Still, she would be damned if she let anyone see it outwardly. She’d taken the kingdom, and she knew it must have left many of Mollac’s people uncertain. It was her job to lead them now, and they wouldn’t trust her if they thought she was unsure of what to do.
In a smaller throne-like chair beside her sat Zara—the seat reserved for councilors of the queen. She had allowed Desdemona to coerce her into trading in her brown, wool robes for finer clothing. However, she had declined the gowns and furs that had been sent, opting for white robes trimmed in silver, with long bell sleeves that hid her hands and draped to the ground. A white hood covered her shaved head and shadowed her blind eyes.
Flanking the throne stood Mindirra and three other Werewolf Shifters—her royal bodyguard. They’d found armor and the livery of palace guards, and decided to adopt them as their uniform. They looked regal and strong in the black, red, and silver colors, formidable with weapons at their sides and on their backs.
She herself had donned a silver breastplate and polished steel pauldrons at her shoulders along with her white gown and fur—armor of her own. While she did not fight with a sword, one rested beside her throne in its scabbard, red rubies twinkling in its hilt. A symbol of her royal bloodline and the strength of Mollac.
Through the open doors of the room, rows upon rows of Warrior Fae streamed into the throne room. The sunlight streaming through stained glass windows shone on their silver armor, causing them to glow as luminous as the moon. She was grateful to see them searing the armor, which would protect them from being affected by Mollac’s iron exterior. Marching in perfect formation, they filled the hall, as well as her heart. A swelling in her chest expanded until she fought back tears.
Hope.
It continued to flare deep within her. Mollac now had a fighting defense. While five hundred warriors were nothing compared to the horde Eranna had on her side, it was a start. It was more than she’d had yesterday.
Lining up on either side of a long, red aisle runner, the Fae stood at attention, still and silent, staring straight ahead. Once the last of them had fallen into place, two lone figures appeared in the doorway. They started toward her on the long, narrow rug, their footsteps echoing in the silent hall.
The fullness in her chest reversed inward, becoming a tightness that stole the breath from her lungs. She recognized both males—one dark-skinned and lean, but still rippling with muscle, the other large and imposing, a mop of red-brown curls hanging in his eyes. She fought to remain in her seat, instead of jumping up and running down the steps from her throne and straight into his arms.
Her hold on the arms of the throne tightened, and she clenched her teeth. She would not act like a lovesick girl in front of all these people.
Pausing at the foot of the short staircase, Eliandes and Malachi bowed to her, gazing up at her expectantly.
“Malachi, Eliandes ... welcome to Mollac,” she said, rising slowly and gazing down at them. “I see you have not come alone.”
Stepping forward, her brother-in-law gestured toward the large unit of Warrior Fae filling the throne room. “Queen Adrah sends her regards, along with five hundred of her warriors. She wanted you to know how proud she is of you for fulfilling your destiny by taking up the mantle as Queen of Mollac. She and her warriors are at your service, for whatever you may need. As well, Malachi and I have been sent to act in whatever capacity you deem necessary. Whether as bodyguards, advisors, messengers, or recruiters ... do with us what you see fit, Your Majesty.”
Starting down the steps with the train of her gown trailing behind her, she clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. She latched on to Malachi’s woodsy, masculine scent, fighting against the longing it caused in her belly.
He watched her in that unsettling way of his, his soft brown eyes hidden in the shadow of his messy hair.
“Thank you for coming,” she murmured, pausing on the bottom step just in front of them. “We were in dire need. There were several people in the dungeons who had no place else to go. Some were strong fighters, so I’ve placed them in the positions of my royal bodyguards. We’ve had lookouts in the watchtower and along the walls. Unfortunately, that is the extent of our defense.”
“Not anymore,” Eli declared. “Captain Hala is knowledgeable in various forms of castle defense. With your majesty’s permission, I would like to place him in charge of implementing a guard schedule, as well as patrols along the perimeter of Semran Hall. We must detect any threat coming—whether it be your mother or Kalodan.”
She nodded, thankful to have someone here who knew more than her about battle strategy. “I would like that.”
A man who must be Captain Hala stepped forward from among the ranks of the Warrior Fae, his pale blond hair falling in a straight braid down his back.
“Your Majesty, I will report to you as soon as the deed is done.”
She gave the Fae captain a slight smile. “Very good.”
Turning back to the men standing before her, she darted a glance at Malachi. He had remained silent through the entire exchange, but continued watching her as if expecting something. What? What could he possibly expect from her? She could never give him the one thing he seemed to want most—his mate, back in his arms. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she realized she would do it if it lay within the scope of her powers. She would have done it, if for no other reason than to make him happy. It did not matter that such a thing would surely kill her.
“How fares my sister?” she asked. “I received news that she has survived the Werewolf bite.”
“Your sister is better than ever,” Eli replied with a smile. “She’s quite upset at having been left behind in Goldun, but Queen Adrah insisted. She would rather have been here, fighting beside you.”
Desdemona did not say aloud that she would have preferred it that way, too. Jocylene was strong in all the ways that she was weak. She could have used a bit of her sister’s inner strength right now.
“I hope she can join us when she’s better,” she said instead. “Malachi, how is Leven?”
He inclined his head, his expression softening as it always did when he spoke of his son. “He is enjoying Goldun very much. But he ... we miss you, Your Majesty.”
Her heart leapt into her throat. They missed her? Surely, he couldn’t mean that in the way she hoped. Leven must miss having someone to take the place of his lost mother, and Malachi ... well, perhaps he missed having her around to cook and clean. It couldn’t be anything more than that ... could it?
“I do hope we can make Mollac a safe enough place for him to return,” she replied. “Together, I believe we can do it. I would be honored if you would work and fight alongside me, as members of my council. For as long as you wish to be here, I will have you.”
The men exchanged glances for a short moment. Eliandes nodded, and Malachi took a step toward her.
“We are yours to command, my queen,” he replied.
“Good,” she said, forcing a smile and trying not to react to his nearness. “I will have servants see you to your quarters and help you get settled in. Please meet me in my chambers in one hour’s time. There, we will discuss our plan of action.”
Both men bowed to her before turning to leave the hall. Desdemona retreated to her throne, while the Warrior Fae followed suit, dispersing to get down to the business of fortifying her castle.
By the gods, what had she been thinking to allow Malachi to stay? Just because Adrah had sent him didn’t mean she had to permit it. She should have kept Eliandes and sent Malachi back to Goldun, where he wouldn’t be close enough to make her feel things she shouldn’t. Now, she had gone and made him part of her council, ensuring that he would always be nearby.
Yet, even as she asked herself what she might be thinking, she knew the answer. She needed him close by, even if he could never love her the way she loved him. Being able to lay eyes on him fortified her in a way she’d never realized until just now. Having him nearby, yet still out o
f her reach was better than having him on the other side of the kingdom, where she had no idea what he was doing or whether he was safe. Here, with her, he would be secure. He would be loved, even if he didn’t realize it.
She was a pitiful creature.
One hour later, Desdemona sat at a long, wooden table in a little chamber off her bedroom—the place she would meet with her council. The table was laden with food for those assembled—herself, Zara, Mindirra, Eli, and Malachi. While everyone else ate with relish, Desdemona found she couldn’t stomach a single bite. Not with her nerves in knots over Malachi’s presence and the monumental task laid out before her.
“Our first order of business is to send scouts to Zenun,” she declared, once everyone had eaten their fill. “Zara has shown me, using her prophetic sight, that Kalodan has already begun the blood magic ritual to create his own Phoenix. There is no question—he will strike out soon. What I want to know, is where.”
“The most likely place is here,” Eli offered between bites of bread. “However, sending scouts so that we can be certain is a sound idea. I will ask Captain Hala to appoint his best men for the job. They will report back to us with news of Kalodan’s movements.”
“While we wait for them to return, there is still the matter of caring for Mollac’s residents,” she continued. “Mindirra tells me that the situation in many of Mollac’s villages is bleak.”
“It is true,” Mindirra agreed, casting a solemn glance around the table. “Many of Mollac’s people are prisoners in their own homes. The Hybrids that remain have combined forces with Dark Fae and Werewolf Shifters turned traitor. They patrol the villages, keeping the people from rising up or running to Goldun. They pillage food and supplies, money and precious keepsakes ... hoarding things for themselves.”
Desdemona’s chest ached at the sight of tears in Mindirra’s eyes. “This is unacceptable. These are my people, and it is my job to fight for them.”
“Their numbers are less than ours,” Mindirra informed her. “From village to village, if we travel overland and attack, we can eradicate them and give the people their homes back. Once their homes and villages are restored, supplies will move more freely from place to place. That includes the castle, Your Majesty.”
She shrugged. “We have enough. I am less concerned with how fine my dinners are, and more concerned with restoring Mollac to its former glory.”
“A fine example for our people to aspire to,” Zara chimed in with a smile. She’d removed her hood, allowing her bare head to show. Her periwinkle eyes seemed to glow by the light of the candles. “The people will love you for liberating them. Their loyalty to you will cause them to stand with you against Kalodan and your mother.”
“Indeed,” Malachi agreed.
“Then it’s settled,” Desdemona declared. “At first light, we will set out—myself, Eliandes, Malachi, Mindirra, and my royal bodyguards, along with one hundred of the Warrior Fae. Dress for travel overland, and bring only the necessities you can carry. Our party will work to take Mollac back village by village.”
Choruses of ‘yes, my Queen’, sounded around the table, and for the first time since taking Semran Hall, Desdemona felt like a true queen. Some decisions seemed harder than others, but fighting for her people was something that did not need to be argued over or considered.
“You are dismissed,” she declared, rising to her feet. “I suggest you all rest well for the journey. You are going to need it.”
Eliandes executed a swift bow before offering Zara his arm to lead her back to her chambers. Everyone knew the Prophetess did not need an escort, yet it was in Eli’s nature to be protective. He would not have taken no for an answer. Mindirra followed, informing Desdemona that it was her turn to take up the vigil standing guard outside Desdemona’s bedroom. She would be replaced in a few hours by another of her bodyguards.
That left her alone with Malachi, who had stood but neglected to leave. He watched her as he had in the throne room ... as if he expected something from her.
Clearing her throat, she avoided his gaze, reaching for her wine goblet. Draining what was left of it, she paced toward the large double doors leading onto the balcony, which connected to the one jutting out from her bedroom.
“You ought to rest as well,” she said, sensing that he followed her out into the night.
The sun had set in the distance, the last bit of its rays fanning out over the horizon and sending orange and pink prisms through the icicles hanging from the trees, setting the world aglow. Below them, the gardens bloomed with white and red roses. Leaning against the stone rail, she gazed out over the frozen tundra of Mollac and tried to pretend he wasn’t here.
Yet, she felt his presence as he approached. She stiffened when he came up next to her, resting his elbows on the railing—standing so close the night breeze carried his scent up her nostrils.
Gods help me, she prayed, closing her eyes and resisting the urge to sink into him.
“How can I rest without ensuring that you are all right?” he asked, turning to gaze at her.
She could feel his gaze on the side of her face, but fought not to look at him. “What do you mean? I can assure you, I’m perfectly fine.”
A gasp tore from her when he reached out to touch her chin. His fingers were gentle but firm as he urged her to turn her head until they were looking into each other’s eyes. In his warm, brown gaze she found the same kindness and compassion that she always found in their depths.
“There’s no one here but us now,” he whispered. “You can tell me how you really feel.”
“Can I?” she challenged.
His lips parted in a radiant smile. “Des, surely you know that you can tell me anything.”
“Yes, because we both know how good you are at keeping my confidences,” she snapped, rearing away from him.
While she knew he felt remorse for lying to her in the past, she couldn’t help the pain caused by the memories. She tried to retreat, but he pursued her, grasping her arm and spinning her around to face him.
Pain etched his face when she gazed at him—the agony of losing his mate, the sorrow of having to flee his home, the weight of what he’d done showing through the guilt in his eyes.
“Words aren’t enough,” he said. “So, tell me what to do. Please. What can I do to prove that I would never hurt you willingly? To show you that I would rather tear out my own heart than hurt you?”
His words struck her straight in the chest, causing both pain and pleasure at the same time. Did he not understand that such words would only give her hope that he could love her? Didn’t he understand what he was doing to her?
She lifted her chin, resolved not to let him see her crumble. He had hurt her once; she wouldn’t let him do it again.
“Serve me,” she declared. “Give me your loyalty as part of my council, and carry out my commands. That is what you can do, Malachi.”
He nodded, refusing to loosen his hold on her. Taking her other arm in his grasp, he held on tight, his fingers biting into her through the layers of velvet and fur.
“I will do those things for my queen,” he said. “But what about the other parts of you? Will you keep hiding them from me? Am I to never see the Desdemona I came to know and love, who shared my home and filled it with warmth and companionship?”
Her throat seized, and for a long moment she couldn’t draw air into her lungs—let alone find the words to speak. Tremors wracked her from head to toe, and the entire world seemed to come to a screeching halt around her.
“Please, don’t,” she managed while choking back a sob. “Don’t speak words of love to me if you do not mean them. I have hoped, and I have prayed, and I have told myself I was being foolish to think you could ever love me. I wanted a man who had a mated wife, and the guilt of that ate me alive. But then, she died and you almost followed her into the grave. I nursed you back to health, and held you in my arms, and you ... you called out for her. And I knew that I could never measure up. I could never be
the woman you lost.”
He wrinkled his brow, tightening his hold on her and pulling her closer—so close now that their bodies touched. She could feel his warmth through the suede tunic and leggings he wore. No matter the temperature of the air around him, he was always so warm.
“Did I call for her?” he asked. “I did not know ... I was dreaming and seeing things ... faces and people. I cannot remember much.”
A tear escaped one eye, and she cursed herself for it. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t bend, but here she was, melting against him and saying all the things she knew she shouldn’t.
“You asked her to forgive you,” she said, lowering her eyes. “For liking me ... for wanting me. You said you did not want me, that she was your only love.”
With a sigh, he shook his head, eyes darting as if he tried to come to terms with what he was hearing. “I cannot try to explain the muttered ramblings spoken on what I thought would be my deathbed. I can only tell you the truth of what is in my heart. Yes, I felt guilty because I had feelings for you while still mated to Danore. At least, I thought I was still mated to her. You see, Eranna had already killed her, soon after I found you and brought you home. The mate’s bond had already been broken, I just did not realize it at the time. The bond of two mates is supposed to be one of the strongest in the world, yet I neglected to feel her loss as I should have. Perhaps it got buried in my distress over losing both her and Leven to Eranna. I was terrified that she would kill them both if I didn’t do what she asked. I didn’t want to love you, because it felt like betrayal. But you burrowed into my heart, and now I could never hope to pry you lose. I don’t want to ... not anymore.”
Flight of the Phoenix Page 8
