AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The king paled, and the princes tensed. But none of the trio obeyed him. They exchanged glances instead.
“Did I detect a thread of compulsion?” King Hador raised his brows, as if impressed.
“I think you did.” Prince Lark expelled a breath, then ran the lobe of Kaysar’s ear between his teeth. “Don’t you know? To command a royal fae, your glamara must be stronger than his, no matter what ability you wield.”
Icy cold invaded Kaysar’s limbs.
“Let me kill him instead.” An evil grin lifted the corners of Prince Jareth’s mouth. “Like Uncle, I need practice.”
Smiling with a sick kind of glee, the king unsheathed a dagger. “Sorry, my boy, but I owe your uncle a treat. I’ll take no chances, however.”
Horror threatened to drown Kaysar. He erupted into motion, bucking, straining. The bigger male had no difficulty gripping his chin, prying open his mouth and aligning a blade against the side of his tongue. Once again, the princes laughed and laughed and laughed.
The king began to saw, removing his tongue. Searing pain, utter agony. Black spots flashed before Kaysar’s eyes. Blood clogged his airways. So dizzy. When his knees buckled, the prince let him go. He crashed into the ground, black dots weaving through his vision.
He tried to crawl away. Must return... Viori. But darkness swallowed him.
One year later
A CLINK-CLANK OF METAL. A high-pitched groan as unoiled hinges ground together. Then, a continuous thud of footsteps as Kaysar’s tormentor ascended an eternity-long but too short staircase.
A ragged inhalation stabbed his nostrils and cut his lungs. Heart banging like a hammer, he slinked back and pressed against the wall, where shadows engulfed him. Bare flesh met frigid stone, and he hissed, his chain rattling ever so slightly, adding a new note to the ominous melody.
Lark was back.
The prince could have flittered, appearing directly in the room, but he preferred to draw out his approach and build anticipation.
Kaysar darted his gaze, focusing on inane details. The sun had begun to fall. Muted beams of light streamed through the only window, illuminating the highest room in the highest tower of the Winterlands Palace, the crown jewel of the Winter Court. Here, Kaysar had some of the comforts he’d longed to give Viori. A built-in bed with a goose-down mattress. A freestanding tub and access to fresh water, a true luxury. But oh, how he despised this place.
He’d suffered every moment of his capture. Prince Lark and King Hador had abused him however they’d pleased, whenever they’d pleased, keeping Kaysar confined with the diamond-studded collar he’d once hoped to sell. A length of chain stretched between the collar and the wall, the links impenetrable. The royals fed him only enough to exist.
In the beginning, he’d felt like a trapped animal. He’d fought his circumstances with the full force of his might. When all the rage, hatred, guilt and shame had finally reached a tragic crescendo, his mind had...broken. In the aftermath, he’d discovered only the hatred remained.
Every minute of every day he seethed with the desire—the consuming need—to slaughter his enemies. The screams he would elicit. Oh, the screams. Then, his hunt for his beloved Viori could begin.
His chest constricted. Was she all right? Had someone found and helped her? Had someone harmed her? In his worst nightmares, he imagined her dying of thirst days after he’d abandoned her in those vines.
A tear escaped, sliding down his cheek.
Thump-thump. Kaysar stiffened as the prince’s footsteps drew closer. Today, he launched his escape. If he failed...
He couldn’t fail.
He wiped his damp brow with the back of his hand and hummed a soft melody. Vibrations raced along his tongue—a tongue now in the process of regrowing. Lark had no idea. But he would.
Kaysar smiled as he imagined blood pouring from the prince’s every orifice.
Another clink-clank of metal. Another serenade of hinges followed as the door swung open...and Lark appeared, consuming the space. Pale curls disheveled, pointy ears on display. Blue eyes glassy. He wore a wrinkled white tunic and leathers, a pair of daggers sheathed at his waist. The scent of sour wine and sweat tainted the air.
“I don’t think you’re going to like what I’ve planned today,” the prince said with a grin.
Hate him. Hate them all. Lark and Hador had taken so much from Kaysar. His sister. His freedom. His honor. His sanity. Even his future.
They take no more.
Laughing, always laughing, the prince stalked forward, removing and dropping his shirt along the way.
The hatred collected in Kaysar’s throat, singeing him. He shouted, “Stop.”
Lark...obeyed. The prince’s brow furrowed with confusion. He resisted the immobility—but he didn’t take another step.
Then. That moment. Kaysar tasted victory and only craved more.
“How?” Lark demanded, throwing the question at him.
How had Kaysar, who’d yet to freeze into his immortality, regrown a portion of his tongue? “I’ve been humming a healing song to myself.” He hadn’t used his voice in so long. The simple joy of it! “Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “I make you hurt.”
