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“Don’t listen to him, my sweet.” With the prince immobilized by devastation, Kaysar eased the princess upon a bed of wildflowers and grinned. “I’ll patch you right up after I install you inside your new home.” Truth. He owned a sliver of elderseed. Perhaps the last in existence. The mystical seed had many uses, and healing the unhealable was one of them.
“No,” Jareth bellowed, diving on him. “I won’t let you have her body.”
They rolled over the ground, grappling for dominance. Seizing her opportunity, the princess scrambled to her feet and tripped into a run. He let her go. For now.
On their feet again. Huffing his breath, Jareth swung at Kaysar again and again. “She did nothing to you. She never hurt you. Never hurt anyone.”
“She aligned herself with your family.” He blocked and clawed, laughing as he tore through muscle. “That’s enough.”
Jareth slowed with every injury, but he never stopped swinging. “What do you want from me? What will end your sick obsession? Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
Certainly. “I want everything and nothing, always and never, but only if you don’t want to give them to me.” He stalked a circle around his prey. “Why are you so worried, prince? I meant what I said. I’ll patch up your wife, and she’ll be as good as new. I’ll even return her to you. Eventually.”
Blue eyes blazing, Jareth attacked with mounting vigor. Kaysar avoided the next punches before going in for the kill. Well, not the kill, but close. He opened his mouth and sang.
In seconds, the prince lost all color. He pressed his hands over his ears, but it did him no good. Blood poured from his nose, and he toppled, soon writhing in agony. Kaysar only quieted when Jareth lay unconscious.
He waited, expecting a surge of satisfaction. A flicker of triumph. Something. He’d won another round, as predicted. But...
Over too soon!
No matter. He had another shot at it. Soon he’d have the princess in his bed. But first he must catch her.
Brimming with anticipation, he scanned the trees. There. She had slowed her pace. Blood soaked her tunic.
As he stalked her, twigs snapped under his boots. She cast a frantic glance over her shoulder. Crying out, she swung her arms at a faster clip.
“I can help you, princess,” he called. Truth. Always. Kaysar never lied.
Too easily did he remember watching the Frostline king and princes through his window in the tower. How he’d fumed as the trio had played to the crowds, smiling and waving, accepting the praises and cheers as if they owned hearts of gold.
Another frantic glance over her shoulder. Lulundria tripped over a log and careened, landing in a mud puddle. Though weaker than before, she trudged to her feet. She—what was this? Thorny green vines flowed from her hands, slithering over the dirt and unfurling like snakes. Growing. The stalks stretched before her and seeped mist. A good distance away, the end of both the right and left vine switched direction, rising toward the sky and twining together, forming an arch.
Her ability surpassed a plant-based glamara. She’d opened a portal to the mortal world, something only a doormaker could do.
Realization stripped him of calm. If she made it through that doorway, Jareth’s ice would kill her, as feared, and Kaysar would lose an invaluable opportunity.
He flittered directly behind her and reached out... Argh! She slipped from his hold. The vines remained attached to her, curling from her wrists to her fingertips, pulling her closer and closer to the door.
“I only wish to aid you, princess.” He flittered again, but she contorted, avoiding his clasp.
If he appeared in front of the portal, she might barrel into him, knocking him into the mortal world along with her. Or without her. Leave the Frostlines without a guaranteed means to return to Astaria? Never. But he needed to put his own child on the Winter Court throne. His vengeance demanded it. So Kaysar used the only option available to him. Compulsion.
As Princess Lulundria zipped through the portal, he readied his glamara and called, “Return to me, princess. Return to me by any means necessary.”
A moment later, she vanished in the mist. As the vines withered to ash and twirled away on the wind, Kaysar stopped and cursed. Doormakers required weeks to recharge after opening a portal. Was his glamara strong enough to recharge her now? Today?
An hour ticked by, frustration gnawing at his temper.
She must return. She must, she must, she must. The desire to obey him probably consumed her by now, aiding her survival. So where was she? How long must he wait?
CHAPTER THREE
The Mortal Realm
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
Present Day
“I HOPE YOU like the taste of your balls, Nick, because I’m about to shove them down your throat.” Chantel “Cookie” Bardot tapped her fingers over the game controller at lightning speed, guiding her female Mad Hatter to beat the fire out of a Prince Charming wannabe.
