She trudged back, growing warmer only when she stood at his side.
As she met his gaze, his irises blazed with satisfaction. Had she made a terrible mistake?
“You’re a king, huh?” Wait. “Do you have a queen?” Cheaters were liars who’d leveled up; they made the worst teammates. The worst everything.
His face scrunched with distaste. “I will never have a queen.”
“Commitment isn’t your thing, huh?” Very well. Cookie was going to do it. She was going to hitch her wagon to his.
“You may have your exception, as well,” he grated, ignoring her question. “You will not run from me...unless you feel I’m endangering your life. Me. I can protect you from any other threat.” He had a caveat of his own, apparently. “But. Before you run, you will tell me you feel as if I’m endangering your life. Only after I have confirmed that you are in fact in danger may you run. I’ll even give you a head start.”
“What do you want for the supplies then?” Since he wouldn’t be giving her that hour long tour to convince her to agree to his terms. Best they be clear.
“You will not naysay me again.”
Uh... “I’m going to need exceptions. But other than that,” she added before he could complain, “I agree to your terms.”
He traced his tongue over his teeth. “I must leave you here to source other shoes.” Rather than celebrating a mutually beneficial arrangement, he projected irritation. “You will stay here, in this exact spot. You will not move. These women will stand guard around you. If they flee, they die. If you are injured during my absence, they will die badly.” With that, he disappeared.
Cookie glanced at the terrified faces around her. What have I gotten myself into?
CHAPTER TEN
“EXCEPTIONS,” KAYSAR GRUMBLED, materializing in his bedroom. “The audacity of the chit!” He stomped to his closet and grabbed the bag he used to cart around a severed head or organs whenever necessary. The magical, self-cleaning cloth couldn’t be ripped, even with his metal claws.
Did Chantel know how close she’d come to losing her head? “I bow to the dictates of no one.”
Since escaping the Frostlines, Kaysar had done what he wanted, when he wanted, with zero exceptions. Until today, when a former mortal dared to walk away from a powerful king she desperately needed on her side.
The wily beauty had certainly astonished him. She’d planned to leave him for good, jeopardizing her life and his vengeance, forcing him to capitulate to her demands or go to war with her. A choice between bad or worse.
But then, he’d given her an equally miserable choice. Help me destroy your husband or suffer. Not that she’d known it.
For some reason, the newly resurrected instinct to protect issued an increasingly loud protest. The princess must never suffer.
Protect and coddle Chantel—a Frostline—from his schemes? So she possessed the face of a doll from his most treasured memories? So she offered him a chance to be a savior at long last? Laughing a maniacal sound, he slammed his fist into the wall. Stone crumbled. Skin split, and bone cracked.
He was no one’s savior. Yet still the tug-of-war persisted. Use her. Protect her. Use. Protect.
He thought he might...admire her a little. Her stubbornness seemed to rival his own. She’d toed up to a pitiless opponent, consequences be damned. Despite her fear, she’d sought his embrace. Twice. But not with the hopes of luring him into bed, as others had done in the past, thinking to tame the unhinged king. No, she had pursued comfort. From him.
That fact might forever baffle him.
His conflicting objectives hardly mattered, though. Vengeance first. Chantel demanded a search for a doormaker? Very well. She’d get one. And she would despise every second of it. He would do more than make her uncomfortable. He would push and push and push until she reached her breaking point. She had one; everyone did.
Eager to return, Kaysar stalked through his bedroom, stuffing anything he thought she might need into the bag. As he riffled through his belongings, his mind strayed to Jareth. Would the prince balk when he met the stubborn beauty unwilling to back down from a battle of wills? Or rejoice?
I want you this much, he’d told Lulundria while stroking his shaft. How much more might he desire this one, a woman who appeared created from carnality itself?
Old bitterness merged with new. What if the prince took Chantel to bed as soon as Kaysar finished with her, too relieved by her return to care about her pregnancy?
Jareth, daring to enjoy her curvy little body night after night... The outrage!
He deserves no pleasure. Kaysar punched the wall again. And again. And again and again and again. Skin split. Knuckles shattered like glass. But his rage failed to cool.
Perhaps he’d keep Chantel for years.
Slightly mollified, he flittered to a treasure trove in the catacombs of his castle. Eternal torches illuminated a doorless room, casting muted golden light over a sea of gold coins, gemstones and weapons. A thousand maps hung over the stone walls. In the center of the chamber was a massive marble water fountain topped by a likeness of Prince Jareth’s dead mother.