She gulped. Did she already think of him as family?
“Let’s try something else. With practice, you can throw thorns the way I throw ice. Observe me.” He turned his big Viking body toward a far wall and waved a hand, ice daggers spewing from his fingertips. “Power flows from here—” he banged his chest “—to my fingertips. The conduit.”
“Yes, but how do you force the power from A to B?”
“Force?” He bowed his head and muttered, “Do you ever listen?”
“Cinnamon!” Amber called. “I selected a delicious cinnamon cake for you, majesty.”
“Never force,” Jareth continued, glaring at Cookie. “Flow. Flow. F.L.O.W. Fuh-low.”
Condescending jerk. Her temper threatened to redline. “How do you fuh-low the power from A to B?” Even high on elderseed, she hadn’t tossed thorns.
“You stop resisting. As I’ve told you many times.”
“Chocolate strawberries!” The oracle increased her volume with every dessert. “The fruit is particularly sweet this season. Shall I prepare a batch?”
Cookie began to understand a harsh truth. Lulundria hadn’t gifted her with a heart; she’d saddled her with a belligerent ex. The guy had no patience. His irritability had no borders. Granted, she’d rejected his claim on her hardcore. So, he had reasons to dislike her. But how about a truce? Or a little credit? Not once had she purposely stabbed him with a vine.
“Let’s approach this from a different angle.” Jareth mulled before nodding. “A spiritual heart is a battery for your abilities the way a natural heart is a battery for your body. It’s the core of you. Your most primal state. Discover what drives you, and you’ll access your power.”
She paced as she thought back to the day she’d first created vines. A sunny morning in her backyard, feeling as if someone spied on her. She’d panicked and run. No, that wasn’t entirely true. Before that, she’d urged Pearl Jean and Sugars to go inside. For their safety.
Was the answer so simple? Did her primal state revolve around the protection of her loved ones?
Except, during her first hours in Astaria, she’d created vines for herself, not her loved ones.
So, her primal driving force was self-protection?
Cookie blinked into focus, ready to find out. But as she continued to march back and forth, she realized both the king and the prince tracked her every move. Hello, distraction. Only one man’s hot gaze branded her skin, reminding her body of the pleasure and connection awaiting her...
“Kaysar,” she said with a pang of longing. He’d promised they could do whatever she desired today. Right now, she desired closeness with him, so, lesson over. She and Jareth could reconvene tomorrow and pick up where they’d left off. Getting Kaysar into bed had just become priority one.
Finally, he spoke. Leaning forward in the cathedra, intent on her, he inquired, “Yes, sweetling?” Hunger sharpened his timbre. “Is there something you need from me?”
She opened her mouth to invite him to Orgasm Hour when Amber butted in.
“Majesty,” the oracle burst out. “It’s King Hador.”
He flittered to the girl, materializing in a crouch, his hands already on her shoulders, shaking her. “Tell me.”
Cookie rushed over, worried. And annoyed. He was supposed to shake her shoulders. “What is it? What’s going on?”
Amber looked past the king, past the room, a crinkle of concentration between her eyes. After a moment, she paled and blinked into focus. “Hador has invaded the Dusklands.”
“He dares,” Kaysar hissed as he straightened. The abrupt, jolting motion bumped his body into Cookie’s, and she stumbled a step, mouth agape. “He must pay, and I must go.”
He didn’t spare her another glance before he vanished.
Her cheeks heated as Amber winced at her, all he’ll remember you eventually, probably. “I’m sorry,” the oracle said, “but he won’t be returning for a few days.”
“Trust my father to make everything worse,” Jareth said.
So Kaysar had beat feet for battle, serving his vengeance—the one he considered his true wife. Leaving his mistress behind without bothering to give her a real goodbye. Expecting her to understand. Her, the one he’d studied with such fierce lust only seconds before. Forgotten. A promise broken.
Old wounds cracked open, the scabs oozing hurt. He just left me here. Was this what life would be like with him from now on?
The evil seductress had failed her first day on the job, just like student Cookie.
* * *
AS THE DAYS PASSED, one bleeding into another, Cookie developed a routine. Wake, dress in the gown of her choosing, train with Jareth, and tour the castle, learning its layout and defenses. She ate and slept alone. Kaysar had yet to return. Not even a quick flitter home to check on her well-being and make sure Micah hadn’t attacked. He hadn’t, but come on!
Every morning she woke and wondered, Is today the day I get to see Kaysar? Hope always ballooned, despite the inevitable pop when night arrived without word. Her nerves couldn’t take much more. Her childhood nightmare had overtaken her adult life, and it sucked.
Today’s trials, tomorrow’s strengths. Right?
She laughed without humor. How about this: Always have an escape plan.
With Jareth’s help and a few handy dreams, she’d learned to create different kinds of vines, both poisonous and medicinal. She could even produce certain fruit and nut trees. If ever she had to go on the run, she could feed and shelter herself. She wouldn’t need anyone’s artificial aid.
She fisted her hands. Due to his absence, Kaysar didn’t know her doormaking ability had begun to recharge. She felt it, deep inside. In a matter of weeks, she suspected she’d have enough juice to collect Pearl Jean and Sugars.
Homesickness nearly doubled her over as she imagined rubbing her face in the little house panther’s fur and cracking Pearl Jean’s ribs when she hugged her too hard.
Cookie wiped her eyes and turned her thoughts to the array of garments in her closest. A much safer topic, and a promise Kaysar had actually kept. Her racks overflowed with different personalities. She thought she understood the purpose of every garment—seduce, command, rebuke, punish, tease, submit—but one. A clinging ivory frock with both soft and sharp edges. A severe but hauntingly lovely...wedding gown? Maybe, possibly?
Except, he already had a wife, didn’t he?
Argh! What did vengeance give him that Cookie didn’t? She just...she missed him so much. And she shouldn’t. Not if he made her feel this crappy. Unwanted. Alone.
Tears gathered again, and she sniffled. How many times had she watched the door at home, waiting for a parent to come get her? Or stared at a phone, willing it to ring so someone would tell her happy birthday? Oh, and how could she forget the evening she’d overheard her parents arguing about who had to keep her over a weekend. Had to. As if she were nothing but a burden to bear.
Did Kaysar think of her? Was she an afterthought? What was he even doing? They were partners. They were supposed to torment Hador Frostline together.
Jareth Frostline, as it turned out, wasn’t such a bad guy. Even when his impatience got the better of him, which was almost always, he never insulted or hurt her. Not with real barbs. He’d stopped judging her for being different from Lulundria.
Every day, his circumstances bothered her a little more. Chained for a crime he hadn’t committed, and ignored by the man responsible for his captivity.
When an opportunity presented itself, she planned to broach the subject of Jareth’s release. Gently. As an added bonus, Kaysar’s reaction to the topic could reveal her current placement in his hierarchy of needs.
Whispers erupted behind her, and her step faltered. Servants. Gossiping again. They’d taken an instant dislike to her. Maybe because she’d slaughtered their guards? Possibly?
Too frazzled
to deal with the malice today, she turned around and snapped, “Go ahead and keep talking behind my back. You never know when I’ll decide to stab you in yours.”
They paled and scurried off, leaving her alone, guilty and shamed on top of everything else. They’d done nothing worth such ire from the strange woman demanding they serve her. She needed to do better.
Cookie sighed. She would grow everyone their own personal apology plant. The Dusklands had been barren so long. A little color could really make the terrain pop.
Feet heavy, she continued on her journey. Another tour, checking the final group of bedrooms and...uh, where was she? Mind swirling, she spun in a circle in an effort to catch up with her thoughts. Seconds ago, she’d stood in a sunlit hallway with gilt-framed portraits, elaborate side tables and velvet settees. Then she’d turned a corner and boom. A dank, dark catacomb with a handful of torches anchored to stone walls surrounded her.
A surprisingly sweet scent wafted. Heart thumping, Cookie readied vines and strode forward. With every step, a staff clinked against the floor. The perfect accessory for the Little Bo-Peep’s dress she’d chosen today. Why, why, why had the garment called to her? How could she find her missing sheep while she remained lost?
Cookie rounded a corner and—Whoa! A beautiful arch made of metal shards stood anchored to the floor, the belly thick, blue and rippling. A doorway? Amber stood before it, dressed in a flowing white gown and peering inside, quiet and contemplative.
Sensing the invasion, Amber spun and pressed a hand over her stomach. She relaxed when she spotted Cookie. “How did you find me?”
“I don’t know.” The dress? Maybe this was why she’d chosen to be the shepherdess. She’d noticed Amber tended to vanish at certain points throughout each day. “What is this place?”
“A type of treasure room, I think. The doorway—” the oracle motioned to the metal “—never closes. I discovered it the day after Hador’s arrival in the Dusklands.”
Cookie wouldn’t ask for an update about her boyfriend. She wouldn’t stoop so low. Nope. She would keep those humiliating questions to herself.
“What’s on the other side?” She had a right to know where her kingdom’s perma-doorway led. Part of the castle, all mine.
“My guess is the mortal world.”
Homesickness took another jab at her, silencing her response.
She and Amber stood in the quiet, both peering into the azure glow. For a long while, Cookie contemplated doing something wild and spontaneous and...going through. There was no better time for a discovery mission. But what if the doorway was a trap set for unsuspecting usurpers? Go through, and you ended up in a dungeon or something.
“Tell me about your visions,” Cookie asked, and licked her lips. “Are they ever wrong?”
“No.” Amber toed a pebble with her slipper. “I see events as if they are my own memories. Sometimes of things that have already happened. Other times I observe what’s happening in the moment and even situations that have yet to occur. Forcing myself to look into specific times, places and individuals is straining but doable.”
“Have you seen into my future?”
Amber’s shoulders sagged the tiniest bit. “I have. And I don’t need to be an oracle to know you crave answers about it.”
Her emotions had run the gamut today. Apprehension decided there’d never been a better time to shine. I’m doomed?
Maybe, maybe not, but Cookie most certainly didn’t wish to know about it.
And yet? “Yes,” she croaked. “Will I crash and burn with Kaysar?”
Today’s trials, tomorrow’s strengths.
“Let me show you what he’s doing right now. Then, you tell me the answer to your question,” Amber said.
An image appeared in Cookie’s mind, there and gone, but she had no trouble memorizing every detail. Kaysar, prowling over scorched earth, smoke billowing all around him. Shadows cloaked his powerful form as he approached a patrolling soldier.
With a slash of his claws, the soldier died.
“I’m confused,” Cookie said. “Is that supposed to be a deal breaker for me?” She only wanted him more. That soldier had guarded Kaysar’s abuser. Meaning, not innocent.
The ground shook with enough force to impel Amber in her direction. They crashed together, and Cookie bounced back, her shepherd’s staff clattering to the floor. The oracle toppled.
“What’s happening?” she cried when the shaking intensified.
A large stone fell from the ceiling, hurling straight toward the seer. Cookie unleashed a wall of vines, protecting the other woman long enough for her to roll out of the way.
As her leaves withered, dust plumed the air, tickling her nose and throat. She coughed and coughed.
Amber coughed, too, and remained on the floor. “My inner vision is hazy but...I think an army of goblins has entered the palace. They’re out for our blood.”
Ghost goblins, like the ones in the game? Foreboding creeped down her spine as she tugged the oracle to her feet. “Come on. Let’s go kick butt.” Hopefully.
“What? No! We stay here, where we have an escape hatch if we’re found.”
Cookie struggled to make sense of her refusal. Escape? “I don’t think you understand. If we remain here, we can’t fight the creatures and defend my castle.” She pivoted, ready to run. “Let’s go.”
Amber latched on to her wrist, stopping her. “You don’t understand. You’ve never fought goblins, and I don’t yet see a path to victory.”
Her stomach turned. “Do you see a loss?”
“Maybe?” the oracle hedged.
Maybe wasn’t a guarantee. Good enough. “Sometimes you can’t see the end until you get to the middle.” A trick she’d learned sacking digital fortresses. “Imma go get in that middle.” No one took her stuff, especially not goblins.
“Wait,” Amber called as Cookie wrenched free and jogged off. “I see now,” the oracle continued, and she slowed. “Others lead the goblins...”
Another image flashed into her mind, there and gone. A picture of Micah, his skin smeared in red paint. No, covered in blood. Beside him was a smaller man, who was in no way, well, small. He was older, though, with silver-blond hair and a barrel chest. He looked like an older version of Jareth.
A Frostline, then. The Frostline, most likely. The one Kaysar hunted.
The Winter Court king Chantel longed to kill.
Had the two men escaped Kaysar’s wrath? Or something worse?
Fire blazed beneath her skin, and she raced for the exit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
KAYSAR SULKED THROUGH Hador and Micah’s campground, enveloped by shadows, unseen as guards made their rounds and went about their evening. Irritation rode him hard. When had his vengeance become such a chore?
Again and again, his mind returned to Chantel—to his desperate longing. He continued to replay their last moments together and cringe.
Long ago, his father had kissed his mother goodbye anytime he’d journeyed to the Summer Court market for supplies. Though the trips had usually only lasted two weeks, they had embraced at length, clinging to each other as if they were to be forever parted. Always afterward, his mother had touched her lips repeatedly, seeking the comfort of a remembered kiss.
Kaysar had missed an incredible opportunity. He could have left his woman with his kiss.
Did she miss him, even a little?
He shoved his hand into his pocket and sifted her lock of hair between his fingers. He’d spent days away from her, his instinct to return slowly eroding his calm. She slips away. Can’t let her slip away.
He sensed trouble, and quickened his pace. Focus. Five minutes ago, he’d watched Hador and Micah enter a war tent set in the center of their campground. Surrounded by countless guards—Dusklanders in armor and Winter Court mercenaries in fur—the enclosure had few vuln
erabilities.
No flittering had occurred, the ability limited to the area around the palace due to some kind of special rock Micah had used. And yet, Kaysar no longer believed the pair occupied the tent. None of the twelve silhouettes fit the exact measurements of his targets.
Yet how could the two kings have left the shelter? Unless Hador employed the same strategy Kaysar had once used against him—an underground tunnel.
There hadn’t been time to dig—except the two hundred years of Kaysar’s absence.
Kaysar cursed and launched into a sprint. Had Micah constructed tunnels throughout the land?
Anyone who stepped into his path, he rammed, clawed or stabbed, whatever proved necessary. He hurled his body through the entrance of the tent, the flap ripping. Quick scan. Twelve guards, no royals. He dispatched his foes quickly and searched—oh, yes, a tunnel.
Tricked. Because he’d been distracted by thoughts of Chantel.
Did the males approach her? The desire to gaze upon her amplified as a gut-wrenching thought occurred. Kaysar had left her undefended.
Fear grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. If the kings reached her before he did...if they harmed her... Not her. Anyone but her.
Eye knew to provide him with a mental image if trouble arose. But what if she couldn’t?
Pounding footsteps registered, more guards rushing in his direction. Kaysar had a choice. Take the tunnel wherever it led, hoping to catch the royals, or return to the castle, where the two were probably headed.
Castle, he decided, already speeding across the campgrounds, barreling past anyone in his path. When he cleared the tents , a cool wind resisted his momentum. He cut through the bluster with fierce determination matched by few.
Kaysar hated himself for leaving Chantel. His war could’ve waited another few weeks or months. Instead, he’d opted to prove to them both that he had the strength to stay away from his mate whenever his foes neared.
Fool. He flew along the plains. Leaped over naturally generated fires that sparked from the ground, throwing embers. Smoke stung his eyes and clogged his lungs. All had better be well at home. Not one scratch on her.
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