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The prince recommenced his struggles, fighting with terrible ferocity. Too late. Kaysar locked his gaze with Lark’s, opened his mouth and screamed. Such a lovely sound. Beautiful and horrifying. Haunting and maddening. He’d screamed before, but never like this. Louder and louder, the cadence echoing. The tower shook, the air crackling with more power than he’d known he possessed.
Blood poured from Lark’s ears, a glorious sight to behold. Kaysar’s thoughts fragmented and crystalized. Kill Lark. Escape. Kill everyone else. Find Viori.
Oh, the fun he’d have on his way out of the Winter Court.
Lark collapsed, writhing in agony. When he failed to gain relief, he blindly patted his waist until he clutched a dagger.
Kaysar’s scream broke as the prince stabbed himself in his ears.
Heaving his breaths, Kaysar prowled closer. Crimson poured from the prince’s every orifice, exactly as he’d imagined. His smile returned. What a marvelous beginning.
“Help.” Pale and shaking, the prince reached for him, reminding Kaysar of the servant girl who’d once reached for Lark. “H-help me.”
His pain and helplessness acted as a balm to Kaysar’s battered soul. “Yes, let me help you,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.
Relief emanated from Lark as Kaysar gently wiped blood from his pale eyes. Then the prince caught Kaysar’s gaze, and the relief morphed into fear.
Delicious.
As the male shook his head in negation, Kaysar claimed the dagger—and struck. Again and again and again. Every blow deluged him with joy, even the barest hint of satisfaction. Like the Frostlines, he laughed and laughed and laughed. Only when Lark’s head detached from his body did Kaysar’s laughter stop.
He frowned. The prince was dead, his life extinguished. But...Kaysar wasn’t finished killing him. He needed to kill Lark again. A mere handful of stabbings wasn’t nearly enough.
Nothing will ever be enough.
Dripping crimson and panting, Kaysar used the dagger to unhinge the collar. When the metal hit the floor, he remained in place. He was free. He should be overflowing with triumph. Instead, he wallowed in fury as the prince’s corpse taunted him. No life meant no misery.
Instead of suffering for eternity, one of Kaysar’s tormentors rested. How was this fair? Lark had tortured Kaysar for a year, only to die in a moment? Unacceptable.
Kaysar would leave the kingdom without making another kill, he decided. He would return to deal with King Hador and Prince Jareth only after he’d built his strength. Soon the entire Frostline family would experience the horrors they had liked to visit upon him. Kill them too soon? No.
It was a mistake Kaysar refused to make again.
CHAPTER ONE
Astaria, the Fae Realm
Midnight Court
“HOW DARE HE!” Kaysar the Unhinged One, King of the Midnight Court, banged his fist on the arm of his throne, an elaborate seat made from stalks of poisonvine. Bloodred flowers with sharp, jagged petals bloomed along the upper arch, perfuming the air with a sweet, intoxicating fragrance. “Something must be done.”
Prince Jareth of the Winterlands had lied to him. Kaysar despised liars. He despised the prince for a thousand other reasons, of course, but the lies... In his estimation, there was no worse crime.
He goes too far.
Another shout brewed. If you couldn’t own your evil, mayhap you shouldn’t commit the act.
With one metal-tipped hand, he braced to rise, ready to strike at Jareth this very moment. With the other metal-tipped hand, he gripped the poisonvine to keep himself seated. “Tell me again, word for word, changing nothing,” he commanded his seer. “Fill my ears with his crime once more.”
“Word for word?” Her tone said what she didn’t. Must I?
“You must.” Though she had mentioned her name once or three dozen times, he knew her only as Eye, a beauty he’d saved from goblins however long ago. Years? Eons? Time had lost all meaning to Kaysar, one day the same as any other. He awoke, thought of ways to punish his foes, and then punished his foes. His methods might vary, but his goal remained unchanged.
“Very well.” Evincing dread, Eye repeated, “I’m so sorry to tell you this, majesty, and please don’t shout, but Prince Jareth approaches your—” She cringed. “Border.”
“How dare he,” Kaysar exploded again.
His companion flinched. “Perhaps you should study your map,” she suggested as a mother to an upset child. “You wish to study your map, yes?”
His map. He tensed before he softened, melting into his throne. “Yes, I wish to study my map.” He plucked his fingers free of the poisonvine and traced his claws along his forearm, the way he used to do as a boy. He welcomed the sting, the drip of blood.
Over the centuries, he’d memorized the layout of Astaria and each of the five fae courts, yet the art of creating a map still calmed him. His sole remaining link to his sister. If he’d ever really had a sister? Sometimes he wondered if he’d imagined her. A figment of his imagination to keep him sane during the worst year of his existence. But deep down, he knew the truth.
