Whether she realized it or not, she was unerringly immortal, incredibly powerful, and unarguably fae. Each of the five courts now recognized her as a royal Summerlander and Winterlander. Lulundria’s own parents would welcome her with open arms. Jareth, too. His marriage vows commanded it.
The prince had no choice but to accept this stranger as his wife—and the de Aoibheall babe soon to quicken in her belly.
A babe Kaysar would never know.
He...wasn’t sure how he felt about the idea, now that victory was so close. What belonged to Kaysar belonged to Kaysar. Always. Without exception. He didn’t share with anyone. Ever. He refused to share. And yet he planned to give this princess his seed? His child? An innocent babe, handed over to the Frostline prince? Placed within Hador’s reach?
Fury rose at the incongruity, ever at the ready, the need to kill someone, anyone, nigh irresistible. Instead, Kaysar stroked his claws over his forearm. The slight tickle reminded him of his maps. His sister. His safe harbor in any storm.
He centered and calmed, certain he could solve the conundrum tomorrow. Vengeance first, everything else second.
Today, fate wanted him to oversee the punishment of the Frostlines. Unlike the original Lulundria, this woman hadn’t spent her childhood hearing horror stories about the Unhinged One. What reason did she have to resist him?
No doubt her seduction would be laughably easy.
“Who are you to me?” she asked, an uneasy little thing. First she shifted from bare foot to bare foot. Then she smoothed pink and sable locks from her brow. Then she massaged the abrasions marring her wrists. “Who were you to Lulundria?”
Her accent was soft, liquid and wonderfully lazy, like the warm maple poured over his mother’s berry cakes. A delicacy he hadn’t considered in centuries. Now, his mouth watered.
A pang sizzled in his chest, but he ignored it, honing his focus, schooling his features. Let the princess’s seduction begin.
Today he chatted with her. If he received encouragement, he touched. But nothing more than a few light caresses. To keep her glued to his side long-term, he must earn her trust before he claimed her body. “I’m Kaysar de Aoibheall from the Midnight Court, and I’m at your service.” No reason to mention his designation. “Unhinged One” might be a jot difficult to excuse in the beginning.
“Kaysar,” she repeated, her slow drawl turning the zar sound into sir.
The pang only intensified. Disregard. “As for the other question, you alone know who I am to Lulundria. You must only remember.” Filtering the eagerness from his tone, he asked, “Have you relived any of her memories?”
She rocked on her heels. “Only one, and only a fragment, but it was enough. A man hurled ice daggers at her. He hurt her.”
Well, well. Her quiet rage was utterly delicious. Even better, she had referred to Jareth, her husband, as “a man.” A stranger. She considered the prince a merciless killer.
The first hint of satisfaction teased Kaysar. As good as mine.
He pretended to think the matter over and nodded. “Perhaps it’s best not to seek any other memories. What if they’re worse?”
“I definitely do not want to remember another woman’s memories. I barely handle my own.”
That, he understood. He stalked another circle around her, inspecting his prize once more. But once wasn’t enough. There was too much of her to enjoy, so he kept going. With each loop, he increased the distance between them to take in more of her. No woman had a right to smell sweeter than poisonvine. Especially this woman.
Unfamiliar needs battered him. Kiss. Lick. Touch. For pleasure.
Ire forever at the fore, he scowled. Kaysar experiencing pleasure with a Frostline, doing things he considered a chore?
“You’re sending me mixed signals, and I’m not a fan.” For this perusal, she moved with him, her gaze firmly attached to him, no matter where he stood. “Are you planning to do foul things to me or not? I honestly can’t tell.”
He answered without thought. “Tell me your definition of foul.”
She blink-blinked, a pfft of air parting her lips. A bright smile spread. “Dang, you’re hot. I’ll be honest. I think you’re into me. And I admit, I might be a little into you, too.”
That smile stopped him in his tracks and robbed him of breath. Exquisite.
He met her gaze and forced a smile of his own. He’d paid the realm’s finest concubines to teach him how to charm and intrigue, and he utilized those skills now. “You aren’t wrong... Chantel. I am very much into you.”
Relaxing further, she asked, “Where are we?”
“This is Astaria.” Your new home.
“Astaria,” she echoed, surveying the land around them. “Not Rhoswyn? Or Loloria? Or Enchantia?”
“There are five fae kingdoms, also known as courts. Midnight or Nightlands. Summer. Autumn. Spring. And Winter.” He grated the last. “There’s also a territory known as the Dusklands. We are currently in the Forest of Many Names.”
“Fae,” she squeaked. “I knew it. But are we talking Seelie and Unseelie? Or does it even matter?”
“Fae are fae.” Dissatisfied with the distance, Kaysar eased closer, reentering Chantel’s flowery force field. His blood heated slowly, simmering...boiling.
Her scent reminded him of poisonvine—no, not poisonvine, not exactly, but a far more potent and pure strain. His head fogged.
“Shall I tell you how Lulundria and I first met?” he asked silkily.
“Yes, please,” she rasped, licking her ruby lips.
Tension coiled inside his muscles as never before, a shock to his system. “Six months ago, I came upon Lulundria in this forest with her husband, a Winterland prince. The evil man you saw in the memory. With my aid, the darling Lulundria escaped, running away. I’ve sought her ever since. I’ve craved her ever since.” He observed her expression, saying “Now I crave you.”
Her features softened, any lingering stiffness evaporating.
Oh, yes. This seduction was laughably easy indeed.
She searched his gaze. To his consternation, her stiffness returned gradually. When the metamorphosis was completed, she straightened with a snap, stepped back to widen the distance between them. “I may have Lulundria’s heart, but I assure you, I’m not her.”
He snapped, “What use are you to me, if you aren’t Lulundria?”
She took another step back. Good. Let her dread the temper of the man who decided her fate. As a Frostline, her every breath was a gift from Kaysar. Let her see the blood of the enemies he’d slaughtered on her behalf.