Danger approaches. Almost upon you.
Even with the crash of the water, Kaysar caught the prince’s footfalls. Jareth had quickened his pace.
He considered his next move, tossing a glance over his shoulder. His only goal at the moment? Keeping Chantel, his key, safe.
In a sprint, the prince burst through a wall of foliage before vanishing, reappearing halfway to the waterfall. Still sprinting, seeming to fly over the rocky path, already swinging his sword.
Kaysar flittered in front of Chantel, a dagger clutched in each clawed hand. He lifted and crossed the weapons, creating a metal V. His gaze clashed with Jareth’s as the male’s sword tip grazed a straight, shallow cut from the end of his nose to the underside of his chin before meeting the daggers. A clink and a sting registered.
Blood trickled into his mouth, coating his teeth and tongue.
Chantel gasped and clutched his tunic from behind, fueling the rage directed at Jareth. The prince dares to frighten my princess?
A single punch dislocated Jareth’s jaw. A kick sent him careening into the pond with a splash. Jareth flittered to land, materializing on the other side of the pond, where he dripped water and violently forced his jaw into place.
Behind him, pixies darted through trees, landing on limbs to witness the festivities.
Kaysar and Jareth glared at each other from their respective sides. This intrusion grated. Kaysar hadn’t yet secured Chantel’s affections, and he resented the prince’s interference. He didn’t want the male looking at her. Much less speaking to her, reminding her of a past she hadn’t lived and didn’t wish to remember. Lusting for her mere minutes after Kaysar had kissed her—perhaps an hour before he kissed her again.
He flicked his tongue behind his teeth. Jareth had been unable to keep his hands off Lulundria. How much less would he control himself around Chantel? The woman whose touch had elicited indescribable pleasure in Kaysar. The man who’d never before known passion. If she affected him, how much more must she affect those like the prince?
How much more would the prince affect her?
Foreboding choked him. The odds were stacked against him. One way or another, Chantel would learn the truth about Lulundria’s murder. How would she react then? She hadn’t forgiven him for his other misdirections, but she’d agreed to help him anyway. He sensed she didn’t offer such clemency often or easily. Now he...feared. Could she ever pardon him for his part in the death?
Would the truth propel the prince and princess back together?
A risk Kaysar might have to take. Not knowing was a burden he couldn’t bear. Like the rocks, he needed Chantel to know what he’d done—to understand and stay with him anyway. He required this as much as air.
“Did you come to say goodbye to your wife, Jareth?” He threw the words across the water, unwilling to back down.
“I’m not his wife,” Chantel retorted behind him. “If I’m ever eager for another ice dagger stabbing, though, I’ll be sure to give the prince a call.”
First she had denied being Lulundria. Now she claimed the woman’s injuries as her own? Were the females merging? Cold sweat beaded Kaysar’s brow.
“You misunderstand what you remember, princess.” Jareth glared at Kaysar, his blue eyes frosty. He cast his next words to Chantel. “I would never purposely hurt you.”
“Go spin your lies somewhere else,” she snapped, and Kaysar reached for the lock of hair he’d transferred to the pocket of his new pants.
“I would never purposely hurt you,” Jareth repeated. “But the king would. He arranged Lulundria’s suffering, pushing her into my ice.”
Kaysar could have stopped the prince. He could even refute the male’s claim with more carefully spun truths. And Chantel would probably believe him. For a time. Instead, he remained quiet. Let’s get this over with.
If Chantel fled him, he would...he...didn’t know. For the first time in too many years to calculate, he didn’t have a next move.
Aiming the tip of his sword in Kaysar’s direction, Jareth bellowed at Chantel, “The king is a madman. You realize this, yes? He looks at maps that aren’t there. And his song.” He shuddered. “You’ll believe your head is about to explode. You’ll pray it does. He kills without mercy and attacks the Winterlands on a whim. His evil knows no bounds.” He swung his gaze to Kaysar once more. “Deny it, your majesty. Lie to her.”
Kaysar was many things, but he was not a liar or a coward. “I deny nothing. Yes, I pushed Lulundria into the path of your ice. No, I didn’t care that she was injured. Actually, that isn’t the full truth. I required her pain. I planned to heal her immediately afterward, becoming her hero. She would have fallen straight into my bed. But she fled me.”
“You did what?” Chantel dug her claws into his back.
In a secret part of him, he perceived the tiniest flicker of shame. And he resented it. He had done nothing that hadn’t been done to him. “If you consider the variables, this is actually an extension of the crime you’ve already almost forgiven me for. Therefore...”
Despite his logic, her anger persisted. “Obviously, our partnership is over. For good and for real this time.”
He silenced a denial. Breathe in. Out. He’d done her wrong. He’d admitted it. Now he owed her more than an apology. He should offer some kind of appeasement. Yes, yes. What could it hurt?
But what was he to offer? The last female he’d attempted to appease was Viori. “I... I’ll do better from now on. I’ll try, at least. No one will ever try harder. I’ll give you more jewelry. A sea of it.”
“Good for you, but no, thanks. Scratch my name off your roster. You go after innocent bystanders. That means you’re no better than the one who hurt you.”
Was she right? Was she wrong? He didn’t know! “What if I limit my targets from now on?”
“I’m sorry, but it’s too late.”
Different impulses warred. Face her. Pin her against the rock wall. Touch her hair. Touch all of her. Kiss her until she forgot what he’d done. Beg for another chance. Just one more.
Who am I? Kaysar de Aoibheall did not beg for anything. Ever. But he had promised to be better for her, and he always kept his word.
“Come to me, Chantel,” the prince called, extending a hand in her direction. “Let me take you from this awful place.”
Kaysar glared at the prince, telling Chantel, “You wonder why I target him, sweetling? Allow me to share.” To Jareth’s credit, he held Kaysar’s stare, even as he flinched, because he knew what was coming. “Lulundria’s darling Jareth once watched with a smile as his father cut out my tongue. I was only twelve at the time. Too young to heal from such a severe injury.”