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SIX DAYS LATER ...
Rothatin stood on the balcony looking over Goldun from Osbel tower. A soft, evening breeze rustled his hair, which had been combed and brushed until it gleamed, the top layer of it pulled back and plaited. He wore his royal court attire—pristine white garments in rich, embroidered silk, the silver threads taking on the glow of his natural aura. His feet were bare, his spear set aside for now.
This was a night for celebration, not war, and downstairs in Adrah’s throne room, he was awaited by the entire royal Fae Court, as well as most of the people he cared about in the world.
Soon, he was getting married
Tonight, the celebration of his engagement would make the betrothal both public to all of Goldun, and official in the eyes of the court. From then on, the marriage could not be called off unless En’im herself found cause to refuse to marry him.
Six days prior, he had worked tirelessly to prepare for the burning of Eliandes’ body. He had gone down into the crypts himself, overseeing the servants as they’d bathed and prepared Jocylene’s mate for the burning. He’d sent away four different ensembles brought by Desdemona’s maids, until he felt satisfied that Eli was dressed in a way befitting his status as a martyr for Fallada and the mate of the woman he loved above all others. Everything had to be perfect.
Jocylene’s look of approval when she’d been brought downstairs to inspect his body herself had brought him no end of relief. She had looked over his long, black tunic and matching pants and declared them perfect. Placing her hand over his heart where his wound had been, she traced the gleaming black threads that embroidered the chest of the tunic. Still in keeping with the black hue of the Panthers, it had a shine to it that made the man wearing it appear regal. Glancing up at him, she’d thanked him for what he’d done.
That night, he’d stood in the courtyard of the castle, his gaze fixed on her face as Eli’s body was placed on a tall, wooden pyre for burning. Beside her sat Desdemona, who held her hand tight and offered her comfort. Joining them for the ceremony were the entire army of Mollac, as well as the Brothers Grimm, Titus, and Gretchen, who had returned with the Damunian army after chasing off the enemy to discover the news about Eli’s death. Jocylene’s father, Jake, sat on her opposite side, his face drawn and haggard, the grief he felt for his daughter’s sake evident on his face. Rothatin wondered if he knew about the grandchild that had been lost as well. No mention of it had been made since he’d visited Jocylene’s sickroom, so he assumed she had decided to keep her loss a secret.
Arrian and Phaedra had arrived from Inador the following morning, too late to join them in mourning.
Desdemona had lit the fire herself, and they’d all stood back to watch as the flames engulfed first the pyre, then Eli. The orange glow of the flames had lit Jocylene’s face up, showing him that she did not shed a single tear. It was as if she’d poured every single one of them out when she’d collapsed in Inador.
Gods help him, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to get the sound of her screams out of his head, or stop hearing them whenever he closed his eyes at night to sleep. If anyone had doubted her love for Eli, it had been proven by her visceral reaction to his death. He had seen firsthand that she’d felt every ounce of pain that Eli experienced. So had the child growing inside of her, apparently. The loss of the baby had been an additional blow, one he was not certain she could ever recover from.
Yet, there remained a gleam in her eye that he knew well.
Determination.
Jocylene was seething with anger, and he had a feeling that would be what fueled her from this day forward. Her want for vengeance would give her strength. She was nothing if not resilient.
He’d offered to bring her back to Goldun, where she could continue to heal and rest, but Jocylene had chosen to remain in Mollac. She’d sent for Michael, Vince, and Gracie, who would leave in the morning under a heavily armed Fae escort to join her there. Jake Grimm had opted to remain in Mollac as well, to be there for his mourning daughter.
Rothatin wasn’t certain when he might lay eyes upon her again.
With a sigh, he turned away from the railing of the balcony and glanced into the room he’d come to visit before going down to the engagement celebration. The High Princess of Fallada still lay where he’d left her days ago, seeming to sleep peacefully in her bed. Maxine, they called her, though her name had been Gytha at birth.
The Fae servants had bathed and dressed her in a prim white nightgown, which matched the stark white hue of her hair spread out around her. She appeared like a delicate, porcelain doll—like the white dove the prophesy had likened her to.
Adrah’s healers had done everything they could think of to rouse her, but nothing had worked. Her sleep-like state kept her in its talons, and no one seemed to know what to do to bring her out of it.
All hope seemed to be lost this night, as he thought about the woman half a world away from him, and the one who lay sleeping before him. But, the fight had not ended. Princess Sonia was still out there somewhere, with the dragons and her brothers. Inador had been saved, and Mollac secured ... Eranna was finally destroyed.
Somehow, they would find a way to awaken Maxine. Jocylene would recover, and the fire that he knew burned deep down inside her would roar to life once more. And he ... he was getting married.
The door to the chamber opened, and En’im appeared, looking as beautiful and radiant as he’d expect a bride to look on the night of her engagement party. Her long, golden hair fell to her waist, a circlet made of diamond-encrusted silver resting on her head. A soft pink gown enveloped her warrior’s form in a way her usual clothing did not. She appeared far more lovely and womanly than he’d ever realized she could be. Her bare feet peeked out from beneath the gown, silver jewelry circling her toes and connecting to her ankles by a series of chains.
Why couldn’t he love her? She had all the qualities he should have wanted in a mate, yet even with her standing before him looking like some heavenly dream, Rothatin could only long for someone else.
Disappointment showed on her face, and Rothatin experienced instant guilt to know he’d caused it.
“Here you are,” she said, her voice gentle yet firm. “We’ve been waiting for you to arrive. Queen Adrah won’t begin the festivities without you.”
Joining her inside the room, Rothatin reached out to take her hand. “Forgive me. I simply thought to look in on Maxine ... in case she awakened and found herself alone.”
Her expression softened as he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Are you ready to come now?”
He nodded, even though the last thing he wanted to do was celebrate anything. “Yes. Are you angry with me?”
Pulling her hand away from his, she folded them in front of her. “No, Rothatin, I am not angry. Only ...”
He wrinkled his brow as she lowered her eyes. “What is it?”
Raising her gaze to meet his once more, she lifted her chin as if gathering her resolve. “I need to be certain that you know what you’re doing here ... that this is truly what you want.”
His heart leapt into his throat, and for a moment he could not breathe. Was she offering him an out? Breaking their engagement?
“Of course it’s what I want,” he said, trying to blunt the edge to his voice. “I asked you to marry me, remember?”
She nodded. “Yes, I know. Nonetheless, given the state you’re in after the death of Princess Jocylene’s mate—”
“The loss of Eliandes was a tragic blow for all of us,” he interjected.
“And the grief of his widow seems to be affecting some of us more than it is others,” she said sharply. “If you want to go to her, Rothatin, I wish you would simply call this off and do so. I accepted your proposal knowing full well what you could offer me, and what you couldn’t. But I cannot have you embarrassing me at our engagement party, leaving me alone down there, while you brood over her up here.”
Rothatin felt as if she’d slapped him, then doused him in the face with a bucket of cold water. Was he really so transparent? Could everyone see that Jocylene being in such pain had cut him to the quick? That he loved her so much, he would have gladly laid down his own life if it meant Eli could live and make her happy again?
“En’im, I am ready to marry you,” he declared, forcing himself to believe the words as he said them. “The events of the past few weeks have been taxing, and I hope you can forgive me for becoming distracted. We almost lost Jocylene, then Phaedra, and the strain has been tremendous. However, that does not excuse my behavior. I will strive to do better from now on.”
Her expression softened, and she reached up to cup his face. “No, I am the one who needs forgiveness. I have been insensitive. Of course, you are distracted ... we are at war, after all. It is not my intention to place even more pressure upon you.”
Rothatin smirked. “As a wife, that is precisely your job.”
En’im scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “Come, General. Let’s go put on a brave face for our guests. I promise it won’t be as bad as you’re thinking it’ll be.”
Offering her his arm, Rothatin rose an eyebrow. “We’ll get through it together.”
Linking her arm through his, En’im allowed him to lead her from the chamber. He escorted her to the throne room, where their guests waited for them to arrive. Forcing his face into his usual, stoic mask, Rothatin did his best to play the part of the dutiful groom to his future bride. All the while, Jocylene’s sorrow-filled eyes haunted his mind.
Desdemona took a slow sip of her wine and watched from her place at the high table as toasts were raised in honor of General Rothatin and his bride-to-be. Despite not wanting to leave her sister behind in Mollac, Desdemona had made the flight to the Fae City of Goldun on her own. With Jocylene’s father there to offer her comfort, she would not be alone at Semran Hall.
Attending the engagement celebration had not been foremost in her mind, however. Her purpose in coming here was twofold. Firstly, she wanted an audience with Queen Adrah. The time had come for her to mend fences with the Fae Queen. They were now allies in the fight against Kalodan Longspear, who would surely continue to battle them in Eranna’s place.
Her second reason for coming sat among the other guests, staring despondently down at his plate. Despite the presence of Leven at his side, smiling and chattering, Malachi seemed downright miserable.
She felt certain her presence here must be the reason, but still did not know why. At some time, she must have broken his heart, but with her memory failing her, she had no way of knowing exactly how. And if she didn’t know how, she could not repair what she had broken.
Forcing a smile for the benefit of those seated around her, she raised her cup in a toast and tried to appear as if she enjoyed herself—waiting for the right moment to approach Malachi.
At her side, Princess Phaedra sat with Arrian Riverleaf. The two seemed to be enjoying each other’s company, as well as the happiness of their recent betrothal. Desdemona was glad for them, to have found a way to hold on to each other in the midst of so much chaos and turmoil. She hoped they would have a happier ending than her sister and Eli.
On her other side sat Adrah, who had greeted her warmly and welcomed her to Goldun upon her arrival. She had seen Desdemona situated into an opulent room, and sent several elegant gowns for her to choose from for the celebration. As she had traveled to Goldun in Phoenix form, she hadn’t brought anything with her.
Now, the Fae Queen turned to her with a soft smile as the toasts died down and the feasting began. The low hum of conversation filled the room, prompting Adrah to lean a bit closer to speak with her.
“I do believe the time has come for our private audience, Your Majesty,” she said.
Desdemona’s eyes widened. She had not indicated that she’d want to speak with the queen privately, but supposed she should not be surprised that Adrah knew.
“Y-yes,” she managed when she’d gotten over her surprise. “I would like that.”
Standing, Adrah offered Desdemona a hand up from her chair. Desdemona accepted, and once she was on her feet, Adrah tucked Desdemona’s hand into the crook of her arm and led her to one of the pillared openings to the garden.
“We are overdue for a chat, you and I,” Adrah said, as the sounds of the party faded away behind them.
“Yes, Your Majesty, we are,” Desdemona began. “I want to begin by apologizing—”
“There is no need,” Adrah interjected. “I harbor no ill will toward you for anything you might have said or thought about me. After all, it is hardly your fault that Eranna poisoned you against the people who care for you. Your father, your sister, myself.”
Anger flared in her as she thought of all her mother had attempted to rob her of. But then, she remembered that she’d mended things with her sister, and now had the same chance with Queen Adrah.
They came to a stop near a stone fountain. Adrah perched on its edge and invited Desdemona to do the same. Water Sprites played on the surface of the bubbling water, while Pixies tinkled from the surrounding trees. Goldun truly was the most beautiful, peaceful place she’d ever been.
“Now that she is gone, I want Mollac to become an ally to Goldun,” Desdemona said. “We will do our part in helping to wrest Zenun from Kalodan’s grasp, and end this war once and for all.”
Adrah smiled. “I am glad to hear it. But let us speak of war no more this night. This is an occasion for coming together, and we celebrate the alliance of Goldun and Mollac, as well as a new friendship between you and I.”
“You want me to be your friend?” Desdemona asked. “After the way my mother has behaved?”
“You are not Eranna,” Adrah replied. “You have all the best parts of her inside of you, with none of the bad. You are stronger than she could have ever been, my dear. And yes, I want you to become a friend to me. We queens must stick together, mustn’t we?”
She smiled at that. “Yes, we must.”
Adrah frowned and studied her closely, seeming to try to determine the direction of her thoughts. “There is something else troubling you ... I can feel it. What is the matter, Desdemona?”
With a sigh, she glanced back toward the throne room, where she knew Malachi feasted with the others. Was he thinking about her? Did he wish she was by his side? What had happened between them that she could not remember?
“Goldun had a king once,” Desdemona ventured. “Did it not?”
For a moment, the shadows of sadness passed over Adrah’s eyes—the silver clouds overlaying the mint green seeming to grow darker.
“Magnus,” she whispered. “Yes, for five hundred years, Goldun was ruled by both Magnus and myself.”
“And you loved him,” Desdemona prodded.
Tears pooled in Adrah’s eyes, but she did not shed them. “With all of my heart.”
“I’m sorry that you lost him,” she replied. “Do you mind if I ask why you never married again? Why have you chosen to remain alone for so many centuries, and not take another man to be your husband and king?”
Adrah sighed, blinking away her tears. The moment of sadness had passed, and she became her serene, regal self once more.
“If I were to find love, I would wed again,” she declared.
Desdemona raised her eyebrows. “You would?”
Adrah nodded. “Yes, but I have not been so fortunate yet. Even in the hundreds of years since his death, I have yet to meet a man who stirs my heart the way Magnus did. He was the love of my life, and I am grateful for the time we did have together. Goldun was better for having had him as its king. It would not be what it is today without him.”
Lowering her eyes, Desdemona thought this over for a moment before speaking. “I think I loved someone once ... perhaps even as much as you loved King Magnus. But I cannot remember it. That is, I don’t remember the details. But when I’m near him ... I feel.”
“You speak of Malachi Voran,” Adrah pressed.
She nodded. “Why is that? Could it be wishful thinking? The girlish fantasies of someone who admires the man who rescued her?”
Adrah grew silent for a moment, studying Desdemona intently. She squirmed uncomfortably under the queen’s perusal. Why could she not simply answer the question?
“Are you aware of the ability Malachi possesses?” she asked instead.
Desdemona frowned. “Of course. He is a Bear Shifter.”
Adrah smirked. “Ah, but there is more. Our dear Malachi possesses the power to enter the mind, purging it of whatever memories he chooses. Perhaps, my dear, you cannot remember because he has made you forget.”
She frowned as shock wrestled with disbelief in her mind. It sounded outrageous, but Adrah’s words rang true. Somewhere in her mind, she knew that it was real. A part of her felt as if she’d witnessed this power firsthand in the past.
And then it occurred to her, and she gasped. “I cannot remember how he saved me! I mean ... I recognized him as the man who rescued me from Mother, but until now I didn’t realize I had forgotten how.”
“By freeing your mind,” Adrah replied. “He liberated the Phoenix, and it allowed you to become the formidable queen you are today.”
She pressed a hand to her head, which had begun to ache. She could hardly think with so many thoughts whirling around in her head at once. Her mind seemed to work to remember, yet invisible barriers blocked anything from passing through, only frustrating her further.
“But why?” she blurted. “Why would he do that, only to trap my memories again? I don’t understand!”
“I suppose only he can tell you that,” Adrah murmured.
“You must help me,” she insisted. “You’re one of the Fae, and you’re a royal ... you can heal my mind, can’t you?”
Adrah’s expression changed to one of regret. “I am sorry to tell you that I cannot. Malachi’s gift is special ... an anomaly that even I cannot explain. He is the only being I am aware of in all of Fallada with such a gift. He erected the walls, my dear ... only he can tear them down.”
Her heart sank as she remembered the way he’d left her in Mollac. How could she convince him to do that when he would barely look at her?
“I do believe the opportunity has just presented itself,” Adrah said, answering a question Desdemona had not asked aloud.
Following the queen’s gaze, she shot to her feet. Her breath caught in her throat as she spotted Malachi, making his way through the garden along a different path. He disappeared behind a large, flowering bush.
“Go to him,” Adrah urged. “Find the answers you seek. I wish you luck, Your Majesty.”
Turning to curtsy to Adrah, she smiled. “Thank you.”
“Be happy,” the Fae Queen urged, before rising to her feet and disappearing along the path back to the throne room.
Lifting the hem of her gown, Desdemona ran, following the path she’d seen Malachi take. After a few twists and turns, she discovered him in a small, private courtyard. Sitting on a stone bench, he stared down at his folded hands, a silver archway climbing with ivy and blooming flowers surrounding him.
He took her breath away in elegant royal court attire. And though her memories weren’t complete, something told her she’d never seen him this way. His curls had been brushed and tamed, laid back from his face in smooth, red-brown waves. He’d shaved his face, displaying his strong jaw and chin. The white tunic he wore clung to his powerful shoulders and arms, reminding her of his primitive nature, despite his clothing. There was a part of him that could never be fully tamed.
He stiffened as she approached, seeming to sense her before lifting his gaze. Standing as she drew near, he bowed, his jaw tightening perceptibly.
“Your Majesty.”
“Malachi,” she murmured. “I want to remember.”
His eyes went wide as he straightened from his bow. “I’m sorry?”
She took another step toward him, her hands clenched tightly in front of her. “We shared something special. Don’t try to tell me we didn’t. And now it’s been ruined, and I don’t know what I did to ruin it. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Do you understand? I’m sorry, and I want my memories back. I want to know why I feel this way around you, and why realizing you had left Mollac made me sick to my stomach. Please, Malachi.”
He swallowed forcefully, as if trying to choke down something he shouldn’t say. “Your Majesty, you made a request of me, and I fulfilled it to spare your heart the pain.”
“That pain cannot be any worse than this one,” she whispered, moving toward him again, now so close she could see the small flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “The pain of knowing someone loves you, and that you once loved him, but having no memory of your first kiss, or of holding his hand, or of being held by him. I’m in agony, Malachi, and I can see that you are, too.”
He trembled, his hands clenching at his sides. “You sacrificed yourself for Mollac,” he murmured. “You sacrificed yourself for them ... to become their queen and dedicate your life to them.”
Reaching up, she cupped his face and inclined her head, probing the depths of his tortured gaze with her eyes. “And you gave me up.”
He nodded. “I gave you up ... for them, and for you. So that you could be what Mollac needed you to be. So you wouldn’t have to suffer for missing me day after day.”
“But you—”
“I have missed you with an ache that cannot be eased,” he confessed, closing his eyes. “I have tried to put you from my mind, but gods help me, I cannot.”
She brought her other hand up to his face, cradling it gently. “Then end this misery, Malachi. I want to remember how I came to love you and why.”
Shaking his head, he reached up as if to remove her hands from his face. It only made her hold on tighter.
“Mollac needs their queen,” he rasped, his voice becoming gruff and tortured.
Standing on tiptoe, she brushed a soft kiss against his lips. “I have come to realize it also needs a king.”
He gasped at that, his eyes widening. “You cannot mean—”
“But I do,” she declared. “I cannot rule alone, and I do not want to. Not anymore. Something inside of me knows that when the strain of it become too much for me, you will help me bear it. You will be the person I can lay my cares upon. Help me remember, Malachi ... show me why I feel that way. Then come home and become Mollac’s king ... my king.”
In an instant his lips were on hers, his hands cradling her head. She gasped at the intensity of his kiss, wondering if it had always felt this way to kiss him—as if she’d jumped off the top of a mountain and begun to soar with the wind in her face. She closed her eyes and melted into him, tilting her head back as he kissed her as if drawing breath from her every exhale.
Then, suddenly, she felt him in her mind. A blast of air, like a cool breeze, seemed to fill her head, and behind her closed eyelids, images began to flicker and move. At first, they came so rapidly, she could not make sense of them.
But then, she remembered.
The moment he’d found her alone on the mountainside of Mollac, when she hadn’t remembered who she was or where she’d come from. The days he’d spent caring for her and helping her coax her abilities to the surface. The nights she’d nursed him back to health as he lay dying. The evening he’d confessed his love to her and pressed his lips to hers for the first time. And one, beautiful, perfect night in his cabin, when he’d whisked her away from it all.
When he pulled away, her eyes had filled with tears. They spilled over onto her cheeks, and she released a sound that was half sob, half laugh.
“My Malachi,” she whispered. “I knew it ... I knew there was a reason. So many beautiful reasons.”
He still held her in his arms, but watched her with uncertainty, as if wondering whether she would change her mind.
“Now that you remember, do you regret it?” he asked. “I will understand if you do.”
Throwing her arms around his neck, she laughed again. “Yes, I do have regrets. I regret ever having asked you to make me forget what you mean to me. I thought that love was my weakness, that allowing myself to be happy would cause Mollac to suffer.”
His shoulders relaxed and a relieved smile crossed his lips. “And what do you think of love now?”
“I think that it is my strength,” she declared. “Love for you, love for my sister, love for my people. And together, we will make Mollac great once more. Greater than it ever was.”
Lowering his head to kiss her again, he smiled against her lips. “Are you certain this is what you want? I have no notion of how to be a king.”
Laying her head upon his chest, she closed her eyes and reveled in the sound of his heart beating, the feel of his arms around her, and the sensation swelling in her heart—love making her feel as if she might burst.
“I have only recently become a queen, you know,” she reminded him. “We will learn how to rule together. What do you say? Will you marry me, Malachi?”
Grasping her shoulders and gazing down at her, he smirked. “I’m supposed to do the asking.”
She shrugged. “Nothing about our love has been conventional. From the start, we’ve been different. I’m offering you everything I have, Malachi ... my heart, my kingdom, my love.”
“Your heart,” he mused with a sly grin. “And what of the Phoenix? Am I fortunate enough to claim her fickle heart as well?”
“Undoubtedly,” she replied without hesitation. “You are responsible for setting her free, after all.”
Reaching down to lift her into his arms, he cradled her close, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. “Then my answer is yes,” he murmured.
She giggled, running her fingers through his hair. “Say it again.”
Chuckling, he pressed his mouth to her ear, a low rumbling growl sounding in his chest. “Yes.”
A shiver traveled down her spine. “Once more.”
Laughing, he spun her in swift circles, prompting another round of giggles from her. “Yes, my love. Yes, to infinity.”
When he stopped, Desdemona’s head spun dizzily, though she felt certain it wasn’t only from the circles he’d just whirled her in.
“I do hope you are up to the task of keeping the Phoenix happy,” she teased, running her fingertip down the bridge of his nose affectionately. “She can be quite demanding, you know.”
Holding her tighter, Malachi grinned. “I think I am more than up to the task. I captured the Phoenix’s heart ... nothing could be harder than that.”
“No,” she admitted. “But you’ve won, Malachi. You’ve won fair and truly.”
“Yes,” he replied, setting her on her feet, continuing to hold her close, as if never wanting to let her go. “Yes, I have.”