Eye sealed the lid on the brimming jar. “Do you think I’d come to your private bedchambers without answers, majesty?” She humphed, as if insulted, the hem of her yellow gown swishing around her ankles.
Excitement and dread collided, igniting a noticeable tremor in his hands. “Tell me.”
“You’ll be pleased to know your princess has returned to Astaria at last.”
Kaysar’s dark mood dissolved in an instant. He grinned as he clasped Eye by the shoulders. “She is healed?”
A firm nod. “She is. Completely.”
How wonderful. His grin widened as he rocked to his heels. So much to do. Kaysar wished to look his best for their reunion. Her seduction commenced today.
“Where is she?” he demanded, already stripping for a shower.
Jaw slack, Eye spun and faced the wall. “I’m still working on that part, majesty.”
“You aren’t working fast enough. I know this, because I do not have her with me.” He flittered into the bathroom and showered in a hurry, then carefully selected a white tunic and black leathers before arming up. Two short swords. A pair of daggers. He bypassed the bow and quiver of arrows. Not today. Too bulky.
He donned his favorite rings. Those bearing molars he’d wrenched from an enemy’s mouth. Last, he secured his best set of metal claws to his fingers.
He didn’t need to glance in a mirror to know this was a panty melting day for him. Women loved his face. And his body. A rare few even loved his evil.
Kaysar stalked into the bedroom. Eye sat in the chair at his desk, the jar of tongues beside her.
She popped to her feet, words exploding from her. “I know where she is.”
Anticipation stole his breath, his lungs burning. “Well?”
For a moment, she chewed on her bottom lip. “I won’t tell you,” she said, nearly losing her head in the process. “Not until I explain something else. The princess did die in the mortal world, Kaysar.”
What? “You told me she survived.”
“And she did. But she also died. Yet now she lives.”
He tried to make sense of her claims. When he failed, rage drove him directly in front of the seer. Glaring, he gripped her delicate shoulders and shook. “Did you lie to me, Eye?”
Despite her tremors, she craned up her head to meet his gaze. “I didn’t lie, I swear it. As if I would dare.”
Only slightly mollified, he lightened his grip. “Explain, then. How is Lulundria both dead and healed?”
“I don’t know, but she is.” Eye used her most appeasing tone. “She died, but now she lives. Her heart beats...” Her voice trailed off as her expression glazed over, a vision overwhelming her. “You’d best hurry, majesty. The centaurs...their village. She’s soon to die. Again. For good.”
The centaurs thought to slay his princess, ruining his vengeance? Kaysar’s rage returned, igniting a fire in his soul. He flittered to the outskirts of the centaur village, hidden in the heart of the Nightlands.
A field of wildflowers stretched before him. Beyond it, hundreds of half horse, half fae creatures went about their days. The men were bare-chested, the women covered by leather vests.
Kaysar flittered throughout the encampment, scanning. Here, soldiers trained for war, combatants battering each other with spears while riders practiced galloping, dodging hurdles and shooting arrows at the same time. Onlookers cheered every success and booed every failure. Over here, workers tended pots of soup and stoked firepits.
When he found no sign of Lulundria, his control frayed. Where had she—Ah. There she was. A soft wind carried a faint hint of her sweet perfume.
Like a stallion in heat, Kaysar tracked his chosen female, alternating between sprinting and flittering. He leaped over rocks and raced around trees. Carnivorous foliage shrank from him, eager to avoid his touch. Little wonder. Aggression charged his every action. Scanning, searching... Nothing had ever been so important to him.
Laughter rang out. Multiple sources, both male and female. The princess’s scent strengthened, coating his breath. Glee replaced Kaysar’s rage as he reached a well-worn path, marred with hoofprints.
Spying the head of a centaur procession, he flittered to a thick branch, high in a tree, and crouched. Twenty warriors trotted in the path he’d traveled toward the village. Some of the soldiers were dark, some light, some spotted. All were armed, maintaining a steady trot and constantly hunting for predators.
Kaysar studied the tail end of the procession, where the prisoners were kept. Two males led a wagon bursting with fae, forest nymphs, and a handful of mortals. Dirty faces pressed against silver bars, bleak eyes peering out, seeking a savior.
Soon enough, they would learn a harsh truth. You could count on no one but yourself.
The centaurs hoped to use the mortals as servants, the forest nymphs as sex slaves, and the fae as food. A culinary horror meant to extend the eaters’ lives.
Unlike the fae, who often lived an infinite number of millennia, centaurs usually expired after fifty or sixty years. However, the consumption of a fae—any fae but a royal—could buy a centaur an extra ten years or so. The royals were a different breed entirely. Eat one of them, and you gained an immortal’s eternal life. The reason Eye had warned the princess was soon to die?
Kaysar released a soft snarl. The centaurs thought to eat his vengeance?
Oh, the pain they were soon to suffer...
Where was his princess? He drummed his claws against the tree trunk, impatient as he studied the rest of the procession. In the middle of the pack, two warriors carried a log between them, an end resting upon each male’s shoulder. A woman hung from the center. Filthy rags clothed her, the length of her pink hair dragging over dirt and rocks.
Relief punched Kaysar, every fiber of his being assuring him of her identity. He had found Princess Lulundria.
Nothing could stop his vengeance now.
The centaurs had tied her wrists and ankles, dangling her from the beam like a prized hog. A tunic was stuffed inside her mouth, its sleeves knotted at her nape to secure it in place. They practically gift wrapped her for me.
Perhaps she’d be so overcome with gratitude after his rescue, she’d forget the little skirmish he’d had with her husband, the day she’d run from him.
Trying not to smile, Kaysar flittered to the start of the convoy.
The leader reared up, then raised a fist, calling, “Halt.” As he settled, Kaysar’s identity clicked, and the color drained from his golden skin. “King Kaysar.” The centaur bowed his head in acknowledgment. “How...blessed we are to see you.”
Though the soldier stood several feet taller than Kaysar, he quaked with fear. As he should. A pink pixie sat on his shoulder, watching Kaysar warily.