulsive liar reputation (would I be given a badge for that like in the scouts?), I’d been the only one in this café who hadn’t been bluffing throughout the game.

Bas' gaze darkened. "What kind of bad bastard wouldn't love my Willoughby?"

Willoughby slipped his hand to stroke warning circles on Bas' hip, and Bas fell silent.

Bask gave a shuddering breath. "Please, love me."

Willoughby dragged Bas up with him, before hauling Bask into a crushing kiss.

All of a sudden, Five's energetic "Everybody Get Up" boomed out of the walls.

"The dare was to dance," Serenity explained. "Dancing reduces stress. Let's see those asses move to the beat."

"Yes!" I hollered...okay, squealed because I might be the Fox who Loved 90's Boy Bands. This was a safe space without shaming, right? "Come on, not even a Prince can avoid the siren call to the dance floor of this song."

“Sirens?” Willoughby mouthed.

I dragged up a bewildered vampire.

Midnight whispered into my ear, "I've forgotten how to dance. It's been so long..."

"It's easy." Joy rushed through me. I remembered bouncing around the attic to “Everybody Get Up” with my cousin, Aquilo. He'd been just as stiff and awkward, but I'd loved making him let go and live because I'd always had the feeling that when he returned to his family in the House of Blood, he'd been just as controlled and crushed as the Princes. "Just get your funk on."

Midnight laughed, and it was so beautiful that I twirled him even more dramatically.

Magenta tightened her hold on Lysander. "Now this popular music I like. It's certainly better than opera. This is our own Rebel Ball!"

"May I have the honor of the first dance?" Lysander murmured, clasping his arms around Magenta’s waist like he thought that Sleipnir would snatch her away from him.

Sleipnir growled. "Not without me you won't."

As Mist boogied on the couch, Sleipnir rested his hand on both Magenta and Lysander's shoulders, leading them out to dance. It was strange how right it looked. Just like the breath-taking way Willoughby and Bask were caught between the two naked clones in a sinuous dance that was like screwing standing up,

Wait, they weren't actually...? Because that would be hot.

Unexpectedly, in a flurry of black crows feathers, Damelza and Juni materialized in the center of our makeshift dance floor, between our gyrating and sweaty bodies, and epic boy band impersonations.

The music shutoff like it'd been shocked into silence.

We all froze: Princes and Immortals united together by the power of Five.

Juni's eyes glittered, as she scanned the naked clones and then Lysander's bare chest.

Bask carefully pulled his tongue back from licking Willoughby's neck.

Could you have a stroke from shame because Lysander looked like he could manage it? His ass was pressed against Sleipnir, and his hands had been having fun on Magenta's ass. He squirmed to free himself from their sandwich.

Both Bas and Andro vanished in a mingled puff of emerald smoke and ruby sparkles. Midnight let go of me, falling to his knees and clasping his hands behind him. He ducked his head. He was as still as when the Princes had placed him in the corner like he wasn't real.

I hated it, but were all the Princes under the same pressure?

Lysander surged forward, paling. Then he dropped to his knees next to Midnight.

What was going on? Since when did Lysander kneel? He wasn't Andro.

Damelza assessed Lysander with the same contempt that she usually reserved for mages. "Do you know what I do to Princes who wear incorrect uniforms?"

"Make them only wear panties all day?" I asked, hopefully.

And there was the contemptuous glare that I hadn’t missed.

"I'm sure that it's a disappointment to you that it's not my chest on display. My bosom is decidedly bouncy." Magenta jiggled her tits in demonstration.

"Well, I'll have to struggle on with Hecate's help, despite missing that." Damelza didn't look away from Lysander. "Now, I have official academy business to deal with. It's almost time for the Immortals to go to the dragon stables, ready for the mission. But first, the Princes' lost the Rebel Cup. So, I've made room in my busy schedule to hex their whipping boy's wings."

No, no, no...

Magenta stepped forward. Her mists whipped around her.

Lysander glanced sharply over his shoulder at her. "Do not interfere, unless you wish your mage to die, instead."

My pulse pounded, and my throat was too dry. Wait, did that mean that Lysander also didn't want me to die? That was the most romantic thing that he'd ever said.

I’d feel all tingly inside, except I didn't want Midnight to be hurt.

I wrapped my shaking arms around myself.

Juni was pale, and her furious gaze met Magenta's. "I warned you not to hurt my Princes, but look..." She tangled her hand in Lysander's hair. "I wished to call you sister. We're family. But you...strip him…and now, they must be disciplined for their failure in the Cup."

"Have you been watching us?" Magenta's eyes flashed.

Juni snorted. "Do you think I've nothing better to do with my time?" Bad mouth, don't answer that. "Or that Lysander would ever take off his uniform without my permission? Unlike you, he knows the punishment he'll receive." Lysander winced. “Of course it was you who tricked or trapped him into it.”

When Damelza tapped Midnight on the head, he spread out his ash wings. They were as beautiful as him...and so sensitive. It'd be like having his dick broken.

I winced. On my prickles, this wasn't right.

I'd been the one to fall in love with the ghost who'd been my first kiss. I'd been the one to resurrect her with my blood. Damelza had set those stakes on the Rebel Cup because of me.

All week, I’d been fighting to save my own life, but when it came down to it, I couldn't let someone else take my punishment.

And I'd never allow Midnight to suffer for me.

I dived forward, but Magenta caught me in her mists, at the same time as Sleipnir and Bask leaped forward to block me. Desperate, I struggled, but Sleipnir held my arms behind my back.

Magenta clasped me around the neck. "Believe that we love you enough to save you."

"Fight," I hissed.

"Stop fussing," Damelza fiddled with the feather behind her ear, "or this will be a double punishment. I'm certain that I can squeeze you in, as you're so eager. The Rebel Cafe will repel all attacks on professors, as will the charms that we wear. Haven't you read your copy of the Rebel's Mottos? It's all helpfully explained for students in the back."

"Is there a section on breaking wings?" I snarled.

Damelza tilted her head. "Excellent point. I should add one."

Lysander's gaze ached like he was dying inside; he touched Juni’s knee. "Juni, please..."

Since when was he on first name terms with his Tutor? Did he have a sweet nickname that he murmured to her as well like Witchy Poo?

Juni's eyes widened at the use of her first name, rather than professor, glancing sideways at her mum.

Then she smoothed Lysander’s hair, smartening him up as if out of habit. "How many chances did you waste to win? Sweet Hecate, you're Princes. Yet you allowed yourself to become...distracted. The responsibility and guilt for this lies only on you."

Lysander looked like he'd been slapped.

When Damelza reached out her hand towards Midnight's wing and magic crackled like black poison on her palm, it was Magenta who took a step towards her.

"Stop!" Magenta hollered.

"My patience is officially worn out." Damelza snatched Midnight's wing by the wingtip, dragging it up towards her palm.

I wished that I could see Midnight's face, but tremors ran through his shoulders.

Dizzy, my heartbeat raced.

Don't, don't, don't...

Suddenly, Lysander thrust his arm towards Damelza. "Break my arm, instead."

Midnight's head shot up in shock. "You mustn’t, my prince."

"Silence." Lysander's arm was steady.

Respect.

"Mother," Juni begged, "he's obviously under that Wickedly Charmed witch's spell. He doesn't know what he's saying."

Damelza ignored her daughter. She raised her palm with the spitting hex towards Lysander’s bare elbow. He didn't lower his arm. I stiffened, dreading the crack...

When Damelza pulled away her hand, Lysander's breathing sped up.

She stared at Lysander in shock. "You'd really do it." Then she gave a sly grin. "But you don't own a dog and bark yourself, and you don't own a whipping boy and take his punishment. You're meant to care about them, which is why it'll hurt you so much when I do this..."

She snatched Midnight by the wingtips, before running her palms...and the hex...down both his wings at the same time.

I clutched my hands over my ears, but it still didn't block out the cracking of bones or Midnight's howls.

When Damelza let go of Midnight, and he curled into a ball with his broken wings quivering to cover himself like a blanket of feathers, Lysander hovered over him, unsure how he could even touch Midnight without causing him more pain.

Would she allow Bask to heal Midnight, after the tournament?

"Good luck on your mission this afternoon, Immortals," Damelza said like she'd just delivered a detention and not a hexing. "If you refuse to complete it, then I won't break your bones, I'll break your necks."

Hexing Midnight and sending us on the deadly mission wasn’t enough for Damelza, she also had to threaten us with execution.

So, it looked like I was right: Life’s a witch and then you die.