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Longing returned, ravaging him. “I’ll have children with you. If you want them. We could be a family then.”
Her breath hitched. “Oh, Kaysar.” Sobbing, she hurled herself into his body and pushed him to his back. She draped herself over him as tremors rocked her. Warm teardrops quickly soaked his chest.
A riot erupted inside him. His heart thudded, his stomach turning over again and again. “Chantel? What is this?”
“I love you so much, and I’m going to give you the most amazing life.” She squeezed him tight before sagging against him. “Just hold me, okay? I’m not ready for this moment to end.”
That, he understood. Kaysar enfolded her in the strength of his arms. In the silence, his eyelids grew heavy. He fought to remain awake, but that wondrous contentment was spreading through him again, burrowing deeper.
When he realized her heart beat in sync with his, he lost the battle.
“Tomorrow is the start of a long, joyous life for you,” she told him softly. Her voice called to him. “Sleep now.”
“For you, anything,” he said, the words slurred. As Kaysar fell into the abyss at last, he smiled.
* * *
I WILL SET him free.
Cookie stole five minutes for herself. Three hundred seconds to savor Kaysar’s strength and warmth. Because she knew. By morning, his love for her would morph into hatred. A fact she’d accepted. Better his hatred than his continued misery.
Kaysar craved a family of his own, but he couldn’t have it while Hador lived, and he wouldn’t want one with Cookie once she did what she planned. Or maybe he would? She didn’t know, but she suspected...not.
Either way, she killed Hador today. For Kaysar.
No longer would he be shackled to the past and his unending quest for vengeance. He could create his family with another woman. He could be happy. Cookie’s gift to him. That was how much she loved him.
Tears welled anew, but she blinked them back. She must be strong. He craved an end to his torment, and she could give it to him. Easily. The only cost—her own happiness. Her future. He would hate her, at least for a while. But even still, he needed her to do this. Deep down, he must hope she would settle the matter. So she would.
Fighting another round of tears, Cookie detangled from Kaysar at last. Naked, she strode into her closet, accompanied by flashes of lighting and the pitter-patter of rain.
Kaysar slept on.
She peered at the gown she’d avoided since its appearance in her closet. The white one with sharp angles. A weapon Kaysar had gifted to her. A way to help with this mission, as a part of him must have known. Not wedding apparel, after all, but a supervillain. The merciless assassin willing to do anything to avenge little Kaysar and Viori.
The material cinched to Cookie’s body, adhering to every curve as if painted there. The sharp edges around the collar, shoulders and wrists fit her current temperament. Split sleeves provided peeks of her arms as she moved. Multiple slits in the skirt did the same for her legs. The hem pooled around her feet, reminding her of a snowdrift.
A thick frost glazed her insides, leaving her icy cold—deadly—in all the best ways. She plaited her hair into war braids. Satisfied with her appearance, she gathered the elderseed she’d plucked from the potted plant and stashed it in her pocket. After flittering to the throne room, she collected the Winter king’s blood, stored inside a thorn.
Jareth slept on the dais, but awoke before she could sneak away. He eased up and looked her over. Comprehension dawned, and he whistled. “You are the female he needs, but after tonight, you might not be the female he wants.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” She raised her chin. “When I return, I’ll free you from your bonds.” She wouldn’t ask—she would just do.
“I don’t know if I wish to go,” he admitted.
Ready to find and destroy Hador, she flittered to the hallway of treasures. As she passed the elaborate, full-length mirror, something strange happened to the glass, and she slowed. Stopped. Ripples blurred her reflection, raising her hackles. She readied her claws.
The ripples halted, Micah’s image filling the mirror, staring back at her. “Hello, Chantel.”
Far from relaxed, she nodded. “Micah.” He was more handsome up close, rugged and with hidden depths of intensity she’d missed before. But then, in Kaysar’s presence, all men paled in comparison. “How kind of you to stop by.”
He tilted his handsome head to the side, studying her from head to toe. His expression revealed a grand total of zero thoughts. “You go to kill King Hador.” A flat statement, rather than a shocked question.
Why deny it? “I do.” She quirked a brow. “Are you planning to stop me?”
“I am not.”
“Why accost me then?”
“The Winter king expects you. He waits at our former campground with a hundred armed fae encircling him, each ready to die to protect him and execute you.”
