Ugh. His flat tone promised friction if she protested. But so what? “I’m already weak and tired. I’ve been on the run forever because you didn’t find me fast enough.” She couldn’t mask her whine as her fortitude wavered. “And I’m starving.”
His eyelids lowered a tad. “You’re the one who insisted on our current arrangement,” he reminded her. “I’m your paid-for guide through the forest, nothing more. Though you broke your promise within minutes of giving it, didn’t you?”
“No way. I exercised my caveat. What was I supposed to do, anyway?” she huffed. “Stay put and let Jareth nab me?”
He thought for a moment. “I made sure to pack you clean clothes, toiletries and even the weapons you begged for.”
Weapons? “Really?” she squeaked. Finding new strength, she hooked the satchel’s strap across her chest. “Okay, yes, I’ll carry the bag.”
“That’s my princess,” he said, his lips twitching. He reclaimed the boots and knelt before her. He clasped her ankle, his gentleness surprising. “First, let’s prepare your poor feet.”
As she gripped his broad shoulders to steady herself, he secured the boots in place. She expected pain, but her gashes must have healed. A welcome development. Though she would have endured any amount of agony for these boots. They were the most exquisite pair she’d ever seen, studded with sapphires, yellow diamonds, obsidian and pearls to create a Starry Night effect.
None of her footwear at home compared. “To be clear, these boots are mine to keep forever?”
“They are.” The moment he tightened the laces, the boots warmed and shifted, conforming to her feet, as if made specifically for her.
She moved around, testing out the fit as Kaysar straightened. Perfection.
“We are ready.” The gleam in his whiskey eyes did odd things to her insides as he offered his hand to her. “Come then. Our journey begins.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
KAYSAR LED HIS charge through the Forest of Many Names, pretending to be the gentleman she’d hinted about wanting. Being solicitous didn’t come naturally to him, but his mood remained bright.
A novel experience for one who existed in a haze of fury.
He thought he might even hover at the edge of giddy. He had his princess again. The day and night without her had been torture of the worst kind, his mind constantly on the verge of a breakdown.
Now, here she was, alive and well, panting her breaths and mumbling her complaints as she trudged behind him. She struggled under the weight of the bag. Possibly because he’d added a rock every few miles, but who could say?
He hadn’t forgotten Eye’s warning. She is the skin she wears.
He simply didn’t know what it meant or how it affected his plans. Nothing will affect my plans. Every step impelled him closer to Jareth’s endless suffering.
Once the prince and his bride were dealt with, Kaysar would focus on King Hador for a while. Rumors suggested the old king desired a wife of his own.
I can take her, too...
“How far are we going to walk today?” Chantel asked, no longer content to mumble.
Do not grin. “We’re almost there.”
She puffed a breath. “That’s what you said an hour ago.”
“And now we are even closer.” Her misery had only begun. Soon she would realize her complete dependence on him and beg for aid. “Isn’t that wonderful?”
“My feet are sore,” she whined. “These boots are the best, yeah, and I love them dearly, but they are also the worst, and I hate them with the heat of a thousand suns.”
“You’d rather go barefoot?” On alert, he maneuvered around trees, ducked under gnarled branches and avoided webs of any kind. They currently meandered through Autumn Court territory, where the Frostlines had many allies.
Trolls and ogres kept their distance. Pixies, too. Understandable, considering what Kaysar had done to the pink one. He’d been in the midst of a battle with Jareth when she’d swooped in and hobbled him, running the edges of her dagger-sharp wings through his Achilles tendons. Her version of retribution for slaying Race.
Had she flown away immediately afterward, she might have survived the encounter. Instead, she’d circled back to finish him off. Though pixies appeared fragile, they were incredibly strong. Even still, he’d had no trouble catching and crushing her in his fist, then stomping on what remained.
Remembering her attack renewed his fury. He almost wished someone did hide nearby, thinking to attack him. If nothing else, he’d have an opportunity to test Chantel’s fae powers. What more could she do? What were her limits? How would she react to his song?