You couldn’t torture a dead man. Kaysar had tried.
His only solace came from making the rest of the family wish they were dead.
“You will show me the end and anything else I should see.” He leaned back and tapped a claw against the arm of the throne. Poisonvine venom leaked from the punctures.
Contact with the smallest drop paralyzed most fae for minutes and weakened them for weeks. With prolonged exposure, Kaysar had developed an immunity—and a bone-deep adoration.
“There is always more you should see,” Eye muttered, “but you only ever acknowledge what you wish to acknowledge.”
“And I’m right to do so. Now show me what I demand and nothing more.”
Eye shook her head, disappointed in him, then projected another image into his mind. In a flash, he saw a bloody Jareth on his knees, his head bowed as he sobbed.
Prince Jareth, dejected enough to squeeze out a few tears? Kaysar must witness this.
The royal seer anchored her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you kill King Hador and Prince Jareth and be done with your hatred once and for all?”
Foolish girl. “You don’t part with the things you love. You hold them close and never let go.” His hatred was his oldest and dearest friend. His closest family. If he lost it the way he’d lost Viori, he’d have nothing.
Eye gave him a pitying look, then motioned to the tattoo on his bicep. A snake curled into a figure eight, eating its own tail, with a sword running through its center. His kingdom’s symbol, meaning “eternal war.” “Why does your desire for vengeance matter more than my dream of peace? I tire of war, King Kaysar. All of your people tire of war. Do you even care?”
“What a ridiculous question. Of course I don’t care. My people have shelter, food and protection, a slight to them a slight to me. I demand only what I’m owed in return.”
“You believe you’re owed blind obedience.”
“No. I believe I’m owed obedience and truth.” If anyone lied to him, they immediately lost the privilege of breathing.
She tossed her hands up. “You make it impossible for your people to find happiness.”
Wrong. “Happiness is the only thing I’ve left up to them. If they go without, they can only blame themselves.” He tilted his head, intensifying his study of the oracle. “Have you decided my terms are unacceptable, Eye? If so, you are more than welcome to leave my lands. I’ll even allow you to do so with your head attached.”
To reach another kingdom, she must travel through the Forest of Many Names. A jot difficult to do, considering Kaysar had relocated centaurs, ogres and trolls into the wilds however long ago. For anyone not bearing his protection—his seal or the Frostline name—moving from kingdom to kingdom came with a high likelihood of failure.
“I have no desire to leave you,” she said, then heaved a familiar sigh. “Don’t you crave love, accolades, and respect?”
“No,” he replied, and he meant it. Highborn and lowborn alike often accused him of being cruel and heartless, obsessed and maddened. Why change? He liked himself this way.
Her shoulders sagged, as if she’d failed him. “If you don’t let go of your vengeance, you won’t grab hold of your future and your mate, the only person able to give you what you so desperately crave. And it isn’t vengeance, I promise you.”
What he so desperately craved. To return to the forest as a twelve-year-old boy, with his sister’s hand clasped in his. “I have no mate, I want no mate, and I crave only vengeance.” His single form of satisfaction. Why require a specific bedmate? A lover was a lover, one the same as another; they simply wore different faces. The least important feature.
In desperation, Eye burst out, “You could have a woman. You could have more than loneliness and pain.”
Lonely? Him? “I’m beginning to question your sanity, Eye.”
“If you continue on this path, you will condemn yourself to an eternity of misery,” she stated, sympathy in her dark gaze. “You will lose everything that matters to you.”
“I have already lost everything that matters,” he grated. “Now I merely repay.”
“But—”
“Enough of this.” Temper verging on dangerous, he leaped to his feet. “The Frostlines planted seeds of hate in the rich soil of my heart. For twelve months, the king and his brother watered those seeds, ensuring they sprouted and grew roots. Yet here you stand, daring to complain to the tree for producing its harvest? How dare you? The Frostlines will eat the fruit of their labors, that I swear to you.”
“Kaysar—”
“You’d best mind your tongue, Eye, before I add it to my collection.” Yes, he displayed severed tongues in jars, on special shelves in his bedroom. He displayed other organs, too. What made a better trophy than a literal piece of his foes?
“Very well. Go.” She made a shooing motion. “Start the beginning of the end.”
Before he did something he might possibly consider regretting at some later date, Kaysar flittered to the Forest of Many Names, appearing in a location he recognized from Eye’s vision.
He turned his focus to his mission—hurting Prince Jareth in the worst way imaginable. Let the fun begin.
CHAPTER TWO
ARMED WITH CLAWS, short swords and daggers, Kaysar stalked Prince Jareth, his new bride and the royal Winter guard without detection, a skill he’d honed to perfection. As expected, he went unnoticed, observing his foes unimpeded as the twenty-two-member party trotted through the forest on horseback.
The prince and princess rode together, constantly touching. It wasn’t long before the lusty pair called a halt to the procession, ordering the guards to patrol as they bathed.
The guards were nervous about an ambush and clearly eager to return home. Kaysar tsk-tsked. Such selfish little royals. Their actions put other lives in terrible danger.
Alternately slinking and flittering, Kaysar moved from one spot to another, checking the perimeter. Ogres and trolls had already gathered. Pixies, too, voyeurs as much as thieves.
Fifteen guards positioned themselves around a small grotto, ten to thirty feet away, a hand resting on a sword hilt. They remained stationary, their gazes darting as they searched for predators. The remaining five guards marched in a circle outside the others.
What to do, what to do? At certain points in the past, Kaysar could have taken Hador’s or Jareth’s head the way he’d taken Lark’s. He’d always refrained. What was his purpose, if not the misery of the Frostlines?
A plan quickly formed, and he grinned. Today, he took Princess Lulundria.
As quietly and swiftly as possible, he moved through the unit. First, he slit the throats of the males on patrol, easing their bodies to the ground with no one the wiser. Excitement building, he worked his way through the rest, getting creative. A cruel twist of his wrist here. A triple jab there. Each of the twenty died with a muted groan of shock. He only wished there’d been more guards.
He so enjoyed his work.
Kaysar wiped his bloody hands on the last victim and flittered closer to the water, where he sat. The couple swam in the grotto that teemed with lush green leaves and purple flowers. A lovers’ paradise. Moss-covered stones surrounded the pool, shimmers of pollen dancing on a gentle breeze. Incredible scents saturated the air: the sweetness of the blooms, the crispness of the sun, the freshness of the water.
“How much do you want me, husband?” Lulundria asked with a low tone, walking backward and tracing her fingers between her breasts.
She was certainly Jareth’s type: tall, slender, and as delicate as a cameo with her waterfall of pink curls, emerald eyes, and pale, sparkling skin. If Kaysar remembered correctly, her glamara involved plants, allowing her to cultivate an entire garden in minutes. Her people adored her gentle nature and kind heart. Something Kaysar might have developed himself, if not for the Frostlines.
“W
ell?” She eased onto the shore. “Have I stolen your thoughts?”
Jareth waded closer, into the shallow end, and offered her a heated grin. Lids heavy, he gripped the base of his shaft and stroked up, saying, “I want you this much.”
Princess Lulundria gave a throaty laugh, and Kaysar scowled. “If you get any bigger, my darling, you won’t be able to fit inside me.”
What right did Jareth have to enjoy a woman like this, after what he’d done to the servant girl?
Did the princess know her marriage to Prince Jareth placed her dead center in the Unhinged One’s crosshairs?
If she didn’t, she would.
“Oh, I’ll fit, all right.” When Jareth joined her on the shore, she molded her soft curves to his tattooed body. The towheaded warrior, and the pink-haired beauty. He wrapped his arms around her and nipped her bottom lip. “I’ll work it in nice and slow.”
And I’ll surprise you as soon as you reach the point of no return.
The besotted couple kissed. They stretched out on their pile of clothes, Jareth’s weapons beside them. Hands wandered, and moans rang out.
Kaysar had never enjoyed kissing or touching. He did it only when necessary, using the pleasure he doled as a weapon. He seduced married women from their husbands and learned secrets he couldn’t ferret out in other ways. He’d never understood the pleasure his conquests derived from his ministrations.
He raked his claws over his forearm, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Though he wished to study his latest map, he didn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to lose track of his surroundings. There were decisions to make.
What should he do with Princess Lulundria once he had her ensconced in his palace? So many options appealed.
He could kill her, of course, causing Jareth untold grief. But grief tended to dull far too quickly. He could even seduce her and steal her affections from the prince, initiating centuries of humiliation and fury. That one never got old.
Emotion wasn’t something Kaysar compelled, however. Could he win a devoted princess from her adoring husband with his charm alone? The challenge intrigued him.
Who was he kidding? Challenge? He snorted. Yes, he could win her. He could win any woman of his choosing. None had the strength to resist his handsome face and powerful physique.
It was ironic, really. He inspired great lust in others, yet he himself had never experienced genuine passion. The torture he’d endured with Lark and Hador had caused a permanent disconnection between his mind and body. Few sensations registered as anything more than pressure, heat or cold. He’d never felt close to a lover, not the way others seemed to do. A fact he celebrated.
To Kaysar, sex would forever be a tool. He’d never wanted someone for reasons outside of vengeance, and he never would. Who could he trust?
As Jareth positioned his wife on her hands and knees, an idea budded. Something truly vile. Something Kaysar had never done before. What if he...impregnated her?
It was a disgusting idea, worse than the abduction and seduction...and absolutely perfect. In the fae realm, a husband suffered great dishonor if ever he disinherited his wife’s child, no matter the reason for it.
To keep Kaysar’s child off the throne, Jareth would be forced to expose the black heart he so expertly hid from the rest of the world. Something he wouldn’t do, preventing Hador’s descendant from ever inheriting the crown.
Was any revenge sweeter?
The plan was set then. As soon as Lulundria conceived, Kaysar would return her to her husband and enjoy the fallout.
Eager to begin, he flittered to a stand, rolled his shoulders and prepared his claws. Then, he flittered directly behind the thrusting male, fisted his hair with one hand, yanking his head up, and tearing out half his throat with the other hand. Enough to cause agonizing pain, but not enough to kill. He jumped back as the prince clutched at his throat.
No doubt Jareth would recover in seconds and use his glamara. Like one of his Frostline ancestors, he wielded an ability to summon ice and spew shards from his fingertips.
“Jareth?” The princess glanced over her shoulder, probably wondering why her husband no longer thrust into her. Spotting Kaysar several feet behind the male, she screamed and scrambled to don a tunic.
The choking, bleeding prince fell forward. Kaysar flittered in front of the couple and grinned.
“Congratulations, Jareth. By some miracle, you didn’t tear your bride with your massive size. How thrilled you must both be.” He clapped. “Between the two of us,” he added with a low tone, as if he shared a secret, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to say the same. I’m actually size gargantuan. Shhh. Don’t tell. I want to surprise her.”
“You don’t touch her.” Spittle sprayed from the prince’s mouth as he regained his voice and lumbered to his feet. “You don’t even get to look at her.”
The princess rushed behind her wild-eyed husband. Nearly fully recovered, Jareth waved in Kaysar’s direction, flinging small slivers of ice.
Kaysar flittered in and out, the missiles embedding in the tree behind him. Grin widening, he faced off with the prince. “Go ahead. Call your royal guard. Demand help...my darling.”
Realizing he’d been observed from the beginning, Jareth charged within striking distance. Kaysar could have moved, avoiding the fist thrown his way, but he gladly absorbed the blow—while disemboweling his opponent. Ah, an old favorite.
The prince stumbled backward, and another scream burst from the princess.
“Go,” Jareth commanded, his voice little more than a rasp as he shoved her toward the trees.
The foolish royal hesitated, as if she actually thought to aid her husband, allowing Kaysar to flitter and catch her wrist in a vise-grip. She tried to flitter, as well, but his resistance proved greater. In a battle of wills, he won, every time.
Jareth drew back his elbow to hurl more ice, and an idea took root. Why not make the prince hurt his wife in the worst way?
Just as the prince slashed his hand, unleashing another volley of shards, Kaysar flittered and thrust the princess forward, making it appear as if she lunged on her own. The ice sank into her torso, and she lurched.
Jareth barked a hoarse denial as Lulundria tottered, bumping into Kaysar. Too weak to absorb impact, her knees buckled. He held her up, enjoying her discomfort as sublimely as Jareth was regretting it.
While it wasn’t the best start to her seduction, Kaysar wasn’t worried. He’d overcome far worse. “Did we learn our lesson today, prince? Protecting others before we protect ourselves never ends well for anyone.”
Jareth didn’t seem to hear him. Shell-shocked, he dropped to his haunches. His head bowed and a sob escaped him, Eye’s vision coming to life. “My ice is poison to Summerlanders. To royals more than any others. She...she’s going to... You’ve killed her. You’ve killed my Lulu.”
“Don’t listen to him, my sweet.” With the prince immobilized by devastation, Kaysar eased the princess upon a bed of wildflowers and grinned. “I’ll patch you right up after I install you inside your new home.” Truth. He owned a sliver of elderseed. Perhaps the last in existence. The mystical seed had many uses, and healing the unhealable was one of them.
“No,” Jareth bellowed, diving on him. “I won’t let you have her body.”
They rolled over the ground, grappling for dominance. Seizing her opportunity, the princess scrambled to her feet and tripped into a run. He let her go. For now.
On their feet again. Huffing his breath, Jareth swung at Kaysar again and again. “She did nothing to you. She never hurt you. Never hurt anyone.”
“She aligned herself with your family.” He blocked and clawed, laughing as he tore through muscle. “That’s enough.”
Jareth slowed with every injury, but he never stopped swinging. “What do you want from me? What will end your sick obsession? Tell me, and I’ll do it
.”
Certainly. “I want everything and nothing, always and never, but only if you don’t want to give them to me.” He stalked a circle around his prey. “Why are you so worried, prince? I meant what I said. I’ll patch up your wife, and she’ll be as good as new. I’ll even return her to you. Eventually.”
Blue eyes blazing, Jareth attacked with mounting vigor. Kaysar avoided the next punches before going in for the kill. Well, not the kill, but close. He opened his mouth and sang.
In seconds, the prince lost all color. He pressed his hands over his ears, but it did him no good. Blood poured from his nose, and he toppled, soon writhing in agony. Kaysar only quieted when Jareth lay unconscious.
He waited, expecting a surge of satisfaction. A flicker of triumph. Something. He’d won another round, as predicted. But...
Over too soon!
No matter. He had another shot at it. Soon he’d have the princess in his bed. But first he must catch her.
Brimming with anticipation, he scanned the trees. There. She had slowed her pace. Blood soaked her tunic.
As he stalked her, twigs snapped under his boots. She cast a frantic glance over her shoulder. Crying out, she swung her arms at a faster clip.
“I can help you, princess,” he called. Truth. Always. Kaysar never lied.
Too easily did he remember watching the Frostline king and princes through his window in the tower. How he’d fumed as the trio had played to the crowds, smiling and waving, accepting the praises and cheers as if they owned hearts of gold.
Another frantic glance over her shoulder. Lulundria tripped over a log and careened, landing in a mud puddle. Though weaker than before, she trudged to her feet. She—what was this? Thorny green vines flowed from her hands, slithering over the dirt and unfurling like snakes. Growing. The stalks stretched before her and seeped mist. A good distance away, the end of both the right and left vine switched direction, rising toward the sky and twining together, forming an arch.
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