“I’m looking at the real you, aren’t I, sweetling?” Kaysar appeared entranced.
Micah’s determination remained unfazed. “Two.”
“Will you keep count of my kills?” she asked her partner, clapping. She could hardly wait to begin. These men weren’t innocents; they were enemies. Enemies paid a steep price. Unlike Kaysar, this army and its king weren’t getting a second and third chance. “I want to make sure I share the correct tally with Pearl Jean and Sugars when I recount my tale of victory.”
The barest hint of a smile teased the corners of his mouth. “There are three hundred and seven men before us. Something tells me your count will be all of them.”
Even more wonderful.
“What did you do to her?” Jareth screamed at Kaysar.
“Three,” Micah called.
A volley of arrows whizzed through the sky, whistling on approach. Knowing what to do as if she’d trained her entire life, Cookie lifted her arms. Vines shot from her fingers, branching into hundreds of other vines in seconds, forming a large wall.
The arrows embedded in the stalks, and she felt every strike. But she liked it.
“There is no more perfect creature.” Kaysar grazed the shell of her ear with a metal claw.
She preened for him, because she couldn’t not. When she released the vines, the stalks withered to ash, but a sweet scent remained.
The arrows plummeted into the chasm, useless, and the soldiers took a collective step back, one word rising from their ranks. “Poisonvine.”
“My turn to attack.” She smiled her sweetest smile at Micah—and produced hundreds more vines.
* * *
SOME MOMENTS FOREVER altered your existence. This was one such time for Kaysar. He knew it, sensed it. And he wasn’t sorry.
For the whole of his life, he’d considered himself incapable of passion. He’d lauded the inability. But it hadn’t taken Chantel long to coax his deepest desires from hiding. Now, Kaysar stood transfixed, desperate to worship at the feet of the hauntingly beautiful princess who had turned his world upside down.
In her sexy pink dress and jewels, wielding her gift and poison, Chantel was every dream he’d never known he possessed. Wise. Discerning. Fierce. His doll to dress up and play with. His sweetest weapon. The war prize he deserved for surviving a year of agony and a hundred lifetimes of misery. His mate.
She was. He knew that, too, all questions assuaged. The knowledge lit him up, pride infusing his spine. Fate had selected this warrior woman for him and him alone. Eye had predicted it. Whatever Chantel’s last name was, she belonged to Kaysar. He had decided.
He dared anyone to contradict him.
More and more vines flourished from the princess’s delicate, bejeweled hands. Those thorny stalks matured fast and bred others, splitting here, there, everywhere. Each end sharpened as it uncoiled and slithered.
Rule my lands, Micah? Think again. So Kaysar had been absent from the Dusklands longer than he’d believed. So what?
The false king’s soldiers panicked as the vines descended, a row of archers unleashing another volley. Once again, Chantel stopped the assault midair. Vines grew over the chasm... Chaos reigned, centaurs rearing, dumping their riders. Men retreated, but they were slow, weighed down by their armor.
Within seconds, Chantel constructed a wide, sturdy bridge, connecting the cliff to the flatlands. Still her vines grew, coiling around the first line of soldiers—and squeezing. Armor crunched, caving in, and blood gushed from every metal joint.
She laughed, the sound of it lovelier than Prince Lark’s screams for mercy. “Do you see, Kaysar? I made fae in a can. Chicken of the siege.”
Hair swaying in the breeze. Irises like mercury and gleaming. Skin aglow. She was more radiant than the sun, her every motion a study of grace and elegance. Rosy color painted her cheeks as red and pink flowers bloomed from her vines.
A vessel of vengeance and woe.
He had no defenses against her. Desire burned him. Scorched him—branded him. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything.
I will give her jewels. All the jewels. He would give her everything. Just as he’d promised. But he would expect everything from her, too. Her loyalty. Her devotion. Her presence. She would stay with him always.
Supply Jareth with one of her children? One of mine? No. Kaysar devised a new plan. He and Chantel would have no children. Since the citizens of Astaria considered her a Frostline for the rest of eternity, the name would die when he tired of tormenting Hador and Jareth.