consuming need—to slaughter his enemies. The screams he would elicit. Oh, the screams. Then, his hunt for his beloved Viori could begin.
His chest constricted. Was she all right? Had someone found and helped her? Had someone harmed her? In his worst nightmares, he imagined her dying of thirst days after he’d abandoned her in those vines.
A tear escaped, sliding down his cheek.
Thump-thump. Kaysar stiffened as the prince’s footsteps drew closer. Today, he launched his escape. If he failed...
He couldn’t fail.
He wiped his damp brow with the back of his hand and hummed a soft melody. Vibrations raced along his tongue—a tongue now in the process of regrowing. Lark had no idea. But he would.
Kaysar smiled as he imagined blood pouring from the prince’s every orifice.
Another clink-clank of metal. Another serenade of hinges followed as the door swung open...and Lark appeared, consuming the space. Pale curls disheveled, pointy ears on display. Blue eyes glassy. He wore a wrinkled white tunic and leathers, a pair of daggers sheathed at his waist. The scent of sour wine and sweat tainted the air.
“I don’t think you’re going to like what I’ve planned today,” the prince said with a grin.
Hate him. Hate them all. Lark and Hador had taken so much from Kaysar. His sister. His freedom. His honor. His sanity. Even his future.
They take no more.
Laughing, always laughing, the prince stalked forward, removing and dropping his shirt along the way.
The hatred collected in Kaysar’s throat, singeing him. He shouted, “Stop.”
Lark...obeyed. The prince’s brow furrowed with confusion. He resisted the immobility—but he didn’t take another step.
Then. That moment. Kaysar tasted victory and only craved more.
“How?” Lark demanded, throwing the question at him.
How had Kaysar, who’d yet to freeze into his immortality, regrown a portion of his tongue? “I’ve been humming a healing song to myself.” He hadn’t used his voice in so long. The simple joy of it! “Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “I make you hurt.”
The prince recommenced his struggles, fighting with terrible ferocity. Too late. Kaysar locked his gaze with Lark’s, opened his mouth and screamed. Such a lovely sound. Beautiful and horrifying. Haunting and maddening. He’d screamed before, but never like this. Louder and louder, the cadence echoing. The tower shook, the air crackling with more power than he’d known he possessed.
Blood poured from Lark’s ears, a glorious sight to behold. Kaysar’s thoughts fragmented and crystalized. Kill Lark. Escape. Kill everyone else. Find Viori.
Oh, the fun he’d have on his way out of the Winter Court.
Lark collapsed, writhing in agony. When he failed to gain relief, he blindly patted his waist until he clutched a dagger.
Kaysar’s scream broke as the prince stabbed himself in his ears.
Heaving his breaths, Kaysar prowled closer. Crimson poured from the prince’s every orifice, exactly as he’d imagined. His smile returned. What a marvelous beginning.
“Help.” Pale and shaking, the prince reached for him, reminding Kaysar of the servant girl who’d once reached for Lark. “H-help me.”
His pain and helplessness acted as a balm to Kaysar’s battered soul. “Yes, let me help you,” he whispered, dropping to his knees.
Relief emanated from Lark as Kaysar gently wiped blood from his pale eyes. Then the prince caught Kaysar’s gaze, and the relief morphed into fear.
Delicious.
As the male shook his head in negation, Kaysar claimed the dagger—and struck. Again and again and again. Every blow deluged him with joy, even the barest hint of satisfaction. Like the Frostlines, he laughed and laughed and laughed. Only when Lark’s head detached from his body did Kaysar’s laughter stop.
He frowned. The prince was dead, his life extinguished. But...Kaysar wasn’t finished killing him. He needed to kill Lark again. A mere handful of stabbings wasn’t nearly enough.
Nothing will ever be enough.
Dripping crimson and panting, Kaysar used the dagger to unhinge the collar. When the metal hit the floor, he remained in place. He was free. He should be overflowing with triumph. Instead, he wallowed in fury as the prince’s corpse taunted him. No life meant no misery.
Instead of suffering for eternity, one of Kaysar’s tormentors rested. How was this fair? Lark had tortured Kaysar for a year, only to die in a moment? Unacceptable.
Kaysar would leave the kingdom without making another kill, he decided. He would return to deal with King Hador and Prince Jareth only after he’d built his strength. Soon the entire Frostline family would experience the horrors they had liked to visit upon him. Kill them too soon? No.
It was a mistake Kaysar refused to make again.
CHAPTER ONE
Astaria, the Fae Realm
Midnight