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DESDEMONA PAUSED AT the top of the snow-covered hill, gazing down upon the village of Snowbank. Nestled at the base of the Delelm Mountains, the large village had once been home to hundreds of Fox Shifters. Its market had been a bustling place for the residents of Mollac to buy, sell, and trade their homemade goods, furs, food, and crops.
Now, it seemed a desolate place; far too still and quiet. Only the smoke curling from the chimneys of its houses told her that anyone still lived there. The market looked as if it had been abandoned, its empty stalls casting forlorn shadows against the snowy ground. Marching back and forth at various points throughout the village, Eranna’s minions kept watch—appearing like ants crawling across the snow from this distance.
Coming up beside her on two legs, Malachi braced his hands on his hips. His large arms were bared to the cold by his sleeveless tunic, his long legs encased in matching brown leggings and boots. On her other side appeared Eli, dressed in similar fashion, but in unrelenting black.
“There aren’t many of them,” Malachi remarked, following her gaze to where Eranna’s soldiers patrolled the village.
“Not from the looks of things, but we cannot afford to make assumptions,” Eli replied. “There could be others nearby, waiting to be alerted at the first sign of trouble.”
Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, Malachi motioned toward the one hundred Warrior Fae in formation behind them, with Mindirra and her royal bodyguard at their forefront. “We have them for reinforcement if need be. This lot is so pitiful, the three of us could wipe them out in minutes.”
“Well, then,” Desdemona said, shrugging out of her fur cloak. “What are we waiting for?”
Leaving the men behind, she began tramping down the bank toward the village. She spread her arms and allowed the fire in her belly to grow and swell, its heat reaching out to the tips of her fingers. Pausing, she glanced back over her shoulder and met Malachi’s glance. He watched her with the light of pride in his eyes, his lips curved into a smile. The world seemed so much easier to face knowing that she had someone to love, who loved her back. He would remain at her side, even when others failed her.
“Do try to keep up,” she murmured just before bursting into flames and transforming into her Phoenix form.
Taking to the sky, she spread her wings and glided, drifting toward the village at a languid pace. She was content to take her time, and allow the minions below her to realize what was about to happen before she decimated them.
The sound of feet pounding the ground drew her gaze below, where Malachi and Eliandes had shifted into their animal forms. Keeping pace with each other, they ran side by side, both equally frightening in completely different ways. Eli was lean muscle beneath dark, sleek fur—powerful and lithe. Malachi was all brawn beneath the coils of brown fur, charging forward at a speed that would knock anything in his way off its feet.
With a screech, she let loose with a stream of flames, alerting those on the ground to her presence. The panicked cries of the people watching from inside their houses reached out to her, mingling with her enemies’ roars of anger. She wished she could speak in her Phoenix form, and assure the people of Mollac that she had not come to harm them. However, the Shapeshifters and Minotaurs keeping them imprisoned in Eranna’s name were a more pressing problem. She could show them better than she could tell them, just how dedicated she was to liberating them.
Swooping down toward the snowy ground, she let loose with another stream of fire, incinerating the four Minotaurs charging toward her with axes raised. Landing in the snow, she stood and threw her wings out wide, issuing another cry of warning. The call was clear in its resonance and intent. It let everyone within hearing distance know that the Phoenix had come home to claim what was hers.
On either side of her, Malachi and Eli warded off attacks—one swiping and snapping at the Fox Shifters surrounding him, while the other tangled with a Werewolf.
Suddenly, a dozen Werewolves converged on her from all sides, the fur on their backs bristling as they bared their teeth and snapped at her. Her massive wings created a current of wind that knocked them back, head over heels as she propelled upward. The flames that shot from her mouth enveloped them, melting the show into slush as they became engulfed. Some tried to run, but she went after them, swooping down and taking two of them into her talons. Twisting and writhing in her hold, they attempted to be free, but she proved stronger than them as she went higher—high enough that once she released them, they fell too far and fast to survive.
Without stopping to watch the creatures plummet to their deaths, she arced back around, and glided lower, bowling over four Fox Shifters as they attempted to attack Malachi. As they tumbled away, she bathed them in fire, refusing to feel sympathy at the sounds of their yips and cries of agony. These creatures were the enemy, and were responsible for the pain and suffering of many others.
It did not take long for her, Eli, and Malachi to clear the entire village, with her flying overhead to better spot threats, and them following on the ground. By the time Mindirra, her royal guard, and the unit of Warrior Fae reached them, they had eradicated Eranna’s presence in Snowbank.
Desdemona came back down, shifting just as her feet touched the ground right in front of Mindirra and her guards. Mindirra dutifully held up Desdemona’s fur cloak, swiftly using it to cover her now naked body.
“I took the liberty of bringing more clothing for you, my queen,” Mindirra said, extending a small sack to her.
Unlike her, Malachi and Eli wore enchanted Fae garments that shifted when they did and remained intact. She envied them the luxury, and wondered how quickly she could procure some.
Smiling gratefully, she accepted the bundle, ensuring her cloak remained closed. The cold didn’t bother her now that she’d learned to use the fire inside of her to keep warm, and nudity no longer shamed her, as her clothes would always burn away whenever she transformed. However, she could feel Malachi’s possessive gaze sweeping over the other males present, almost as if daring them to look at her. Despite needing to appear queenly at the moment, she couldn’t help the blush that warmed her face, or the tiny smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. It didn’t matter that she was one of the most powerful beings in existence—that he felt so strongly about protecting her warmed Desdemona’s heart.
“Thank you, Mindirra,” she said.
She turned to find that a family of three Fox Shifters had emerged from their home and began to approach her. The husband held his mate and son close, his expression wary as he led them to her. The female trembled in her husband’s arms, but followed his lead, seeming to trust his assumption that Desdemona had not come to obliterate them into ashes.
“Hello,” she called out, smiling to put them at ease. “Come forward ... no one will harm you.”
Visibly relieved, the man led his family closer. As they neared, he dropped to one knee in the snow and lowered his head. His wife and son followed suit.
“Your Majesty,” he murmured, staring up at her with awe-filled eyes. “We have awaited your return with baited breath. What can we do to thank you for freeing us from being imprisoned in our own homes?”
Striding forward, she reached down to touch his shoulder. “What is your name?”
“Roimas, Your Majesty,” he replied. Then, he gestured to the woman and boy kneeling on either side of him. “My mate, Merta, and my son, Henfas.”
“Stand, Roimas.”
He obeyed, then urged his mate and son to do the same. Desdemona gestured toward the other homes stretching out in the distance, their doors and windows still closed and shuttered against the cold.
“Go to your neighbors and knock upon their doors,” she commanded. “Spread the word to every corner of Snowbank. Tell your neighbors, friends, and family that the village is yours again. Come out of hiding, reopen your market. Return to living your lives. I now rule as Queen of Mollac; my mother’s reign of terror is now at an end.”
Nodding, Roimas gave her a wide smile, causing wrinkles to form around his dark eyes. They twinkled with warmth and joy.
“Yes, my queen,” he replied. “Right away. And thank you ... thank you for setting us free.”
She simply inclined her head at him in response, giving him another encouraging smile. Reaching out for her right hand, he lifted it and lowered his head, placing a quick kiss upon the red ruby ring she wore. Her mother still wore the crest of the Ravenmoore family, but Desdemona had made due with her own ring, the large ruby good enough to serve in its place.
“Come, Henfas,” he said, reaching out for his son.
Taking the boy’s hand, he led his son away, and the two broke into a run toward the neighboring cottage. Merta rose to her feet and gestured toward the open door of her home.
“If you wish a private place to don your new garments, my home is yours, Your Majesty,” she declared.
“I would like that, thank you,” she replied.
Malachi and Mindirra followed to act as her guards, while Eli rounded up the rest of the royal guard to assist Roimas in spreading their message to the residents of Snowbank.
Once alone in the cottage, Desdemona found a warm fire crackling in the hearth. Casting a quick glance around the small home, she experienced a twinge of pity. They’d been allowed to keep their rough, wooden furniture, which sat facing the fireplace. However, anything else that might have made the home a warm place for a family to live had been taken. She wondered what it had looked like before the invasion of her mother’s minions. Perhaps furs and tapestries had covered the floors and walls. Wooden décor carved by Roimas by hand would have adorned the mantle and tabletops.
The scent of a winter stew should fill the space, but she found the kettle resting beside the hearth empty. The shelves in the small kitchen were astonishingly sparse. The people of Snowbank had been stripped of everything—left to eat nothing but scraps and shiver inside their cold cottages. The firewood resting near the kettle wasn’t nearly enough. They would have run out by week’s end.
The sights made her angry, but Desdemona fought to keep it under control. It would not help matters if she burst into flames and destroyed the home. She had come to make everything that was wrong right again—and that was precisely what she must do, instead of allowing herself to wallow in pity and anger.
She made quick work of getting dressed, donning the warm stockings, shift, and gown Mindirra had brought for her. Thankfully, the gown was warm and well-made, but not overly ornate. The people knew she was a queen; there was no need to flaunt her wealth before them when so many of them had been left to suffer.
Pulling her cloak back over her shoulders, she emerged from the cottage and found that several of the town residents had gathered just outside the door. She paused on the threshold, overwhelmed by the sight of them, stretching on beyond the home and down the lane. Word had traveled fast, and it seemed the entire village had gathered to greet her.
At their forefront stood Roimas and his family, beaming proudly. A hard lump rose in her throat and tears sprang to her eyes as one by one, the villagers began falling to their knees in the snow. The men who wore fur hats removed them, holding them over their hearts. Others—Fox Shifters she knew must be warriors—saluted her with closed fists over their chests.
Somewhere from the back of the crowd, a man’s booming voice thundered through the air. “All hail Queen Desdemona!”
The cry was taken up by several others, and before long the call resounded with the force of hundreds of voices.
“All hail Queen Desdemona!”
The tears slipped down her cheeks, the significance of what was happening causing her a moment of humility. She had taken Semran Hall by force and declared herself the Queen of Mollac by right of birth. But now, the people of Mollac openly accepted her and declared her their queen in a way they never had her mother. For them to welcome her was unexpected, especially since she’d kept them waiting while she wrestled with her own doubts and fears. Then and there, she vowed not to let them down.
Raising her arms, she quieted them, blinking away more tears with a smile. “Thank you, people of Snowbank! The village is yours again, and I know you will restore it to its former greatness. The woods are yours for hunting once more; the market yours for selling and trading your goods. The next time I visit Snowbank, I look forward to seeing it become the thriving town it once was.”
Her speech was met with thunderous applause, and all at once, the people began converging on her. Mindirra, Eli, and Malachi stepped forward as if to block them, but Desdemona urged them to allow the people to come. She would not deny a single one of them an audience if they wished it.
Someone brought her a cushioned chair to sit upon, while her royal guard worked to organize those clamoring for her attention into an orderly line. She greeted each one, listening to their stories and internalizing every one. Listening as they told her about how their lives had been affected by her mother’s tyranny, and how happy they were now that she’d come, Desdemona memorized each tale. She never wanted to forget their plight—needed to remember why it was important for her to serve as their queen.
By the time the last of them had come forth, the sun had set, heralding the appearance of the moon and stars. Hunger and thirst gnawed at her insides, and she was exhausted, but would not have changed her decision to speak to each of them.
Malachi approached and gave her a hand up, offering her a chalice of wine with the other. “The people wish to celebrate your return and their freedom. While you were granting the villagers their audiences with you, a hunting party was organized and sent out into the woods for meat. The people have gathered what food they have and prepared a meal. We urged them to save what they had, but they would hear none of it. They would not take no for an answer, and will not be content until their queen has come to feast with them.”
Glancing past him, she spotted a massive fire at the center of town, around which people had gathered. Their voices rang out in a sound that buoyed Desdemona’s spirits. Laughter. Conversation. Music! A group of men had produced instruments and begun playing, prompting many others to dance.
With a wide smile, Desdemona took a hearty sip of her wine. “I cannot very well disappoint them, can I?”
Offering her his arm, Malachi returned her smile. “No, my queen. You certainly cannot. Shall we?”
Looping her arm through his, she allowed him to lead her toward the gathered villagers. The scent of roasting meat made her stomach quiver and her mouth water. As if sensing her hunger, a woman approached her with a platter of dried fruits and nuts. Malachi accepted the platter and held it out to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the woman, who bowed and smiled before backing away and leaving her to enjoy the delicacies.
She and Malachi shared from the platter, and the roiling of her stomach began to calm. Pushing aside some of the offerings, he revealed a honeycomb.
Glancing up at her he grinned. “Look.”
Her face heated at the sight of the comb, glistening with fresh honey. One of the villagers must have just found it from a nearby tree. The honeycomb brought back memories both painful and sweet.
“Remember bringing me that honeycomb?” he murmured. “I do. Your delight over such a simple thing bought me joy during one of the darkest times of my life.”
Desdemona remembered the day clearly. She’d found the honeycomb during a walk in the woods, hoping it would help lift his spirits. They’d shared it together, and she could remember it being the first time she’d been seized with the urge to kiss him and almost given in. Her girlish infatuation with him had been inappropriate, and she’d never thought of it before the moment he’d stood in front of her with the sweet amber liquid staining his beautiful lips.
Lifting the comb from the platter, he held it up to her, dropping his gaze to her mouth. Closing her eyes, she sighed as she took a bite of the waxy comb, her mouth flooded with the sticky and sweet honey. Taking her time, she chewed the waxy comb, drawing as much of the liquid as she could from it before swallowing. She opened her eyes and found Malachi following suit, taking the other half of the comb and licking his fingers.
He watched her while he chewed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. Licking his lips clean, he watched her with a look in his eyes that was unmistakable. She couldn’t misconstrue the gleam in his dark gaze for anything other than what it was. He wanted to kiss her.
Nothing stood in their way this time, and Desdemona had never felt more free than she did standing with him beneath the stars. Free to be herself because he would accept her regardless. Free to love him, because he had given himself to her.
Closing the distance between them, she rose up on her tiptoes. He met her lips with his own, lowering his head and wrapping an arm around her waist. Holding her tight, he gave her a thorough kiss, taking his time and making it last. She grew dizzy from the assault, the taste of him mingling with honey flooding her senses. When he pulled away, they both fought to breathe evenly. She was suddenly burning up beneath her furs.
“I know you are obligated to attend your people right now,” he whispered. “But I cannot wait to have you all to myself again.”
Glancing around, she lifted her eyebrows. “How far are we from your cabin?”
A slow smile crept across his face as he understood what she was hinting at. “An hour’s walk on foot. We could arrive faster if you ride on my back.”
“Let’s stay an hour at least,” she suggested. “They did go through so much trouble. But a bit later ...”
Nodding, he kissed her again. “I’ll carry you away.”
The prospect sent a little thrill down her spine. She could hardly wait.