inside her, or kissing every inch of her, or yelling at her, or challenging her, or begging for her forgiveness, or demanding she explain herself to his satisfaction, or luxuriating in her adoring gaze, and he was breaking inside. One day he feared he might shatter into too many pieces to ever fit back together.
How was he supposed to live this way for an eternity? How could Chantel have done what she did? He’d finally gained the life he’d never known he needed, and with a single act, she’d ruined everything.
She must pay.
Slash. Jab, jab. Duck and spin. Slash. Two trolls dropped. Had Chantel paid already? Had she paid enough? She’d been so weak when he’d pushed her through the doorway. Where had she ended up? If someone had harmed her...
He shook his head, pretending he hadn’t considered following her through the doorway countless times. No. Eye had also assured him Chantel’s safety was never at risk—only her heart.
With a roar, he massacred another dozen trolls. He could have sung, but he had no desire to end the fight too soon. Grunts, groans and cries of agony rang out, creating the perfect melody. The stench of death saturated the air, as heavy and as cloying as a thick morning mist.
“You know she is returned, yes?” The question came from Jareth, who fought at his side.
He’d freed the prince from his shackles the day Chantel had left Astaria, but the annoying male had followed him around like a bad habit ever since. Although, he supposed Jareth wasn’t a prince anymore, now that his father was dead. The male was to be crowned the sovereign ruler of the Winter Court.
“Leave before I give you the troll treatment,” Kaysar snapped. Two other bodies toppled.
The fool stabbed a troll of his own. “You should apologize to her.”
“She betrayed me.” So why didn’t he long to kill her? Why did he sometimes long to gather her close and cling, as if his life depended on it?
Hack. Rip. Stab. Stab. Stab. More trolls fell.
“She set you free,” Jareth pointed out.
“This isn’t freedom.” He hacked through a line of combatants. This was misery.
“With one hand on your vengeance and one hand on your mate, the tug-of-war was ripping you in two. You could go nowhere, except in pieces. Maybe that’s why you needed her to wield the strength you couldn’t, hmm? You sought healing the only way you know how—through the misery of another.”
“No.” Healing? When he’d never felt more vulnerable? Hack, hack, hack. He had absolutely nothing left. He would never have sought this position. Except...
When Kaysar had filled her closet with gowns, he’d purposely given the white dress a place of honor. One easily noticed. Even though he hadn’t known why. He’d only known he’d thought, She will save us both in this, the first moment he’d beheld it.
His motions slowed.
Now, at least, you won’t think of Hador when you think of your sister. You can remember the little girl who followed you around as she clutched her pretty doll. You can smile. Peace is yours, if only you’ll grab it.
Her words echoed inside his head. Had she saved Viori, by saving him? She had removed the only obstacle in the way of their future together. Had ended a chore he’d no longer enjoyed.
His motions slowed further. Even in the middle of his storm of hurt and fury, Kaysar thought he sensed a sliver of...peace. For the first time in memory, he could imagine Viori happy, wherever she was. Just as Chantel had promised he would.
Neither of his abusers walked the land, lying to their subjects in public, hurting innocents in private. The constant pull to cause pain and suffering to his foes—as well as himself—had eased. Current circumstances excluded.
Was he healing?
A confused Jareth battled around him, acting as a guard when Kaysar came to a complete stop. Had he yearned to let go of the past and lied to himself about it? Him, the unrepentant truth teller? Had he longed to move forward? Had he hoped for more? For better? Had he then passed the blade to Chantel, unable to make the cut himself, and blamed her for the outcome?
Surely he didn’t.
But what if he did?
The moment—the very second—he entertained the possibility, he had no defenses against it. The truth suddenly shined so clear. He had yearned and longed and hoped. To protect himself from the pain of letting go of his past—his sister—he’d let himself believe Chantel had betrayed him.