“I’m sorry, but I’m not ready, Kaysar. I won’t go to the ballroom, and you can’t make me. I’m staying right here, and yes, I will die on this hill. Don’t try to change my mind.” Her cowardice was humiliating. He was so strong, and she was being so weak. If he decided to ditch her because of this...
Good riddance.
“You will never die. You aren’t allowed.” He flittered to her side, sat on the mattress and cupped her cheek. He gentled his tone, saying, “Sweetling, the gathering was merely a suggestion. If ever I plan something that’s disagreeable to you, you have only to tell me, and I’ll gladly cancel it in favor of another. I can give you anything you want, but only if I know what it is.”
Okay. All right. Kaysar was kind of being amazing right now. Her heart rate and breathing slowed. “Thank you. I think I’d prefer to train with the apprentice this morning.”
“Of course.” He kissed her brow. Rising to his feet, he called, “Eye! Send the people away immediately. Be sure they understand they have offended their queen with their impertinence, and they shall be punished if ever it occurs again.”
Cookie pinched the bridge of her nose. Malevolent it is.
“I’ve left a gift for you in the closet.” Kaysar smoothed his hair. Such a normal task for such an extraordinary man. He swiped his shirt from the floor, then tossed the material into the hearth. “I haven’t forgotten the kingdom mandate for shirts. I hope you’ll recall it, as well.” He winked at her. “Dress and meet me in the throne room. Your training will begin as soon as you’re ready.”
Perfect. “Where’s the—”
He vanished with a grin.
“—throne room?” she finished her question for an audience of zero.
Whatever. Gift! Cookie sprinted to the closet and flung open the door, soaring inside.
Everything looked the same, nothing added. Except... Head canted, she crossed to the built-in dresser. Something metal gleamed on the surface. A weapon?
Frowning, she lifted a thin line of links—metal claws tipped the ends.
Kaysar had given her the right set and kept the left for himself. One of the claws punctured a note. She freed the paper and read the flowing script.
Our team uniform.
Pressing the claws to her chest, she grinned and looked over her current dress choices. Whom did she want to be today? The evil queen or the innocent shepherdess?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
KAYSAR OCCUPIED CHANTEL’S throne room and perched on her throne, an elaborate monstrosity made from solid gold, with flowers carved throughout. He’d recruited a goldsmith to add them while she’d slept off the effects of the elderseed. Would his Briar Rose approve?
He eagerly anticipated her reaction. If she admired the throne even half as much as her jewels, she might dazzle him with another laugh.
Perhaps she would wish to return to their bed. His body needed more of her. And only her. No other living creature affected him so strongly. The cadence of her voice did things to him. Heated things. She teased and tormented him, leaving him desperate for more of her—for more of life. Who else filled his days with such stunning anticipation?
Her smiles lit a room. With Chantel, time had meaning again. A minute away from her was an eternity, but a thousand years at her side wasn’t nearly enough. She possessed a staunch sense of loyalty and valued her partners and teammates. And she was brave, facing danger head-on. Both confident and unsure. Vulnerable with him alone. She told the truth, even when threatened.
If ever Kaysar hurt her, she had the power to skewer him with a vine. Did she even know how sexy that was?
Where is she? He’d left her in the bedroom an hour ago. A true eternity. Now he awaited her arrival, his every cell humming with an unfamiliar mix of impatience and excitement. He suspected he...missed her.
A reminder surfaced. Vengeance first, Chantel second. That was the way it had to be. He could give and receive pleasure, but he couldn’t allow her to become his reason for breathing. To trade one for the other...
No. He wouldn’t. Viori was vengeance, and vengeance was Viori, and he couldn’t let her go. But. Kaysar was unwilling to backtrack with Chantel, either. Even if it was the wiser path.
Fear of the unknown plagued him... End their association because of it, never exploring more of her depths? No. He’d already carved out a place for her in his life—where she would stay, despite his unparalleled reactions to her.
He should be careful, that was all. Grant her a certain amount of his time, energy and thoughts each day, but no more, and never before he contemplated another way to harm the Frostlines. See? Absolutely sustainable.
Kaysar stared at the throne room doors, willing them to open. Which gown had Chantel selected for the day? The dark queen or the gentle shepherdess? Would she wear his claws?
He’d never given gifts to a lover before. Or a friend. He’d never given anything to anyone except his family. And he’d never had a friend. But to those he’d once loved and respected, he’d presented songs.
His chest clenched as memories surfaced. He remembered how his mother used to close her eyes and hum along, just as Cookie had done. His father, a gruff farmer, had often attempted to secretly wipe a tear away mid-chorus. Anytime Kaysar had sung Viori a lullaby, she’d told him she loved him.
If he and Chantel ever decided to have a child—
He stiffened, gripping the arms of the throne overly tight. No children to further the Frostline legacy. Ever. No further thought needed on the subject.
Kaysar tapped his foot, faster and faster. To distract himself, he cast his gaze about the room. As she recovered, he’d ordered this space filled with things he hoped she’d like. What would Chantel think of the end result? Velvet chairs provided spots of color. Side tables displayed crystal vases overflowing with fresh flowers. He’d relocated tapestries and paintings from the royal treasury; they now covered the walls.
On the battlefield, he’d learned how much environment mattered. Opulence invited wonder and awe.
Why had she not arrived? He shook the ice in his third glass of sweetened lemon juice. A treat he’d only recently discovered. Oh, he’d consumed it before, but it had been as bland as everything else. The past few days, his taste buds had come alive.
Would Chantel be amenable to letting him pour the juice over her body and licking up the droplets?
He readjusted his hard-on.
“Did you bed my wife?” Jareth grated from a few feet away.
The second he’d assured Chantel’s safety, Kaysar had shackled the prince to the edge of the royal dais, using an unbreakable chain mystically enforced, preventing flittering. He planned to torture the prince at his earliest convenience; he simply hadn’t gotten around to it yet, his mind too chaotic.