The gates of Chief Logan's estate swung inward before Jareth even had to break his stride. The two guards stationed there, their postures rigid, recognized him instantly. Their stern expressions softened into nods of deep respect.
"Master Jareth," one guard said. "The Chief is in his study. He is waiting for you."
Jareth offered nothing more than a stiff, silent nod in return. He could feel the man's eyes on his back as he passed, and he wondered if the guard could see through the carefully constructed mask of calm he wore. Beneath the surface, a storm was raging.
Dorianna.
Her name was like a curse echoing in his mind. Her words and her threats had sunk deep, like poisoned barbs.
Would she really do it? Would she go to Zephyr and spill everything she knew? The thought was a cold knot in his stomach. What would his stepbrother do? Imprison him? Banish him? Or something worse? The uncertainty was a special kind of torture.
