Soon enough, they would learn a harsh truth. You could count on no one but yourself.
The centaurs hoped to use the mortals as servants, the forest nymphs as sex slaves, and the fae as food. A culinary horror meant to extend the eaters’ lives.
Unlike the fae, who often lived an infinite number of millennia, centaurs usually expired after fifty or sixty years. However, the consumption of a fae—any fae but a royal—could buy a centaur an extra ten years or so. The royals were a different breed entirely. Eat one of them, and you gained an immortal’s eternal life. The reason Eye had warned the princess was soon to die?
Kaysar released a soft snarl. The centaurs thought to eat his vengeance?
Oh, the pain they were soon to suffer...
Where was his princess? He drummed his claws against the tree trunk, impatient as he studied the rest of the procession. In the middle of the pack, two warriors carried a log between them, an end resting upon each male’s shoulder. A woman hung from the center. Filthy rags clothed her, the length of her pink hair dragging over dirt and rocks.
Relief punched Kaysar, every fiber of his being assuring him of her identity. He had found Princess Lulundria.
Nothing could stop his vengeance now.
The centaurs had tied her wrists and ankles, dangling her from the beam like a prized hog. A tunic was stuffed inside her mouth, its sleeves knotted at her nape to secure it in place. They practically gift wrapped her for me.
Perhaps she’d be so overcome with gratitude after his rescue, she’d forget the little skirmish he’d had with her husband, the day she’d run from him.
Trying not to smile, Kaysar flittered to the start of the convoy.
The leader reared up, then raised a fist, calling, “Halt.” As he settled, Kaysar’s identity clicked, and the color drained from his golden skin. “King Kaysar.” The centaur bowed his head in acknowledgment. “How...blessed we are to see you.”
Though the soldier stood several feet taller than Kaysar, he quaked with fear. As he should. A pink pixie sat on his shoulder, watching Kaysar warily.
The centaur asked, “How may we serve you?”
He’d dealt with this colt before. Race, the cocky son of the centaurian emperor, considered himself a formidable foe. He wasn’t.
The male had seized a Frostline, against orders. Now, he paid the toll.
“It’s come to my attention that you failed to pay this month’s Heartbeat Tax.” Monies owed for Kaysar’s willingness to let him have a heartbeat. “You’ll be happy to know I’m feeling benevolent. I’ve decided you may apologize with a gift. I’ll hear your thanks now.”
Blink, blink. “Th-thank you. But...” The warrior inched backward. “The next payment isn’t due for another week.”
“Which means you’re already two days late, doesn’t it?” Kaysar chided, enjoying the man’s discomfort. “For this unforgivable blunder, I’ll expect double your usual fee. Also, at your insistence, I’ll be choosing my own gift.”
“Of course, but—”
“But? I don’t recall requesting a debate about this. Now, what shall I choose?” With his hands clasped behind his back, Kaysar meandered through the ranks. No one wanted to die, so no one attempted to halt him. Not shoving everyone aside and rushing to the princess required immense effort. By some miracle, he sustained a slow, unhurried pace.
Race trotted to his side. “Perhaps you’d allow me to aid your selection? I’m happy to have my men show you everything we own while you sit and rest.” He clapped his hands in command.
“No,” Kaysar said simply, no one daring to rush over. Finally, his patience received its reward. The log came into view...and there she was. Princess Lulundria of the Summer Court, with marital ties to the Winter Court.
Pleasure unfurled. So close to my goal.
As she struggled against her bonds, their eyes met and—she stilled. Kaysar stutter-stepped. To remain upright, he flittered his next step. Once steady, he paused. His heart thundered in his chest.
This wasn’t Lulundria.
Oh, she had the requisite pink hair, but the strands were intertwined with sable. And her skin...she glowed with radiant light, a beacon. Would he instigate an eclipse if he stood between her and the sun?
She had the most delicate features, reminding him of Drendall, the doll his sister had carried. Such imperfect perfection. A treasure trove in need of further study. A wide forehead led to thicker than average eyebrows. Big eyes. Exquisitely big. Long black lashes surrounded irises the color of a forest at sunset.
He pulled at his collar. Looking into those eyes did something to him. Shifted something. He didn’t understand or like it. But he didn’t want to stop it. Frowning, he forced his attention to her next features. Pink cheeks. A button nose. Lush red lips parted around the gag. A tiny dimple dotted what looked to be a stubborn chin.
She died and yet she lives.