Heartless

by Gena Showalter

  Her smiles lit a room. With Chantel, time had meaning again. A minute away from her was an eternity, but a thousand years at her side wasn’t nearly enough. She possessed a staunch sense of loyalty and valued her partners and teammates. And she was brave, facing danger head-on. Both confident and unsure. Vulnerable with him alone. She told the truth, even when threatened.

  If ever Kaysar hurt her, she had the power to skewer him with a vine. Did she even know how sexy that was?

  Where is she? He’d left her in the bedroom an hour ago. A true eternity. Now he awaited her arrival, his every cell humming with an unfamiliar mix of impatience and excitement. He suspected he...missed her.

  A reminder surfaced. Vengeance first, Chantel second. That was the way it had to be. He could give and receive pleasure, but he couldn’t allow her to become his reason for breathing. To trade one for the other...

  No. He wouldn’t. Viori was vengeance, and vengeance was Viori, and he couldn’t let her go. But. Kaysar was unwilling to backtrack with Chantel, either. Even if it was the wiser path.

  Fear of the unknown plagued him... End their association because of it, never exploring more of her depths? No. He’d already carved out a place for her in his life—where she would stay, despite his unparalleled reactions to her.

  He should be careful, that was all. Grant her a certain amount of his time, energy and thoughts each day, but no more, and never before he contemplated another way to harm the Frostlines. See? Absolutely sustainable.

  Kaysar stared at the throne room doors, willing them to open. Which gown had Chantel selected for the day? The dark queen or the gentle shepherdess? Would she wear his claws?

  He’d never given gifts to a lover before. Or a friend. He’d never given anything to anyone except his family. And he’d never had a friend. But to those he’d once loved and respected, he’d presented songs.

  His chest clenched as memories surfaced. He remembered how his mother used to close her eyes and hum along, just as Cookie had done. His father, a gruff farmer, had often attempted to secretly wipe a tear away mid-chorus. Anytime Kaysar had sung Viori a lullaby, she’d told him she loved him.

  If he and Chantel ever decided to have a child—

  He stiffened, gripping the arms of the throne overly tight. No children to further the Frostline legacy. Ever. No further thought needed on the subject.

  Kaysar tapped his foot, faster and faster. To distract himself, he cast his gaze about the room. As she recovered, he’d ordered this space filled with things he hoped she’d like. What would Chantel think of the end result? Velvet chairs provided spots of color. Side tables displayed crystal vases overflowing with fresh flowers. He’d relocated tapestries and paintings from the royal treasury; they now covered the walls.

  On the battlefield, he’d learned how much environment mattered. Opulence invited wonder and awe.

  Why had she not arrived? He shook the ice in his third glass of sweetened lemon juice. A treat he’d only recently discovered. Oh, he’d consumed it before, but it had been as bland as everything else. The past few days, his taste buds had come alive.

  Would Chantel be amenable to letting him pour the juice over her body and licking up the droplets?

  He readjusted his hard-on.

  “Did you bed my wife?” Jareth grated from a few feet away.

  The second he’d assured Chantel’s safety, Kaysar had shackled the prince to the edge of the royal dais, using an unbreakable chain mystically enforced, preventing flittering. He planned to torture the prince at his earliest convenience; he simply hadn’t gotten around to it yet, his mind too chaotic.

  “What I do with my mistress is none of your concern.” The deceptively easy tone said what he did not: You skate perilously close to the edge, Frostline. Boast about the private things he did to Chantel? The world-changing things she did to him? He’d rather cut out his own tongue. Her passion belonged to him and him alone, and he would not share it, even in conversation.

  A tug-of-war raged within him. He didn’t like that Chantel was bound to Jareth, even by association. The only way to sever their tie, however, was to kill Jareth. But. Kaysar wasn’t ready to cease tormenting the prince. On the other hand, he wanted Chantel free now.

  The prince stood tall, seemingly unconcerned by the diamond collar that anchored him to the thick link of chain. He bared his teeth and fisted his hands. “In your own way, you care about her. I see that now. So why aren’t you more alarmed about the horrors you’re visiting upon the girl? The bleak future you’ve arranged? With you, she becomes more and more evil. You know that, yes? You are ruining her.”

  Kaysar sipped his juice as if it were a fine wine. “You wish to give her what you want. I give her what she wants. Learn the difference, and maybe you’ll manage to keep your second wife.”

  After much internal debate, he’d decided to allow Jareth to train Chantel in the art of doormaking, teaching her everything he’d learned at Lulundria’s side.

  Kaysar worried the prince meant to trick Chantel into recalling him. He almost hoped the Frostline tried. Part of him needed her to remember as soon as possible. Then he would know the obstacles he must hurdle. The foreboding would go away and the wondering would stop. He could act, fixing things.

  If she fell back in love with Lulundria’s husband...

  He recoiled at the thought. No. She wouldn’t. She was strong. Very strong. Her emotions would remain her own. Forever.

  Jareth sprinted for Kaysar, but the chain pulled taut, stopping him before he ever reached the throne. Having regrown his hand, he pointed an accusing finger at Kaysar. “You sit there with no regard for life other than your own, seeking to punish anyone you feel has wronged you. But what of your own crimes? Do you not deserve punishment?”

  “Of course I do,” he said, his honesty surprising the prince. He knew he’d done terrible things; one day, someone would make him pay. Chantel had already begun... He cast a glance to the door. “But I received most of my punishment in advance, did I not?”

  The prince flinched, then retreated to sit dejectedly upon the dais steps. “By your logic, I received my punishment in advance, as well. I suffered the same abuse.”

  “Or you are lying, as all Frostlines do.” As his snapped rejoinder echoed throughout the room, he realized he’d stood. Deep breath in. Out. He eased into the seat. “You forget yourself, prince. You are here to teach my woman how to excel at doormaking. Something you can do by example. Your tongue is unnecessary. In fact, I’ve already selected a jar for it.”

  The double doors swung open at last. He zoomed his gaze there, his heart thudding too fast. The moment Chantel came into view, his mind utterly blanked. He dropped his beverage, uncaring when the glass shattered.

  Look at her. Pride squared his shoulders. She occupied the space between the double doors, her hands on her hips. A black bodysuit clung to her curves, a deep V displaying a wealth of mouthwatering cleavage. Silk flowers lined each side of the V. A ruffled train cinched to her waist, the hem pooling at her feet. Leather boots climbed up her calves.

  She’d styled her hair in a series of elaborate curls and knots. Rubies adorned her ears, throat, wrists and fingers, the bloodred stones a magnificent complement to her exquisite pale skin. Claws gleamed from her right hand, and he exhaled.

  Worth every second of the agonizing wait.

  This woman had wrung his most powerful climax from him, and she’d done it with a whispered plea. Now, she’d chosen to be his perfect queen, and Kaysar would never recover.

  Spotting him, she grinned slowly, so stunning he knew no other sight could ever compare. “Hello, boys. Mind if I join the party?”

  “You may do whatever you wish, sweetling.” He stood, the urge to smile already sparking. She did that. She made him feel lighter.

  But what did he do for her? Jareth’s taunt resurfaced. You are ruining her.

>   Kaysar rubbed the sudden burn in the center of his chest. His efforts only made the heat worse. He didn’t breathe easier until Chantel raked her gaze over him, following the dizzying, overlapping lines of his map tattoos. When she flicked her tongue against an incisor, as if she imagined tasting every spot she studied, blood filled his groin anew.

  “I would have gotten here sooner, but someone forgot to leave me a map.” Chantel blew him a kiss, making it clear he was already forgiven.

  The urge to stalk over and claim a real kiss bombarded him.

  “Hello...Cookie. I’m told that’s your name of choice.” Jareth regained his composure and stood, as well, his chain rattling. “I’m eager to begin your training.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You are my instructor?”

  “He is.” Kaysar flittered to her side. “And he’ll be on his best behavior, keeping his insulting opinions to himself.” As her incredible scent engulfed him, he lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You remember our bargain, yes?” If she recalled a single memory, she must tell him.

  “I do.” Without looking away from him, she told the prince, “You’ll want to glance away and cover your ears for this part, Jareth.” Stepping closer to Kaysar, her body flush with his, she rested her metal claws over his still-thudding heart. Whispering, she asked, “Do you remember the way I made you come all over my dress?”

  “I do,” he croaked, winding his arms around her. The interlude was branded into his brain. “Will I be receiving a repeat with this dress?”

  “Only if I’m wildly turned on after my lesson.” Her grin returned with a wicked slant. Something he wished to see every day for the rest of eternity.

  “You will ache for me.” He would make sure of it.

  “Guess what?” Rising to her tiptoes, she placed her lips at his ear. “I’m already wildly turned on. I can’t stop replaying what we did to each other...”

  Perhaps her first doormaking session could wait? “You liked when I tongued you, did you?” The roughness of his voice surprised him. “You want me to tongue you again?” He would force everyone from the room and feast.

  “I really, really do. But I’d rather tongue you,” she admitted. “I thought I’d feel a little murderous in this dress, perfect for my lessons. Imagine my astonishment when I discovered I’m not an evil queen at all.” A flush tinged her cheeks as she nipped his bottom lip. “You’re looking at an evil seductress, baby, and she is desperate to suck you off.” Another nip. “Do you want me to?”

  “Yes!” He didn’t mean to shout, but he would die if she didn’t wrap those ruby lips around his length.

  “Then I will...later. Probably.”

  He swallowed a groan. “Do not play with your male, Chantel.”

  “Baby, all I’m gonna do is play.” A temptress like no other, she slowly eased from his clasp. Her eyes gleamed. “I told you. Evil.”

  He shot out his arms to yank her back into his embrace. Pressed together again, he warned, “There will be consequences for teasing me.”

  “I’m counting on it.” Her smile never faltered. “If you’re a good baby boy, I’ll let you come on my tongue while I drink you down.”

  The things this woman made him crave. “Today’s lesson is officially canceled,” Kaysar bellowed to one and all as he tightened his hold on his prize.

  “Jareth,” Chantel called, dancing out of Kaysar’s hold. “You can look now. The lesson officially begins.”

  “I’m here, I’m here.” Eye raced into the room, carting a tray of varying tartlets. “I bring the snacks you’re soon to demand, your majesty.”

  Kaysar strove for calm as the whole world conspired against him. “Chantel, this is Eye the something or other. Our oracle. Eye, this is Chantel the Briar Rose. My...mine.”

  “Is she the one who will show me Pearl Jean and Sugars?” Chantel asked. “And did you call me Briar Rose?”

  “My teammates get nicknames,” he told her with a shrug.

  “I can’t do it, I’m sorry,” Eye blurted out. “Kaysar didn’t wait around to hear my response to his demand. I’m unable to see into the mortal world.”

  Kaysar rubbed the center of his chest again. First, “Chantel opted not to greet her citizens, now the oracle contradicted his claim.

  Chantel returned to rest her head against his shoulder and pet him where he’d rubbed, the simple actions calming him. She kept her gaze on the oracle. “Is Eye short for...something else maybe?”

  “My given name is Ambrosine,” the girl replied. “Ambrosine Adriene.”

  “Hmm. Do you have a nickname?” Chantel asked.

  “Amber.” Eye shrugged. “That’s what you prefer to call me, anyway.”

  “How do you—Oh.” Chantel gave a husky chuckle, and he kissed her brow, treasuring the sound. “Never mind. The seer sees. I shouldn’t be shocked.”

  How much of her future had the oracle witnessed? Kaysar had refrained from inquiring or seeking images, because he was too...he wasn’t sure. Not afraid. He didn’t do fear. Discounting the times he had, in fact, feared. But he might be a jot...uncertain when it came to knowing how to be in a relationship. Did he really want the future interfering with the present?

  “I’m Cookie.” She cast Kaysar a pensive glance. “As I navigated this maze of a castle, I experimented with possible titles for myself. Chantel the Briar Rose is great, but I don’t want everyone in Astaria calling me Chantel. Only you. So what do you think of Cookie the Uncrumbled?”

  “A designation is given, not chosen,” Jareth said, deciding to insert himself into the conversation. The barest hint of bitterness had infiltrated his expression. “Lulundria was known as the Kindhearted. A label to strive—”

  Kaysar flittered and gripped the prince by the throat. “Perhaps you’d like to take a moment to rethink your comment to my honored companion, Jareth.” Before, he’d noticed how much the barb about “normal” had bothered her. What was normal, anyway? “I shouldn’t have to remind you that Cookie the Uncrumbled is perfect, just as she is.”

  Fury mottled the male’s skin as he fought to breathe.

  “No need to injure my tutor.” Chantel glided over and folded her fingers around Kaysar’s wrist to draw back his hand. “I get it. He misses his wife, and he seeks her substitute. We can’t blame him for that.”

  He opened his grip at once, freeing the prince, who sucked in a mouthful of air. Chantel—his Chantel—had spoken kindly about a Frostline who had insulted her.

  Eye and her tray of tartlets inched backward.

  Was Chantel experiencing the princess’s emotions, without realizing it? A development he hadn’t anticipated.

  He clasped his belo—beliked mistress’s hand, linking their clawed fingers. Holding on, lest she escape him. Then he flittered her to the throne, wanting no one else to hear his next words. “You will begin your lessons,” he told her, “but you will not treat the prince with kindness again.” He forced the words from clenched teeth before he changed his mind about the training sessions altogether and another gift disintegrated before his eyes. The sooner she started, the sooner she finished. The sooner he could remind her of the things he made her feel. “All right?”

  “Not all right. I’ll treat him however I think is right,” she said, blowing him another kiss and walking away. Over her shoulder, she told him, “This evil seductress isn’t mastered. She masters.”

  He wanted to kiss her.

  He met Jareth’s gaze. The prince smirked.

  “Let’s get this over with,” Kaysar grated.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  UNDER KAYSAR’S WATCHFUL EYE, Cookie trained with Jareth for hours. Her seething king observed from an ornate throne of gold—her throne, to be clear—as quiet as...things that were quiet. He never pulled his gaze from her. Did he even spare a moment to blink? More and more tension emanated from him.

&nb
sp; His fear of Lulundria’s memories marked the first obstacle in Cookie’s campaign to win him from his vengeance. Operation First Place was off to a rocky start.

  Fear of losing something only drove you away from it. She knew this firsthand. She’d lived this. His worry, if left untreated, would become a wedge between them. She would lose the battle before the war even started. She needed to act ASAP. Which meant she needed to actually remember Lulundria’s life and prove Kaysar’s concerns were moot. But how?

  She hadn’t lied to him. After those two flashes of Lulundria’s last minutes in Astaria, when Jareth had tossed his ice daggers, and Kaysar had thrown the princess in the line of fire, Cookie had received zip, zero, nada from the other woman. Well, besides those heart leaps. And knowledge that she hadn’t learned.

  “Focus,” Jareth snapped. He reached for her, only to stop himself before contact. Afraid Kaysar might remove his hand again? Smart. “I told you how to create and release vines without allowing the stalks to wither. You continue to disappoint.”

  She glared at her merciless instructor. “The problem isn’t the student.” Jerk. So far, the only bit of information she’d gleaned was dancing her fingers for faster vine growth. “You expect me to do everything Lulundria did, when I didn’t grow up knowing what she knew.”

  “Apples!” Eye—er, Amber sat on the royal dais, near the throne. Whenever Kaysar neared his snapping point for whatever reason, she shouted her version of a warning. “Would you prefer an apple tart, majesty?”

  Jareth shoved a big hand through his thick, pale hair. “Vines will preserve their vitality, even at a great distance from you, as long as you maintain a mystical hold on them. Think of every stalk you create as a member of your family. You don’t have to be together to feel close.”

  Uh, she’d never felt close with her family. Pearl Jean and Sugars, though. Yeah. Kaysar?