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Kaysar’s song? What was so bad about his song? Jareth had freaked out about it, too.
“As you can see,” the leader announced, “I have been expecting your arrival.”
Wait. Back up. Had the guy insinuated that he and his men purposefully deafened themselves? To avoid a song?
The army formed a half circle at the canyon’s ledge, blocking the left, right and center paths of escape, if Cookie and Kaysar ever crossed over.
“You will leave or you will die,” he added, confident. Smug.
Just got here, and it’s already game over?
Kaysar couldn’t flitter. A bridge hadn’t magically appeared. Either they retreated or they cliff dived without a chute.
Many of the soldiers held torches, soft amber light illuminating the warriors with arrows nocked and spears lifted.
“Do not worry, sweetling.” Kaysar clasped and lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles, sending shivers down her spine. “These lands are mine. No one keeps me from what’s mine.”
What else did Kaysar consider his? No, silly question. How did he think to defeat this many soldiers?
Heat blazed in Cookie’s hands, traveling up her arms to collect in her shoulders. Vines prepared to sprout. The speed of her reaction astounded her, but the urge to protect her newly minted teammate was undeniable.
“How kind of you to welcome my return with a gift. One of my favorites, no less. Foes to slaughter.” Kaysar’s eyes gleamed with delight, boosting her confidence. Perhaps the vengeful king knew tricks?
A male in the center of the horde, maybe the biggest male in the batch, directed his mount forward. Though everyone else wore gleaming armor, creating a living, breathing Terracotta Army, he sported a plain black tunic and leather pants. Standard attire. No helmet shielded his features. And what incredible features they were. Dark eyes currently smeared with black paint and pale skin. Straight nose and full lips. Jet hair spiked from his scalp.
The fae certainly grew their men right.
Without looking back, his men recognized the correct time to move from his path. They returned to their original spots as soon as he passed.
The warrior giant kept his attention fixed on a female who stood before the entire army, with two torch-bearing soldiers posted at her sides. She used hand signals to communicate Kaysar’s words?
A sudden icy wind brushed her nape, and Cookie spun. Ambush? Oh, yes. A blood soaked Jareth flew from the waterfall, his dagger aimed at Kaysar.
Strike her partner from behind?
Not on Cookie’s watch. In reflex, she dove at the prince with her arms outstretched. She intended to crash into him and knock him aside before contact with Kaysar. Her vines burst forth first, coiling around his wrist. He reacted as if she’d hit him with a wrecking ball, convulsing.
As he plummeted, a spear whooshed past her, mere inches from her fingers, then embedded in Jareth’s shoulder, flinging him backward and pinning him to the rock wall. He never hit the ground.
Everything happened so fast. Too fast for Cookie to disengage from the prince. Connected by a vine, she was dragged toward the rock wall herself—until a hard clamp on her nape and a harder tug hauled her against Kaysar. He snaked a powerful arm around her waist, trapping her body against his.
“Let go.” He squeezed her hand, forcing her to release the vines.
Leaves withered, ending her connection to Jareth.
Heart galloping a hundred miles an hour, she spun and gripped his shirt. My hero! “Thank you, Kaysar.”
“You meant to save me,” he told her, his voice nothing but gravel and smoke. He maintained his grip a moment more, the hand on her nape gentling. He roved his fingertips over her cheek. “You didn’t hesitate to risk your life for mine.”
For a moment, she forgot their audience, her attention enraptured by his beautiful face. “I told you I’d be an asset to the team, and I meant it.”
He tenderly swiped the pad of his thumb over the rise of her cheek, searching her gaze. “You are magnificent.”
Admiration from a guy like Kaysar curled her toes.
Jareth bellowed curses, struggling to free himself.
Impatient, the leader of the horde called, “I am King Micah the Unwilling, ruler of the Dusklands and sovereign of the Forgotten Court, and you will heed my commands.”
“What did you say?” Soft voice, homicidal tone. Kaysar lowered his chin, his mouth resetting into a vicious sneer as he focused on the leader. “Did you refer to yourself as king? Of my lands and a nonexistent court?”
Okay. Cookie now understood how she and Kaysar could survive a battle. He would kill everyone in a rage.
People gonna die.
King Micah watched the interpreter. “You have not walked these lands for over two hundred years, King Kaysar. No longer do they belong to you. Everything you see is mine.”
Each sentence seemed to toss a log onto Kaysar’s internal inferno. Undercurrents of hostility pulsed from him. “Twenty years or two hundred and twenty centuries matters little. What’s mine remains mine. Always. I won these lands. I own these lands.”
