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.
Her ability surpassed a plant-based glamara. She’d opened a portal to the mortal world, something only a doormaker could do.
Realization stripped him of calm. If she made it through that doorway, Jareth’s ice would kill her, as feared, and Kaysar would lose an invaluable opportunity.
He flittered directly behind her and reached out... Argh! She slipped from his hold. The vines remained attached to her, curling from her wrists to her fingertips, pulling her closer and closer to the door.
“I only wish to aid you, princess.” He flittered again, but she contorted, avoiding his clasp.
If he appeared in front of the portal, she might barrel into him, knocking him into the mortal world along with her. Or without her. Leave the Frostlines without a guaranteed means to return to Astaria? Never. But he needed to put his own child on the Winter Court throne. His vengeance demanded it. So Kaysar used the only option available to him. Compulsion.
As Princess Lulundria zipped through the portal, he readied his glamara and called, “Return to me, princess. Return to me by any means necessary.”
A moment later, she vanished in the mist. As the vines withered to ash and twirled away on the wind, Kaysar stopped and cursed. Doormakers required weeks to recharge after opening a portal. Was his glamara strong enough to recharge her now? Today?
An hour ticked by, frustration gnawing at his temper.
She must return. She must, she must, she must. The desire to obey him probably consumed her by now, aiding her survival. So where was she? How long must he wait?
CHAPTER THREE
The Mortal Realm
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Present Day
“I HOPE YOU like the taste of your balls, Nick, because I’m about to shove them down your throat.” Chantel “Cookie” Bardot tapped her fingers over the game controller at lightning speed, guiding her female Mad Hatter to beat the fire out of a Prince Charming wannabe.
Would she receive a dozen emails in the next two minutes, asking her to act more professionally, but also less professionally, and oh, yes, could she keep doing exactly what she was doing and also change everything? Don’t get her started on the texts.
Nick—screen name Nicobra—fought back with merciless precision, a well-placed kick sending her across the battlefield. On impact, her magic hat tumbled across the forested terrain. One of four power bars vanished.
He purred through her headset, “How about you choke on my balls first, Cookie.”
Oh, no he didn’t. “I tried, remember? But yours are the size of Tic Tacs.” Careful. There were lines. What she dished, he had a right to serve back to her. Plus, he wasn’t worth the hassle she’d face with her sponsors.
Though Cookie hated Nick, she loved her job. I mean, come on! Companies paid her to stream video games and be on camera. As a secret side hustle, she accepted jobs as a digital hit woman, charging other gamers to annihilate their competitors within the game world.
Once, Nick had tried to hire her to take out herself, never knowing who seethed behind the screen.
Who wouldn’t love her job? What’s more, she needed it. Born with a severely damaged heart, she’d undergone various surgeries, countless medical tests, numerous trials and a plethora of experimental drugs in her twenty-six years; the bills had stacked.
“Did you know you’re the worst girlfriend I’ve ever dated?” Nick asked, unwilling to let the trash talk end. “You beat the cheater and the thief. Congrats.”
Ouch. For those watching her face rather than the game, Cookie let a sugary sweet smile bloom, as if Nick had just issued a sweet compliment. Never let an opponent see you rattled.
Your hot spots became an eternal target and offered endless ammunition. Nick proved this theory every time they interacted. During their yearlong relationship, he’d discovered her deepest vulnerability—rejection. Now he liked to poke and prod until she snapped.
Game face on. “Is someone feeling defensive about his size?” She tsk-tsked. “Don’t worry, baby boy. Size doesn’t really matter. Since the beginning of time, women have lied about preferring a man with girth. The smaller the better, we say.”
Nick missed a series of punches, allowing Cookie to reclaim her hat. Had his confidence gotten the stinky boot? Too bad, so sad.
On the right side of her screen, comment bubbles blew up. Key words jumped out, the messages behind them clear. Drags on Cookie...drags on women in general...drags on men...a death threat...a threat of rape...support...another death threat...a death threat against anyone who supported her.
Whatever. She activated the “elderseed,” charging her hat to full capacity in seconds and head-butting the prince, cracking his skull. Yes! Cookie lived for blood and gore. On a screen, of course, only a screen. Although, yes, okay, sometimes she envied her avatar. Every so often, she even wondered if she herself were maybe kinda sorta...murder curious. But only every so often.
Oh, she would never kill anyone in real life. She wasn’t a psychopath or anything like that. Mostly, she enjoyed force-feeding bad guys a heaping helping of justice. On screen and off. And yeah, she’d always been this way.
After her parents’ acrimonious divorce, she’d stayed with her mother most of the year and her father on holidays. As the two created new families, she’d lost herself in Court TV and video games.