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He eagerly anticipated her reaction. If she admired the throne even half as much as her jewels, she might dazzle him with another laugh.
Perhaps she would wish to return to their bed. His body needed more of her. And only her. No other living creature affected him so strongly. The cadence of her voice did things to him. Heated things. She teased and tormented him, leaving him desperate for more of her—for more of life. Who else filled his days with such stunning anticipation?
Her smiles lit a room. With Chantel, time had meaning again. A minute away from her was an eternity, but a thousand years at her side wasn’t nearly enough. She possessed a staunch sense of loyalty and valued her partners and teammates. And she was brave, facing danger head-on. Both confident and unsure. Vulnerable with him alone. She told the truth, even when threatened.
If ever Kaysar hurt her, she had the power to skewer him with a vine. Did she even know how sexy that was?
Where is she? He’d left her in the bedroom an hour ago. A true eternity. Now he awaited her arrival, his every cell humming with an unfamiliar mix of impatience and excitement. He suspected he...missed her.
A reminder surfaced. Vengeance first, Chantel second. That was the way it had to be. He could give and receive pleasure, but he couldn’t allow her to become his reason for breathing. To trade one for the other...
No. He wouldn’t. Viori was vengeance, and vengeance was Viori, and he couldn’t let her go. But. Kaysar was unwilling to backtrack with Chantel, either. Even if it was the wiser path.
Fear of the unknown plagued him... End their association because of it, never exploring more of her depths? No. He’d already carved out a place for her in his life—where she would stay, despite his unparalleled reactions to her.
He should be careful, that was all. Grant her a certain amount of his time, energy and thoughts each day, but no more, and never before he contemplated another way to harm the Frostlines. See? Absolutely sustainable.
Kaysar stared at the throne room doors, willing them to open. Which gown had Chantel selected for the day? The dark queen or the gentle shepherdess? Would she wear his claws?
He’d never given gifts to a lover before. Or a friend. He’d never given anything to anyone except his family. And he’d never had a friend. But to those he’d once loved and respected, he’d presented songs.
His chest clenched as memories surfaced. He remembered how his mother used to close her eyes and hum along, just as Cookie had done. His father, a gruff farmer, had often attempted to secretly wipe a tear away mid-chorus. Anytime Kaysar had sung Viori a lullaby, she’d told him she loved him.
If he and Chantel ever decided to have a child—
He stiffened, gripping the arms of the throne overly tight. No children to further the Frostline legacy. Ever. No further thought needed on the subject.
Kaysar tapped his foot, faster and faster. To distract himself, he cast his gaze about the room. As she recovered, he’d ordered this space filled with things he hoped she’d like. What would Chantel think of the end result? Velvet chairs provided spots of color. Side tables displayed crystal vases overflowing with fresh flowers. He’d relocated tapestries and paintings from the royal treasury; they now covered the walls.
On the battlefield, he’d learned how much environment mattered. Opulence invited wonder and awe.
Why had she not arrived? He shook the ice in his third glass of sweetened lemon juice. A treat he’d only recently discovered. Oh, he’d consumed it before, but it had been as bland as everything else. The past few days, his taste buds had come alive.
Would Chantel be amenable to letting him pour the juice over her body and licking up the droplets?
He readjusted his hard-on.
“Did you bed my wife?” Jareth grated from a few feet away.
The second he’d assured Chantel’s safety, Kaysar had shackled the prince to the edge of the royal dais, using an unbreakable chain mystically enforced, preventing flittering. He planned to torture the prince at his earliest convenience; he simply hadn’t gotten around to it yet, his mind too chaotic.
“What I do with my mistress is none of your concern.” The deceptively easy tone said what he did not: You skate perilously close to the edge, Frostline. Boast about the private things he did to Chantel? The world-changing things she did to him? He’d rather cut out his own tongue. Her passion belonged to him and him alone, and he would not share it, even in conversation.
A tug-of-war raged within him. He didn’t like that Chantel was bound to Jareth, even by association. The only way to sever their tie, however, was to kill Jareth. But. Kaysar wasn’t ready to cease tormenting the prince. On the other hand, he wanted Chantel free now.
