“Because you do everything well.”
Her smile returned, but it still held a tinge of sadness. “What about your parents?”
“They were pixiepetal farmers in the Summerlands. Hard workers who survived rather than thrived, and yet they were happy.”
“So the most feared king in the land has humble beginnings, hmm, making him even more impressive than I previously believed.” She gave a husky chuckle at the prideful expression he couldn’t wipe from his face. “What are pixiepetals?”
“Special flowers that bloom where pixies roost, used as medicine for the fae.” Kaysar tracked a smeared line of map along her upper arm. “My parents died of a plague when I was twelve. Viori was such a joyful child before that. But she blamed herself for their deaths. Her voice... It was like mine. Powerful. Compelling. She hoped to save our mother and father from the sickness, but she used the wrong tone and they deteriorated fast.”
“Tone truly matters that much?”
“Tone is everything. The vessel responsible for carrying the compulsion.”
“I wish I could have known Viori. But. Um. Speaking of.” Chantel worried her bottom lip. “I have to confess something.”
He went still, not daring to breathe. “You remembered more about Jareth?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Tell me. Whatever it is.” The suspense was more than he could bear.
“Earlier, Amber showed me something,” she said. “Two somethings, actually. The day you lost Viori, and the day you killed Prince Lark.”
Oh. “I’m glad.” Kaysar had no secrets from her. “I killed Prince Lark too soon. His death was too easy. I won’t make that same mistake with Hador. He’ll suffer for centuries more.”
Chantel lightly scraped her nails through his beard stubble. “What if your sister is living an amazing life? What if she’s married with a million babies? Someone wonderful could have found her in the forest and protected her, the way you found and protected me.”
Oh, how he wished. But... “Why hasn’t she approached me? Why can’t Eye see her?”
She contemplated for a moment, sighed. “All right. Let’s travel down the road of worst-case scenario. Viori could have been discovered by a terrible person. She might have suffered and died in those woods.”
He squeezed his eyes closed, a hot tear escaping.
His beautiful Chantel wasn’t done. She wiped the droplet with a trembling finger, saying, “You might never know the truth about what happened. For the rest of eternity, you’ll have to live with the mystery. It’s awful, it isn’t fair, but it’s your reality and there’s nothing you can do to change it. Despite that, your most amazing days can await you, if you’ll let them.”
His eyelids popped open. He shuddered with his next breath, agonized...but comforted? “If I kill Hador at long last, you mean?”
“Yes.”
Familiar panic. The moisture in his mouth drying. He darted his gaze as he struggled to breathe. “I can’t,” he croaked. “Don’t ask it of me.” Not ready to say goodbye.
Another sad smile, a light in her eyes dying. “I won’t, love. I told you I wouldn’t ask for this, and I meant it. I never will. Not now, not ever.”
His regret persisted and his foreboding resurged, but Chantel and her soothing won his focus. Bit by bit, his muscles softened.
“Imagine your vengeance is satisfied,” she said, stroking his chest. Specifically the tattoo that prevented conception. “What will you do with yourself?”
Longing returned, ravaging him. “I’ll have children with you. If you want them. We could be a family then.”
Her breath hitched. “Oh, Kaysar.” Sobbing, she hurled herself into his body and pushed him to his back. She draped herself over him as tremors rocked her. Warm teardrops quickly soaked his chest.
A riot erupted inside him. His heart thudded, his stomach turning over again and again. “Chantel? What is this?”
“I love you so much, and I’m going to give you the most amazing life.” She squeezed him tight before sagging against him. “Just hold me, okay? I’m not ready for this moment to end.”
That, he understood. Kaysar enfolded her in the strength of his arms. In the silence, his eyelids grew heavy. He fought to remain awake, but that wondrous contentment was spreading through him again, burrowing deeper.
When he realized her heart beat in sync with his, he lost the battle.
“Tomorrow is the start of a long, joyous life for you,” she told him softly. Her voice called to him. “Sleep now.”
“For you, anything,” he said, the words slurred. As Kaysar fell into the abyss at last, he smiled.
* * *
I WILL SET him free.
Cookie stole five minutes for herself. Three hundred seconds to savor Kaysar’s strength and warmth. Because she knew. By morning, his love for her would morph into hatred. A fact she’d accepted. Better his hatred than his continued misery.
Kaysar craved a family of his own, but he couldn’t have it while Hador lived, and he wouldn’t want one with Cookie once she did what she planned. Or maybe he would? She didn’t know, but she suspected...not.
Either way, she killed Hador today. For Kaysar.
No longer would he be shackled to the past and his unending quest for vengeance. He could create his family with another woman. He could be happy. Cookie’s gift to him. That was how much she loved him.
Tears welled anew, but she blinked them back. She must be strong. He craved an end to his torment, and she could give it to him. Easily. The only cost—her own happiness. Her future. He would hate her, at least for a while. But even still, he needed her to do this. Deep down, he must hope she would settle the matter. So she would.
Fighting another round of tears, Cookie detangled from Kaysar at last. Naked, she strode into her closet, accompanied by flashes of lighting and the pitter-patter of rain.
Kaysar slept on.
She peered at the gown she’d avoided since its appearance in her closet. The white one with sharp angles. A weapon Kaysar had gifted to her. A way to help with this mission, as a part of him must have known. Not wedding apparel, after all, but a supervillain. The merciless assassin willing to do anything to avenge little Kaysar and Viori.
The material cinched to Cookie’s body, adhering to every curve as if painted there. The sharp edges around the collar, shoulders and wrists fit her current temperament. Split sleeves provided peeks of her arms as she moved. Multiple slits in the skirt did the same for her legs. The hem pooled around her feet, reminding her of a snowdrift.