“Let me guess.” How bored she sounded. “Your kind lived in harmony with mine until we persecuted you. Some ancient fae banded together, using magic to create a new world. Without a common enemy, fae kingdoms are now divided against themselves, always at war.”
“We never lived among you,” he grumbled. Not for long. His ancestors had visited the mortal world to offer aid, and they’d died for their efforts.
“So, what’s the biggest danger out here? To me personally, in case I wasn’t clear.”
Me. “Some would say a stickypit.”
“Stickypit?”
“Trees like the one ahead. They bleed when they’re wounded. Watch.” As he passed it, he raked his claws through its trunk. Thick red liquid oozed out. “Once a trickle begins, it can’t be halted. Soon a pool will form at the trunk’s base, and anyone who comes into contact with it will remain glued there for the rest of their life.”
“What?” She threw herself against him to escape the sap. He’d expected the action—had hoped for it, at least—and coiled an arm around her, pulling her to his side. As he continued walking, he kept a tight clasp on her hip.
He liked the way she fit his grip.
“I would have believed you without an example,” she stated. “Why’d you have to go and murder an innocent tree?”
“Because your husband is following us, and I will relish his bellows if he’s caught.” Oh, yes. The prince had found their trail a few miles back.
“What!” she cried again.
“If you have a message for him, thirty-eight pixies are hiding nearby, happy to carry it to him.”
“Pixies suck. Oh, yeah. Speaking of, I overheard you tell Jareth you killed the pink one.”
Would she dare complain about his savagery?
“Thank you,” she said, flicking him a glance laden with...something. What was that? Awe? As if he were some kind of hero? “I owed her a whole lot of nasty.”
Forget the pangs. Kaysar’s chest blistered. “You’re welcome?” He didn’t know what else to say. No one had ever thanked him for ending a life.
When the hairs on his nape stood up, he realized an outpost neared, a place where fae purchased food, lodging and supplies. Chantel would never know. Outposts were pocket realms hidden by an invisible curtain or veil.
He would thrill in her ignorance, of course. The worsening pang meant nothing.
Miles beyond this particular outpost was the waterfall. The entrance to the Dusklands. His home away from home. A desolate kingdom with few other inhabitants.
Though he hadn’t visited in, what? Twenty years? He loved the kingdom few others dared to enter. Or rather, he liked it. Kaysar wasn’t sure he was capable of loving anything. But he did enjoy the solitude he found in the Dusklands. The few remaining citizens always hid from him, and the monsters who usually tormented them always provided an outlet for his worst rages.
He quickened his pace, forcing the princess to jog to keep up.
“Speaking of Jareth,” Chantel said, bringing his thoughts back to the present. “That man disgusts me.”
Shock. Tenderness. Both hit Kaysar, and he slowed, basking in their warmth. Then a worry sprang up, as cold as ice, ruining everything. Would Chantel feel the same disgust for him, when she learned the truth about what really happened to Lulundria?
Could he win her back when he had yet to win her in the first place? Maybe. But she’d want to leave him first, and he’d have to go more days and nights without her. He didn’t want to go more days and nights without her.
Faster. His stride lengthened.
“So, how do you spot a doormaker?” Chantel asked.
Why. No. Curiosity. About. Him? They were teammates. She’d said so. She should care about his interests. “You don’t spot a doormaker. You hear rumors, and you pay him a visit to perform a test.”
“And you’ve heard rumors?”
“Oh, yes.” Centuries ago, he’d heard many speculations about a male living in the Dusklands, someone who opened doors to the mortal world using a fire-based glamara. Had Kaysar killed him a short time later? Yes. But he’d still heard the rumors. “Do you have no other questions for me?”
“Well, I’m interested in learning more about flittering,” she said, panting as he lengthened his stride yet again. “I’m guessing you can’t flitter a non-flitterer like me by holding my hand? What I mean is, Jareth mentioned holding my hand to whisk me away. Is that something you can do but for some reason you’re choosing not to?”
“I’m offended you must ask, sweetling.” Suspicious of him already? His gut tightened. He lifted her feet off the ground and sped into a light run. “Of course I can flitter you. I can flitter anyone. My powers are vast.”
She scrambled to throw her arms around him, trying not to teeter from his hold. “Why haven’t you flittered me already? I’m so ready to not walk, Kaysar.”