The Warlord Gena Showalter (primary phonics TXT) 📖

his breathing suddenly more labored. “Your insolence this day is concerning, Eye. But I’m a merciful king. Upon occasion. Too merciful, perhaps. I’ll give you a chance to save yourself from reprisal. Show me what Prince Jareth is doing right this second.”

The seer seized the opportunity, presenting him with a new image. One of Jareth Frostline, Crown Prince of the Winter Court, traveling through the Forest of Many Names with his new bride, Princess Lulundria, the darling of the Summer Court.

“Show me the end result of our coming skirmish.” And there would be a skirmish. There was only one reason the prince would grow the stones to near Kaysar’s borders. He craved a fight.

Hoping to impress the wife with his strength, perhaps?

He will face only humiliation! Because of the Frostlines, Kaysar had lost everything of importance to him. After his escape from captivity—he ground his teeth—he’d hunted for Viori for over a decade. She’d vanished without a trace. Even Eye had failed to catch a glimpse of her.

Now Kaysar lived to ensure the Frostlines suffered and suffered and suffered and suffered and suffered, then suffered some more. Until they experienced the same devastation they’d caused an innocent boy who’d wished only to protect his sister, Kaysar would not stop.

He would never stop. His own suffering endured throughout the ages. Theirs would, too.

“Must I?” Eye asked. “To show you what transpires, I must also watch.” She shuddered, her distaste for the sight of blood her biggest fault. Along with a handful of others. “We both know you will win.”

“That’s right. I always win.” Kaysar grinned, a cruel twisting of his lips.

In battle, he had no equal. Not because he was born with a natural or even unnatural talent for killing. In his formative years, he’d worked as a farmer, like his parents. No, he succeeded because he would cross any line to achieve his objective. Nothing dissuaded him from a goal.

It helped that he’d trained under the harshest conditions. That he’d spent centuries battling goblins and ogres. Monsters and the worst of the worst.

Perhaps he was a monster himself, eh? But at least he wasn’t a liar.

When he’d taken control of the Nightlands—once a prison territory inhabited only by the dregs of society—he’d created a new fae court, no one able to stop him. To the fae, might equaled right, every kingdom ruled by the one with the strength to keep the crown.

Now the Midnight Court was the wealthiest of all the kingdoms...but still the most dangerous. Kaysar’s army was double the size of any other, his soldiers more stalwartly trained.

He’d labored to ensure his men had no equal in battle. Without hesitation, they savagely killed anyone who served the Frostlines. But. As ordered, they always spared the Frostlines themselves. To this day, Kaysar lamented ending Prince Lark’s life. So soon.

You couldn’t torture a dead man. Kaysar had tried!

His only solace came from making the rest of the family wish they were dead.

“Is there anything else I should see?” he demanded, repositioning. He leaned back, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles, then tapped a claw against the arm of the throne. The razor-sharp tip left tiny oozing grooves.

At one time, that venom would have agonized and paralyzed him for several critical minutes, as it did to everyone else. With trials, tribulations and a whole lot of determination, he’d developed a tolerance for it, as well as the magestone used to build the palace. A simple-looking gray rock able to temporarily mute a fae’s power. Well, any fae but Kaysar and Eye, their immunity to poisonvine an antidote for the magestone.

“There is always more you should see,” Eye muttered, “but most of it you choose to ignore.”

Had she insulted his selective understanding? Yes. Was she wrong? No. “Show me what I do wish to see and nothing more.”

Eye heaved a sigh. Like she’d done thousands of times, she projected an image into his mind. This one featured a bloody Jareth on his knees, his head bowed as he sobbed.

Prince Jareth, miserable enough to squeeze out a few tears? Kaysar must witness this. The princeling will sob within the hour!

The royal seer took a step forward, daring to brave his wrath as she lured him from his musings. “Why don’t you kill King Hador and Prince Jareth and be done with your hatred once and for all?” She motioned to the tattoo branded into his biceps. A snake curled into a figure eight, eating its own tail, with a sword running through the center. His kingdom’s symbol, meaning “eternal war.”

Foolish girl. “You don’t part with the things you love. You hold them close and never let go.” His hatred was his oldest and dearest friend. His closest family. If he lost it the way he’d lost Viori, what would he have?

Eye gave him a pitying look. “Why does your desire for vengeance matter more than another’s hope for peace?” The words contained notes of curiosity rather than disrespect, the only reason he spared her life. “Your people tire of war, King Kaysar. Myself included. Do you even care?”

“What a ridiculous question. Of course I don’t care. My people have shelter, food and protection. A slight to them is a slight to me. I demand only what I’m owed in return.”

“Yes, but you think you are owed blind obedience every moment of every day.”

“Wrong. I believe I’m owed blind obedience every moment of every day and truth.” If anyone lied to him, they immediately lost their kingdom privileges. One of which was breathing.

She tossed up her hands. “You make it impossible for your people to find happiness, you know.”

“You have never been more wrong. Happiness is the only thing I’ve left up to them. If they go without it, they can only blame themselves.” A thought occurred to him. He tilted his head, intensifying his study of her. “Have you decided my terms are unacceptable? You are more than welcome to leave my lands.”

To reach another kingdom, she must travel through the