Rebel Academy: Curse

Chapter Sixteen FOX

Bacchus’ cat-like hazel eyes swirled to amber with ancient possession and madness, which was a scary combo. Especially to see it reflected in the face of your professor, as you sat bound to your fellow whipping boy at her feet.

Oh, and not to forget that Bacchus’ lesson plan was to turn Midnight and me into bitches. I’d watched Shawshank Redemption on the TV that dad had brought me in the attic, cheers. I knew what that meant.

Unless, magical bitch was more like I’d be bred for real, grow a womb, and pop out my own litter by the end of class…?

I clenched…everything.

Stop thinking, stop thinking, stop…

Sweat slipped down my neck and between my shoulder blades.

Midnight caught my gaze and shot me a shaky smile, but his wings were also quivering.

100, 99, 98…

I bit my lip, forcing myself to count back from hundred. My cousin, Aquilo had taught me the trick, when I’d first been trapped in the attic and shaken by panic attacks. He’d trapped my hands between his, before encouraging me how to deepen my breaths and concentrate on the counting. The suffocating, claustrophobic darkness of the attic had fallen away, along with the crushing pain in my chest. I’d been able to control it: the panic and the fear.

After, Aquilo had softly explained, “Perhaps, we’re nothing but weak boys. But even if our families can hurt, bully, and control us, our mind is our own.” His frosty gaze had met mine. “Use it.”

My chest had tightened again. Because I’d known then for certain that he’d suffered like me, which meant that I’d never truly be alone again.

It’d been an agony not to be able to save Aquilo, just like I hadn’t been able to save Glow or dad. Was he safe now from his mother and twin sister? Had he been married off to some bitch of a witch?

Nope, it didn’t sound cuter just because it rhymed.

No one had saved me, but I was okay with that because Magenta had shown me that I wasn’t nobody and I could save myself, as well as my other lovers.

My breath steadied. Aquilo had always been smarter than me, even if his self-esteem had been beaten out of him. If he’d believed that my mind couldn’t be truly controlled, then I’d find a way to turn this mind control thing around to bite Bacchus’ ass.

Midnight needed me. That was enough to slow my heart, and curl a warm smile across my lips, as I offered him a confident head bump.

Midnight’s wings stopped quivering, and he nipped my lower lip.

“Whipping boys don’t injure each other; that’s my job.” Bacchus swept closer to Magenta, and her purple dress, which was pinned at the shoulder with a moth badge, tangled on the roots. She tugged on it impatiently. Her hair fell to her waist in an ebony veil. “Well, your Prefect’s job too.”

Magenta stiffened, and her magic encircled me protectively. “Ah, I’ve found our first point of difference.”

“Hey, I doubt that it’ll be our last.” Bacchus raised her arm, and a short iron spear appeared in her hand; it was covered in ivy and topped with a pine cone.

Magenta sighed. “You can’t just wave your screw or tear limb from limb wand around and get your own way, you know.”

Bacchus’ expression darkened. “My bacchal thyrsus has whipped men and women into orgies, which have rent apart cities and burned empires. It's chaos, frenzy, and ecstasy. For thousands of years, I've used my thyrsus to liberate people from the pettiness of their morals and society's rules. It's not my way but the way of fervor."

"But can it produce a pure Chaos moment?" Sleipnir growled.

"Or a Broadway production of Wicked?" I added.

I'd always wanted to see that.

Bacchus shook her thyrsus threateningly or like she was auditioning for a part in Wicked.

Bask cocked his head. "Or how about a professor who isn’t possessed by a revenge obsessed bad bastard of a god?”

Sleipnir raised his hand. “I vote for that one.”

Mist attempted to raise his hoof and slipped off Sleipnir’s shoulder onto the lab table with an alarmed snort.

Willoughby chuckled.

Slowly, Bacchus lowered her arm.

Wow, we'd done it. We'd broken the professor, and all it'd taken was the power of banter.

Then Bacchus swung and pointed the sharp point of the spear at my forehead.

I swallowed, paling.

"If you insist on a demonstration, a frenzy is always an invigorating start to a lesson." Bacchus’ grin was sly. "Points to those who guess correctly: will the whipping boys screw or tear each other limb from limb?"

Midnight whimpered. I wasn't an exhibitionist, but screwing in front of my class and professor had never sounded such a good option.

"Do we get extra marks if the answer to this thrilling multiple choice quiz is neither?" I asked.

Bacchus tapped her chin, and Pocus looked worriedly at Midnight. "I'll award extra marks if you don't die."

Always look for the silver lining.

"Wait," Magenta hissed, “I shan’t allow it.”

“No one allows a frenzy; it simply is.”

To my relief, the door to the classroom crashed open, and Bacchus swung away from me. I sighed, as the thyrsus grazed but didn't pierce my cheek.

Lysander limped into the classroom. He was even paler than he'd been yesterday. His blazer was askew, and he pulled at it almost absentmindedly, dragging in deep breaths.

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.”

Tears chased down my cheeks. Where was a whole pail of milk when you needed one? Lysander no longer looked amused.

He grasped my chin, tipping up my face. “Allow me to help you…?”

I nodded.

Then between the waves of pulsing heat, I was aware enough to feel the way that Lysander’s thumbs were hooking open my mouth and his tongue was pressing inside.

So, help was what the fae called it…?

The cool of Lysander’s tongue, however, against the inferno of my tongue was blissful. Both Lysander and I groaned into the pleasure of the mingled hot and cold.

The distraction of Lysander’s wing feathers caressing my shoulders, as his thumb swept behind my ear like I could break at any moment, which matched the sweeps of his tongue, tamped down the burning, until it became a blurred pain-pleasure that prickled a flush through my entire body. My dick thickened with thoughts of pulling the fae onto it, just as right now he was riding my tongue.

Then Lysander pulled back with a final affectionate stroke of his wings (and I wasn’t imagining the affection), and I blinked up at him like I was drunk.

“The hex was never lifted from my bedroom by my guardian,” Lysander explained. “One is truly disappointed if you believe that I was never caught out swearing.”

“Who kissed you?” I blurted; my tongue felt heavy…burned.

Lysander’s expression shuttered. “But it appears that you do believe I was alone and unloved. Now that is disappointing.”

Despite everything, when he drew back, standing as stiffly as before, I felt cold at the loss of him.

Midnight’s pupils were dilated, and his grin was both sappy and over-excited like a kid who’d just walked in on his divorced parents kissing on Christmas morning. Brilliant. Now I had pressure to play nice with the fae prince who’d probably only kissed me to recreate the memory of some first love.

Since I’d experienced no more than a handful of kisses in my furry life, that hurt. But then, how many had Lysander had?

Sleipnir arched his brow at me, but I only shrugged.

“You, madam, are an eye-offending, mother bucketing horny toad with a fudging god-complex.” Sleipnir winked at me. “Creative enough?”

Bacchus caught Pocus’ tail hard enough for him to yowl. “It wasn’t an invitation for you to swear as insultingly as possible in my lesson.”

“Wasn’t it?” Sleipnir drawled.

“Holy hijinks!” Magenta clapped her hands.

“Caesar’s ghost!” Bask yelled out.

“Insert swear word…?” Willoughby ventured.

The elf was trying. Us Immortals would have to work harder to corrupt him.

“Squib!” I hollered. When everybody looked at me blankly, I blushed. “My dad would’ve laughed.”

“Enough.” Bacchus rapped her thyrsus against the floor. “Do none of you understand that it’s not a contest to get as close to triggering the discipline as possible?”

Magenta tried for outrage. “Holy daughter of a contemptible badger, of course we fudging do.”

“Don’t take the cat pee.” Bacchus smirked. Wait, had Bacchus just beaten us at our own game? Then she snapped her fingers, and the purple silk melted away that held Midnight and me together. “Stand up.” I pushed myself up, holding out my hand to pull up Midnight as well. “How about we move from hexes to spells. It should be clear enough to you all how powerful words are now.”

Lysander marched to stand next to Magenta, shoulder to shoulder, just as I stood next to Midnight. I no longer felt like any of us were on rival teams.

“My royal personage lost the Rebel Cup, remember? My guardian cannot become angrier at me, and nor can I fall lower than a Dunce. Your threats are hollow.” Lysander’s emerald eyes steeled with resolve. “How do you propose to motivate me now, professor?”

He had to ask…

“Through my rewards that aren’t hollow.” Bacchus glanced at Midnight. “Sleep deprivation is a punishment often used in my cult against its enemies. Have the tremors started yet? The paranoia or hallucinations? So many other delightful surprises that I’ll leave for you to discover.”

Midnight whimpered.

“I would strongly advise you to stop speaking, unless you wish me to kick your witchy fraking behind.” Magenta’s mists coiled around her.

“I was merely offering a reward. If you both cast the Mind Control Spell, then I’ll allow you to use it to let Curse sleep after class for a full, refreshing hour. The spell has such power that if there’s a bond between the puppet and their master, then it’s stronger than the strongest hex or potion. Don’t you want this reward?”

“Yes,” Lysander whispered, “I want it, please.”

My chest was tight. Magenta didn’t answer, however, only glanced at me.

How could I see those smudged shadows under Midnight’s eyes and even hesitate?

I waggled my eyebrows at Lysander. “Control me, baby.”

Magenta paced closer to Midnight. “This is your choice.”

“Then let me sleep.” Midnight peeked at her from underneath his eyelashes. “You have my permission, see, and I’d allow you anything…”

He snapped his mouth shut like he’d said too much. By the sudden flicker of conflicting emotions across Magenta’s expression, possibly he had.

She carded her fingers with the same tender care that I would’ve done through his waterfall of hair. “Then let me in.”

I startled at Lysander’s equally gentle touch to my curls. “May one be trusted with this honor?”

My breath caught. I’d expected this spell to feel like a violation. I’d also never imagined that Lysander…or anybody…would think it an honor to take over my mind.

I was a mage, and weren’t we there to be taken by force?

Pan’s balls, Lysander wouldn’t be able to see inside the Wank Bank, would he?

Lysander’s brow furrowed in confusion, as I offered him a weak smile. “The honor is all mine.”

Then the world fell away, and it wasn’t a violation; it was a revelation, which was scented with cherry blossoms. Lysander was inside me, but I could feel him. He was a protective, possessive, pining presence, winding through me.

On instinct, I tried to reach out and drag him into a desperate hug. Nobody deserved to suffer alone such emotions and yet hide them.

But I couldn’t lift my arm, move my leg, or even turn my head to look at Midnight to discover if he was as paralyzed as me. The only thing that I could move was my hardening dick, which looked like it was trying to hug Lysander in its own unique manner.

I bit my lip, willing away my hard-on. Nope, even the rising panic of being trapped in my own head with Lysander’s sweet love wasn’t working.

“One step forward,” Magenta ordered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Midnight taking a step.

Pan’s balls, I’d been turned into a Mage Puppet.

At least I had a hot vampire puppet friend. Except, that just made the inappropriate hard-on situation worse because now I was having hot puppet show fantasies and okay…could Lysander tell…?

“Why don’t you stop your whipping boy waving his dick at me?” Lysander drawled.

Yet now that I was watching for it, I didn’t miss the way that his lips twitched.

“He’s waving to me,” Bask pouted.

“Only if you promise that your whipping boy greets me with his soon. It’s quite delicious,” Magenta shot back.

Aquilo had taught me that I was never the one without the power. Even if I was trapped in a frozen body with an out of control dick. I just had to use it…the power, rather than the dick…I could follow the letter of Lysander’s orders but not the spirit.

This lesson could be fun.

Lysander caught my chin between his fingers. “Concentrate on me.” Then he backed towards the lab table, before clicking his fingers like I was a dog. “Walk.”

That was what happened, when I went remembering the soft feel of Lysander’s feathers, the protective press of his mind on mine, and forgot the fae asshole who mistreated Willoughby and Midnight.

When I walked towards Lysander, however, Sleipnir chuckled. What was wrong with my hips? Why had they suddenly decided to slink like a sexy dancer?

Stop it, naughty, naughty feline born to funk hips.

“What are you doing?” Lysander hissed.

“You’re controlling him, Dunce.” Bacchus gentled her hold on Pocus, scratching behind his ear in apology. “It’s mind control, rather than Soul control. You entwine like ivy and free their—”

“Inner diva?”

I could choose what to do, if a command was left open. I could stop walking, as easily as keep on, but Lysander had just called me a diva.

My diva hips kept right on, pressing Lysander against the table, until he scrabbled at my shoulders. “W-wait…s-stop…”

“It’s not your turn,” Bacchus called out.

My naughty hips (nothing to do with me, m’lord, I didn’t even have control of my mind at the time), bent Lysander across the table, and his wings settled around me. I couldn’t tell if he was holding onto me or pushing me away. His dick, which was tenting his pants, was equally confusing because it felt like it was pushing me away, except for the way that it rutted against me, shooting sparks of pleasure through my own, which dragged indecent breathy moans from me…and Lysander.

“Hurry up,” Lysander gritted out.

“Or don’t.” Sleipnir looked ready to pounce on both Lysander and me.

Bask put up his hand. “I vote don’t.”

Willoughby lifted his arm. “So do I.”

Lysander shot him a betrayed glance.

“Do only precisely as you wish, Midnight,” Magenta commanded. “You have total control over yourself.”

I had to imagine the smile that she was shooting Lysander, but it’d be epic.

“Stop walking and stand up straight,” Lysander gasped.

Well, that was the end of my free will rampage.

I snapped to parade attention.

Lysander smoothed out his uniform, before pushing himself up. “Why is he so difficult?”

“He’s only doing exactly what you say.” Sleipnir arched his brow. “Huh, being a dictator is harder than it looks, who knew?”

Bacchus examined her long nails. “Crow’s turn.”

Midnight caught Magenta in his wings, before kissing her with a passion and longing that sang of sleepless nights, where there was nothing but loneliness and fevered fantasies. She was Midnight’s queen, but until the moment that I saw him, holding her like that, I hadn’t truly understood what that’d meant.

He loved her, as much as Willoughby did…or as heat furled through me…as much as I loved Midnight.

Lysander gaped. “B-but…and n-now with the k-kissing and the... ”

“Jealous?”

That would make two of us.

Lysander swallowed, but his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Of course not, but why’s he behaving?”

Magenta narrowed her eyes. “Because he chooses to.”

That was right: throw the pussy under the bus.

Lysander clenched his jaw. “Do only precisely as you wish, Fox.” Was that the first time that he’d used my name? I could get used to that. How could I get him to say it again? His expression softened. “You have total control over yourself.”

Why was he licking his lips again almost like…nope, exactly like…he thought that I was going to lean over and…

Before I even had time to think that I was choosing what I did next, I turned away from his waiting lips and marched to Magenta and Midnight, before snuggling between them and kissing both of them in turn.

So, I was a jealous pussy.

Bacchus flicked her wrist, snapping the vines that held the other students to their stools. “So ends the lesson on the power of control.”

Why did she look pleased with herself?

“Petting time!” Bask bounced up, leaping over the table to Magenta.

Magenta curled her mists around Bask, who hung around her neck. Her magic burst in happy fireworks around us.

Mist neighed and flew around in a circle.

Sleipnir dragged Willoughby in his arms like a mad dance around the tables, before snatching me in his arms.

Pocus purred, diving away from Bacchus to wind between Midnight’s legs.

I laughed, caught in the whirlwind.

Then I glanced up and caught Lysander’s gaze, as he stood abandoned and alone. I wished that I hadn’t.

“You.” Lysander stared at Magenta with intense rage and hurt. “Look at them flock around you like their savior. They all love you so easily. They give up control and power to you, when you don’t demand it. Yet I can’t even…”

“That’s because I don’t demand it.” Magenta brushed Bask’s hair from his cheek but she didn’t drop her gaze from Lysander’s. “If you want love, why don’t you ask for it?”

Lysander’s wings beat; I knew what it looked like to be breathing too shallowly that you were tipping into panic attack, and beneath his rage, he was close. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To make me beg?”

“I truly wouldn’t,” Magenta said, quietly.

Sleipnir wobbled his hand in the universal sign for fifty-fifty.

Willoughby reached out his palm to Lysander. “Come join us for a small post task celebration. Our families couldn’t fault us for that.”

“You know that they could; they will.” Lysander pointed at Magenta with his wing like it was his scimitar. “Did you make my uncle beg you, before you left him at the altar?”

I thought that I was the one with the claws.

“Now, I’ve landed on the side of hell, yeah I’d make him plead,” Sleipnir growled.

When Magenta prowled towards Lysander with a deadly calm; I’d never seen her look as dangerous. Yet Lysander looked just as deadly. I’d have been hiding under a stool rolled up into a ball by now, but Lysander had only spread his wings in a display of dominance to meet hers.

Except, her gaze kept darting to his lips, as his kept darting to hers.

This was my fault. Why hadn’t my traitorous lips just kissed Lysander first? There was enough mage to go around.

“You infernal…” Magenta breathed.

“Infuriating…” Lysander’s lips grazed hers.

This was about to get even hotter and not in the sexy way if they triggered the Fuck Me Not Hex.

Could I help it that I wanted to see what happened if one burning tongue tried to kiss another? Did it cancel out the heat or lead to spontaneous swearing combustion?

I was a bad foxy.

Lysander wrapped his hand in Magenta’s hair, and she wrapped her fingers even harder in his.

“I think I just came,” Bask murmured.

Lysander and Magenta demanded at the same time, “What?”

Bask eeped, hiding behind Willoughby. At least, the Princes and Immortals were united in their desire to spank Bask.

Unfortunately, Bacchus appeared to agree.

She swept towards Magenta. “Good. Finally, teamwork. Would you like an extra reward?”

Merlin’s balls, let Magenta realize that it was a trick question.

“Cheers, but Midnight already has his aren’t you spoiling him single hour’s sleep, and I’m full up on cat treats.” I patted my stomach. “I’m trying to cut down.”

“Reward sounds lovely,” Magenta replied, sounding like she was dazed and still lost in a destination that I bet was named Lysander’s Lips.

Flatten my prickles and call me a hairbrush, we were screwed.

Bacchus’ grin was wicked. “Since Princes and Immortals have such closely bound fates and love, then I’ll reward you by giving you the rest of the day off and then tomorrow, you can plan the Enchanted Ball together. But you’d better not leave each other’s sides because it must be perfect. If it isn’t, you’ll all now equally be blamed. Then there’ll be no rewards and only punishment for the rest of your time in this academy.”

I froze.

I hadn’t been at a party since I was a tiny kid and I’d never been to a ball. But how could we plan the escape attempt tomorrow, if Lysander would be shadowing us?

The other Princes were Immortals now, but Lysander was still a Prince with so much to lose.

Yet perhaps, giving up control was the greatest control of all. To trust all the Princes was our only chance, even if it was a dangerous risk.