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A pang sizzled in his chest, but he ignored it, honing his focus, schooling his features. Let the princess’s seduction begin.
Today he chatted with her. If he received encouragement, he touched. But nothing more than a few light caresses. To keep her glued to his side long-term, he must earn her trust before he claimed her body. “I’m Kaysar de Aoibheall from the Midnight Court, and I’m at your service.” No reason to mention his designation. “Unhinged One” might be a jot difficult to excuse in the beginning.
“Kaysar,” she repeated, her slow drawl turning the zar sound into sir.
The pang only intensified. Disregard. “As for the other question, you alone know who I am to Lulundria. You must only remember.” Filtering the eagerness from his tone, he asked, “Have you relived any of her memories?”
She rocked on her heels. “Only one, and only a fragment, but it was enough. A man hurled ice daggers at her. He hurt her.”
Well, well. Her quiet rage was utterly delicious. Even better, she had referred to Jareth, her husband, as “a man.” A stranger. She considered the prince a merciless killer.
The first hint of satisfaction teased Kaysar. As good as mine.
He pretended to think the matter over and nodded. “Perhaps it’s best not to seek any other memories. What if they’re worse?”
“I definitely do not want to remember another woman’s memories. I barely handle my own.”
That, he understood. He stalked another circle around her, inspecting his prize once more. But once wasn’t enough. There was too much of her to enjoy, so he kept going. With each loop, he increased the distance between them to take in more of her. No woman had a right to smell sweeter than poisonvine. Especially this woman.
Unfamiliar needs battered him. Kiss. Lick. Touch. For pleasure.
Ire forever at the fore, he scowled. Kaysar experiencing pleasure with a Frostline, doing things he considered a chore?
“You’re sending me mixed signals, and I’m not a fan.” For this perusal, she moved with him, her gaze firmly attached to him, no matter where he stood. “Are you planning to do foul things to me or not? I honestly can’t tell.”
He answered without thought. “Tell me your definition of foul.”
She blink-blinked, a pfft of air parting her lips. A bright smile spread. “Dang, you’re hot. I’ll be honest. I think you’re into me. And I admit, I might be a little into you, too.”
That smile stopped him in his tracks and robbed him of breath. Exquisite.
He met her gaze and forced a smile of his own. He’d paid the realm’s finest concubines to teach him how to charm and intrigue, and he utilized those skills now. “You aren’t wrong... Chantel. I am very much into you.”
Relaxing further, she asked, “Where are we?”
“This is Astaria.” Your new home.
“Astaria,” she echoed, surveying the land around them. “Not Rhoswyn? Or Loloria? Or Enchantia?”
“There are five fae kingdoms, also known as courts. Midnight or Nightlands. Summer. Autumn. Spring. And Winter.” He grated the last. “There’s also a territory known as the Dusklands. We are currently in the Forest of Many Names.”
“Fae,” she squeaked. “I knew it. But are we talking Seelie and Unseelie? Or does it even matter?”
“Fae are fae.” Dissatisfied with the distance, Kaysar eased closer, reentering Chantel’s flowery force field. His blood heated slowly, simmering...boiling.
Her scent reminded him of poisonvine—no, not poisonvine, not exactly, but a far more potent and pure strain. His head fogged.
“Shall I tell you how Lulundria and I first met?” he asked silkily.
“Yes, please,” she rasped, licking her ruby lips.
Tension coiled inside his muscles as never before, a shock to his system. “Six months ago, I came upon Lulundria in this forest with her husband, a Winterland prince. The evil man you saw in the memory. With my aid, the darling Lulundria escaped, running away. I’ve sought her ever since. I’ve craved her ever since.” He observed her expression, saying “Now I crave you.”
Her features softened, any lingering stiffness evaporating.
Oh, yes. This seduction was laughably easy indeed.
She searched his gaze. To his consternation, her stiffness returned gradually. When the metamorphosis was completed, she straightened with a snap, stepped back to widen the distance between them. “I may have Lulundria’s heart, but I assure you, I’m not her.”
He snapped, “What use are you to me, if you aren’t Lulundria?”
She took another step back. Good. Let her dread the temper of the man who decided her fate. As a Frostline, her every breath was a gift from Kaysar. Let her see the blood of the enemies he’d slaughtered on her behalf.
Her behalf? No. Every murder had served his master, vengeance. Nothing mattered more than her husband’s pain and suffering.
“Also,” she said, as if his outburst meant nothing to her, “I don’t want to be a princess. They’re the weakest characters.”
He had no idea how to respond. Deep breath in. Out. Kaysar offered the princess his best imitation of a reassuring smile. “You are Lulundria in every way that matters. You are also married to the prince who killed you.” To further increase her distrust of the prince, he told her, “Jareth pierced Lulundria’s internal organs with ice directly in front of me. I fought him and chased after her, intending to heal and protect her. But in her pain, fear got the better of her, and she created her vines. The stalks dragged her through a doorway, and she vanished.”
