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The simply asked question set off hundreds of alarm bells.
He bristled, barking, “Explain.” You wish to keep her, Unhinged One, or lose her faster? “Please,” he added with a softer tone.
“You claim this land is yours, and yet you abandoned it for two hundred years.”
“I never abandoned it. I lost track of time. Which I would not do with you,” he added. “The land is nice, but it doesn’t offer such...” He dropped his gaze to her breasts. “Stimulating conversation.”
“What of my connection to Jareth?”
Did she pine for the Frostline prince? Kaysar reached for his wine to moisten his dry mouth. The glass shattered in his grip, dark red liquid pouring to the floor. “Have you recalled more of Lulundria’s memories?” he asked as if nothing had happened.
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know I haven’t. Though I do wonder if you wish to keep me in ignorance because you fear the uncovering of another lie.” She leaned over to offer her napkin.
“I have admitted to each of my crimes.” Kaysar accepted the cloth and dabbed his hand before filling a second wineglass. He’d requested extra of everything, just in case. “I merely dislike the thought of my Chantel feeling affection for Lulundria’s prince.”
She double-blinked, nothing more, but he sensed the admission pleased her. “You’ll understand if my trust in your motives remains shaky, yes?”
He opened and closed his mouth twice before settling on a response. “Your lack of trust in my motives is a matter I can rectify with time.” Sweat broke out on his brow, his next words paining him, even before they emerged. “There’s no reason for us to rush to bed. I’m happy to wait until I’ve proven myself.”
“You are happy to wait? Yes, I can see how eager you are to acquire me.”
“I am happy to wait because you need me to be. I will wait however long you require, the end worth any hardships.” Even throbbing, aching hardships.
Again, he sensed his answer pleased her.
She popped another berry into her mouth, thoughtful.
He decided to carry the conversation to the next plateau. His bribes. “You’ll be overjoyed to know I’ve captured a doormaker’s apprentice. He awaits you in the throne room. While he cannot open a doorway to the mortal realm himself, he’s well able to train you to do so. He knows tricks.” A loophole he’d considered after sacking the palace.
He scrutinized her, expectant, hopeful...disappointed when her expression failed to soften.
“You want me forever, but you also wish to teach me how to leave you? Help me understand.” Her level tone belied a slight twitch from her fingers.
A tell. But of what?
Did she notice the way his hands trembled when he placed the softest breads and most delectable puddings on her plate? “You must learn to open doorways to retrieve your loved ones. Pearl Jean and Sugars, yes? I assume you’ll wish to bring them to Astaria. I’m eager to meet them. They’ll live with us, of course, and receive the full protection of my name. Does the royal feline prefer to knock priceless vases from counters or shred irreplaceable antique furnishings? I’m able to acquire both within the hour.” He shook his head. “Foolish question. I’ve already deduced the answer. He prefers both.”
She double-blinked again, and his heart tripped. Another tell. His plan was either working better than he’d dreamed or failing miserably.
His next gift was sure to please. “I’ve decided to bequeath you this fortress, along with everything inside it. The moment you accept, you become Queen of the Dusklands.” He took a sip of the rich, woodsy red. “I believe you’ll approve of the treasury as well as the defenses. The curtain walls and flanking towers are extraordinary. The machicolations more so.”
Her knuckles whitened on the wineglass. “Machicolations, you say? Used for pouring boiling oil over attackers? I employ them in my Rhoswynian castle.” An ember of arousal flickered in her mismatched eyes, and he sucked in a breath.
Emotion must seethe beneath that stern maiden exterior.
Or not seethe. That ember of arousal died too quickly. An arctic cold etched grim lines into Chantel’s features. “I’ll be a queen, yes, but also a lowly princess in your eyes, irrevocably bound to Jareth Frostline. Perhaps that’s even part of my appeal, eh?”
Kaysar shouted an inner curse. He’d nearly had his prize within his clasp, then logic had snuck in and ripped her from his reach.
He wondered about his plan no longer. He was failing miserably.
He couldn’t retreat now. He’d vowed to be honest with her, no matter the consequences. If he wavered in that regard, he would be as bad as a Frostline. “When we first met, I planned to get you with child, allowing my seed to rule from the Frostline throne.”
“And now?” Her voice contained the barest rasp. Of outrage?
“I’ve decided you will bear no children at all.” He used his flattest tone, leaving no room for argument. Tapping a spot on his shoulder, he told her, “I’ve added a tattoo. Mystical birth control.”
