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The prince stood tall, seemingly unconcerned by the diamond collar that anchored him to the thick link of chain. He bared his teeth and fisted his hands. “In your own way, you care about her. I see that now. So why aren’t you more alarmed about the horrors you’re visiting upon the girl? The bleak future you’ve arranged? With you, she becomes more and more evil. You know that, yes? You are ruining her.”
Kaysar sipped his juice as if it were a fine wine. “You wish to give her what you want. I give her what she wants. Learn the difference, and maybe you’ll manage to keep your second wife.”
After much internal debate, he’d decided to allow Jareth to train Chantel in the art of doormaking, teaching her everything he’d learned at Lulundria’s side.
Kaysar worried the prince meant to trick Chantel into recalling him. He almost hoped the Frostline tried. Part of him needed her to remember as soon as possible. Then he would know the obstacles he must hurdle. The foreboding would go away and the wondering would stop. He could act, fixing things.
If she fell back in love with Lulundria’s husband...
He recoiled at the thought. No. She wouldn’t. She was strong. Very strong. Her emotions would remain her own. Forever.
Jareth sprinted for Kaysar, but the chain pulled taut, stopping him before he ever reached the throne. Having regrown his hand, he pointed an accusing finger at Kaysar. “You sit there with no regard for life other than your own, seeking to punish anyone you feel has wronged you. But what of your own crimes? Do you not deserve punishment?”
“Of course I do,” he said, his honesty surprising the prince. He knew he’d done terrible things; one day, someone would make him pay. Chantel had already begun... He cast a glance to the door. “But I received most of my punishment in advance, did I not?”
The prince flinched, then retreated to sit dejectedly upon the dais steps. “By your logic, I received my punishment in advance, as well. I suffered the same abuse.”
“Or you are lying, as all Frostlines do.” As his snapped rejoinder echoed throughout the room, he realized he’d stood. Deep breath in. Out. He eased into the seat. “You forget yourself, prince. You are here to teach my woman how to excel at doormaking. Something you can do by example. Your tongue is unnecessary. In fact, I’ve already selected a jar for it.”
The double doors swung open at last. He zoomed his gaze there, his heart thudding too fast. The moment Chantel came into view, his mind utterly blanked. He dropped his beverage, uncaring when the glass shattered.
Look at her. Pride squared his shoulders. She occupied the space between the double doors, her hands on her hips. A black bodysuit clung to her curves, a deep V displaying a wealth of mouthwatering cleavage. Silk flowers lined each side of the V. A ruffled train cinched to her waist, the hem pooling at her feet. Leather boots climbed up her calves.
She’d styled her hair in a series of elaborate curls and knots. Rubies adorned her ears, throat, wrists and fingers, the bloodred stones a magnificent complement to her exquisite pale skin. Claws gleamed from her right hand, and he exhaled.
Worth every second of the agonizing wait.
This woman had wrung his most powerful climax from him, and she’d done it with a whispered plea. Now, she’d chosen to be his perfect queen, and Kaysar would never recover.
Spotting him, she grinned slowly, so stunning he knew no other sight could ever compare. “Hello, boys. Mind if I join the party?”
“You may do whatever you wish, sweetling.” He stood, the urge to smile already sparking. She did that. She made him feel lighter.
But what did he do for her? Jareth’s taunt resurfaced. You are ruining her.
Kaysar rubbed the sudden burn in the center of his chest. His efforts only made the heat worse. He didn’t breathe easier until Chantel raked her gaze over him, following the dizzying, overlapping lines of his map tattoos. When she flicked her tongue against an incisor, as if she imagined tasting every spot she studied, blood filled his groin anew.
“I would have gotten here sooner, but someone forgot to leave me a map.” Chantel blew him a kiss, making it clear he was already forgiven.
The urge to stalk over and claim a real kiss bombarded him.
“Hello...Cookie. I’m told that’s your name of choice.” Jareth regained his composure and stood, as well, his chain rattling. “I’m eager to begin your training.”
Her eyes went wide. “You are my instructor?”
“He is.” Kaysar flittered to her side. “And he’ll be on his best behavior, keeping his insulting opinions to himself.” As her incredible scent engulfed him, he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You remember our bargain, yes?” If she recalled a single memory, she must tell him.
