A thick frost glazed her insides, leaving her icy cold—deadly—in all the best ways. She plaited her hair into war braids. Satisfied with her appearance, she gathered the elderseed she’d plucked from the potted plant and stashed it in her pocket. After flittering to the throne room, she collected the Winter king’s blood, stored inside a thorn.
Jareth slept on the dais, but awoke before she could sneak away. He eased up and looked her over. Comprehension dawned, and he whistled. “You are the female he needs, but after tonight, you might not be the female he wants.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She raised her chin. “When I return, I’ll free you from your bonds.” She wouldn’t ask—she would just do.
“I don’t know if I wish to go,” he admitted.
Ready to find and destroy Hador, she flittered to the hallway of treasures. As she passed the elaborate, full-length mirror, something strange happened to the glass, and she slowed. Stopped. Ripples blurred her reflection, raising her hackles. She readied her claws.
The ripples halted, Micah’s image filling the mirror, staring back at her. “Hello, Chantel.”
Far from relaxed, she nodded. “Micah.” He was more handsome up close, rugged and with hidden depths of intensity she’d missed before. But then, in Kaysar’s presence, all men paled in comparison. “How kind of you to stop by.”
He tilted his handsome head to the side, studying her from head to toe. His expression revealed a grand total of zero thoughts. “You go to kill King Hador.” A flat statement, rather than a shocked question.
Why deny it? “I do.” She quirked a brow. “Are you planning to stop me?”
“I am not.”
“Why accost me then?”
“The Winter king expects you. He waits at our former campground with a hundred armed fae encircling him, each ready to die to protect him and execute you.”
Suspicions rose. “And you’re telling me because...?”
“If you succeed and Hador dies, as he deserves, then you become Kaysar’s greatest enemy.”
Ahhh. Smart man. Micah doubted his ability to win against her and Kaysar. The dream team. But once Cookie and Kaysar were pitted against each other, their focus divided, Micah’s chances for reclaiming the Dusklands skyrocketed.
“The whole of Astaria knows the person who kills the king of the Winter Court replaces him in Kaysar’s mind,” he said. “You will become a target for the Unhinged One’s wrath.”
“I’m willing to risk it.” For Kaysar? Anything. “You and I will have our reckoning, Micah.” He wouldn’t stop, but neither would she. “Be aware. I won’t leave the palace outside of a body bag.”
“Trust me, princess. I will ensure you leave the palace in a body bag.” He offered the threat with a shrug, and she smiled with chilled delight.
“And he trash-talks, too.” She raked her gaze over him. “Are you single and possibly interested in an old crone with a few extra miles on her face and a wonderful sense of humor?” Pearl Jean might forget her plethora of diseases if she had a man of her own. “No, no. Don’t answer that. Unless you are, in fact, into old crones?”
Blink, blink. “Are you always like this?”
“You mean a motivated go-getter who does whatever it takes to finish the job? Yes. Thank you for noticing.”
He frowned but said, “While you battle Hador, I will not attack you, the fortress or Kaysar. You have my word. Before you tell me the offer isn’t necessary, allow me to show you why it is.”
His image vanished, replaced by another. In a valley between mountains, thousands upon thousands of trolls stood in formation, as still as the statues she’d placed in the throne room. Awaiting a command from their master, King Micah?
Most of the trolls hit the seven-foot mark, though many were taller. Some had horns, others tusks. All had muscles stacked upon muscles.
Cookie decided then and there to acquire an army of her own. Men and women from any court, of any species, willing to pledge their loyalty to her and fight for her kingdom and causes.
Micah’s image reappeared, erasing the trolls. He offered her a smug grin. “The guards surrounding King Hador hold containers of stickysap. They have orders to douse you the moment you’re spotted.”
Ugh. She remembered stickysap. The blood from the killer tree. The substance supposedly like a melding of quicksand and superglue.
“If drenched in it, your vines will cease to grow, rooting you in place,” he explained. “I’d rather not have your focus divided yet.”
She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. The king had tricks. Good to know.
Her mission was a bit more complicated now, but change her mind? No. She’d have to be more careful, that was all. “Any other tips for me?” she asked, ready to get this show on the road.
To her surprise, he nodded. “Avoid contact with Hador. He’s a drainer, and his glamara has strengthened over the centuries. With a brush of his fingertips, he can steal energy you are unwilling to concede.”
Another complication, but still not a deal breaker. The thing about Cookie? She no longer feared obstacles. She wasn’t afraid to die for her cause. No, she welcomed the opportunity. A worthy sacrifice to punish the one who’d wronged Kaysar. “Thank you for the help, Micah. It’s not going to save your life if you attack, but it’s much appreciated.” In another life, they might have been friends.
He offered a slight incline of his head. “Kill him well, Princess Chantel.”
“It’s Queen Cookie. And he’s as good as dead.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
COOKIE SQUEEZED THE thorn she’d collected from the vine, dripping King Hador’s blood into the spyglass’s container. When she peered through the peephole, she spotted the monarch near the former campground, exactly as Micah had warned. A hundred soldiers surrounded him, waiting for her arrival. Men who stood in the way of Kaysar’s happiness.
Tents littered the area behind them, other guards hiding within them, no doubt.
She smoothed the lines of her dress and inhaled. This was it. The day she severed Kaysar’s tie with the past. Without a driving need to punish Hador, his dream of peace and family had a fighting chance.
Kaysar could begin to heal.
As they’d lain together, she’d felt his deep longing to let go. She’d known he simply required help.
With a steady hand, Cookie placed the elderseed on her tongue. Chewed. Swallowed.
Heartbeat...
Heartbeat...