Heartless (Immortal Enemies 1)

In here, Kaysar kept the material goods he’d stolen from the Frostlines. Trunks filled with clothing they’d worn during special occasions. Invaluable family jewels. Swords they’d commissioned from the most skilled blacksmiths. He’d even taken furnishings, paintings and—his personal favorite—the urn containing Prince Lark.

One day, Kaysar would decide how best to desecrate the ashes.

What did Chantel require? She’d need clothes, of course. He shoved several gowns into the bag, unconcerned by size since fae garments magically fit the wearer, whoever the wearer happened to be. Although... She’d be too comfortable in these.

He wanted more than her misery—he wanted her dependent.

Kaysar removed the gowns and selected much lighter ones with nearly transparent material. Basically nightgowns. He grinned. Until the heat in his groin reignited, and his shaft hardened.

Spontaneous desire for the princess needed to stop. What did he care about a woman’s attire? Especially garments he planned to peel from her body as soon as he bedded her.

A groan sprung from him. Chantel...naked...

What color were her nipples? Did she have pink or sable curls between her legs? Would those emerald irises with their silver flecks go soft as he brought her to climax?

He pressed a hand to his aching length—wishing it was her hand.

With a growl, he blindly crammed something into the bag. What else, what else? This, this, and this. Yes, yes. This. Elderseed. He carefully set the large black brick-like object in the folds of a gown.

If someone mortally wounded Chantel anytime in the future, Kaysar now had the means to heal her right away.

What else? As he stalked across the chamber, the soles of his waterlogged boots squeaked. He should change into dry—Shoes. He’d almost forgotten. Where were the shoes?

He flittered to Eye’s bedroom, took a step forward, and paused. His seer lounged in a clawfoot tub before a blazing hearth, enfolded in a thick veil of steam. She’d piled her dark hair on her crown. In a reclined position, with her eyes closed, she presented a picture of total relaxation.

Envy scorched the cracks in his chest. “Give me your shoes,” he demanded.

Her eyelids popped open, and she screamed, scrambling to her feet. Water droplets slicked down her nakedness. Nakedness she attempted to cover with her hands before scrambling again, reaching for a towel.

He rolled his eyes. “You are of no interest to me in that regard.” Kaysar didn’t see people. He saw pawns and obstacles. “Where are your shoes?”

“Y-your majesty,” she sputtered. “How did you enter without—never mind. Now isn’t a good time for anything. You should leave. Please.”

He offered a cold laugh. “Aren’t you amusing today? Attempting to eject me from the bedroom I allow you to breathe in.”

Her fingers clenched on the edge of her towel. “Perhaps you should be nicer to me. I’ve had a vision about your princess.”

He acted without thought, flittering to her. So close the tips of their noses brushed together. “What did you see? Tell me.”

Words tripped from her tongue. “She is more than Lulundria. She is the skin she wears.”

He waited for her to say more. She didn’t. Confusion drew his brows together. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know. I only sense this is similar to the heart issue. The skins are her, but they are also not her, both a part of her and separate from her, not yet fully formed.” She bent her head and rubbed her temple. “Chantel is still figuring herself out. She hasn’t chosen a path.”

“You speak nonsense.” Useless female. He moved away with a huff and shuffled through the room, searching for slippers, sandals or boots. In the closet, he found books. Hundreds of volumes stored in a private library.

He scanned the contents of every dresser drawer. Nothing. His fists turned heavy as fury collected there.

He raised his arm to strike something. The room didn’t have what he wanted? Very well. The room was coming down, to be nothing but a pile of stones. At the last moment, he spotted a shelf of varying footwear on the balcony outside and flittered over.

Grinning now, Kaysar grabbed a pair of bejeweled boots a portion of his brain recognized. Where had he seen them before?

As he readied to rejoin his princess, Eye called to him from inside the bedroom. “Your majesty, wait! You must see what I see.” She pushed a new image into his mind.

Like every instance before, a scene took shape, making him feel as if he peered at a painting come to life. Chantel, sprinting through the forest, panic etched into her features.

Hundreds of emotions welled up at once, none of them good. Muscles tensed, and bones vibrated. He primed his claws. “When does this occur?” he demanded.

“About five minutes ago.”

In danger? Or had she seized an opportunity to escape him, as boasted?

Whatever the answer, someone died today.

Temper redlining, Kaysar flittered to the field of carnage. Frigid raindrops sizzled on his skin, white-hot rage coating him. No sign of Chantel. The fae and mortal prisoners he’d commanded to remain noticed him and rushed over to plead for mercy.