charm and intrigue, and he utilized those skills now. “You aren’t wrong... Chantel. I am very much into you.”
Relaxing further, she asked, “Where are we?”
“This is Astaria.” Your new home.
“Astaria,” she echoed, surveying the land around them. “Not Rhoswyn? Or Loloria? Or Enchantia?”
“There are five fae kingdoms, also known as courts. Midnight or Nightlands. Summer. Autumn. Spring. And Winter.” He grated the last. “There’s also a territory known as the Dusklands. We are currently in the Forest of Many Names.”
“Fae,” she squeaked. “I knew it. But are we talking Seelie and Unseelie? Or does it even matter?”
“Fae are fae.” Dissatisfied with the distance, Kaysar eased closer, reentering Chantel’s flowery force field. His blood heated slowly, simmering...boiling.
Her scent reminded him of poisonvine—no, not poisonvine, not exactly, but a far more potent and pure strain. His head fogged.
“Shall I tell you how Lulundria and I first met?” he asked silkily.
“Yes, please,” she rasped, licking her ruby lips.
Tension coiled inside his muscles as never before, a shock to his system. “Six months ago, I came upon Lulundria in this forest with her husband, a Winterland prince. The evil man you saw in the memory. With my aid, the darling Lulundria escaped, running away. I’ve sought her ever since. I’ve craved her ever since.” He observed her expression, saying “Now I crave you.”
Her features softened, any lingering stiffness evaporating.
Oh, yes. This seduction was laughably easy indeed.
She searched his gaze. To his consternation, her stiffness returned gradually. When the metamorphosis was completed, she straightened with a snap, stepped back to widen the distance between them. “I may have Lulundria’s heart, but I assure you, I’m not her.”
He snapped, “What use are you to me, if you aren’t Lulundria?”
She took another step back. Good. Let her dread the temper of the man who decided her fate. As a Frostline, her every breath was a gift from Kaysar. Let her see the blood of the enemies he’d slaughtered on her behalf.
Her behalf? No. Every murder had served his master, vengeance. Nothing mattered more than her husband’s pain and suffering.
“Also,” she said, as if his outburst meant nothing to her, “I don’t want to be a princess. They’re the weakest characters.”
He had no idea how to respond. Deep breath in. Out. Kaysar offered the princess his best imitation of a reassuring smile. “You are Lulundria in every way that matters. You are also married to the prince who killed you.” To further increase her distrust of the prince, he told her, “Jareth pierced Lulundria’s internal organs with ice directly in front of me. I fought him and chased after her, intending to heal and protect her. But in her pain, fear got the better of her, and she created her vines. The stalks dragged her through a doorway, and she vanished.”
“Vines dragged me through a doorway, too.” In her fervor to learn more, she lost her reluctance and sidled closer. “The second I went through it, the stalks withered.”
Like a teacher to his student, he told her, “Because you are a doormaker. You open and close doorways into the mortal and fae worlds.”
“So I can go home?” Relief poured from her in great, sweeping waves, rousing a confusing tide of...something inside him. “I can go home!” She bounded the rest of the way and gripped his tunic. “How do I open a doorway? Do you know?”
He wished to respond, but his voice had ceased working, speaking suddenly an impossible task. His mind whirled with wild, unfettered thoughts he couldn’t quite grasp. Her body was flush with his. So warm. So soft. Breasts. Breasts were smashed against his chest. Plump ones.
Pleasure lashed him like a whip with a thousand tails, wrenching a groan from his innermost being. His shaft reacted with no prompting from his mind again, shooting iron-hard. The urge to rub against her was nearly impossible to resist.
“You can’t,” he rasped. He barely stopped himself from wrapping his arms around her. First he must temper this strange and unappreciated reaction to her. “The opening of a door always drains the maker. While you’re probably able to create vines, you won’t be strong enough to craft another door for weeks or months.”
Months. Hmm. He’d lived thousands of years, and he would live thousands more. How could he obtain lasting satisfaction through this woman’s connection to Jareth with so little time? And what if she failed to conceive before her ability recharged?
Other than chaining her, a temporary solution and a hindrance to his goal, he had no way to