The snow-animals and stars collapsed back into a regular snowfall, but the storm raged on.
Frustrated, she tried a second time.
Nothing.
She wasn’t special after all. And now she felt silly for believing any of that talk in the first place. Doubt washed over her, colder than the falling snow.
She wasn’t ready to be important.
She wasn’t ready to have an entire kingdom depending on her to prevent some kind of war.
She wasn’t ready to be a mother.
The barrage of thoughts assaulted her, swirling around in her head like a storm of their own, threatening to bury her under their crushing weight.
Stop, she thought to herself. Make it stop.
Instantly, the snow was gone.
The storm did not slow or abate. It ended abruptly, leaving a blue autumn sky in its wake.
The door behind her flew open.
14
Heath
Heath awoke alone, gasping for breath.
His peaceful dreams had spiraled into a nightmare where Willow was gone, taking the sunshine from his world and leaving him in darkness.
He leapt out of bed before he was fully awake, and dashed through the lodge searching for her, dread forming a hollow pit in his stomach.
It was on his second sprint through the kitchen that he sensed her presence.
He turned to find her standing on the balcony, arms outstretched, as the snow formed a menagerie of woodland creatures, cavorting at her beckoning.
Willow was exquisite, standing barefoot in the snow, one of his white shirts billowing around her small, curvy body as she summoned snow-creatures from the storm.
He had feared for her safety, longed to protect her, and he still did. But in watching her command the elements like a child’s playthings, he appreciated fully how capable she was on her own. Willow had learned of her magic only hours ago. And already she was bending a raging storm to her will.
His princess was indeed powerful. Pride surged in his chest at the thought.
With a sudden movement of her arms she erased the swirling snow creatures. She seemed to struggle with something for a moment, her head hanging low for a moment, as if she was lost in thought.
He was headed to join her when the storm clouds overhead disappeared completely, as if they had never darkened the sky in the first place.
“No,” he cried, running out the door.
But it was too late, the sky was ocean blue above them, and the white frosting was already melting from the trees.
Willow turned to face him, startled.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“We have to go,” he told her. “We have to leave, now.”
“Why?” she asked.
“That was amazing, my love,” he told her. “But a display of power like that will let them know you are here. We have to leave, before they find us and try to take you away.”
“Who?” she asked.
“Whoever started the storm,” he said.
Her face was a mask of regret.
This idea clearly hadn’t occurred to her. And why would it? She was new to the ways of Faerie.
“We’ll be okay, my love,” he reassured her. “But we have to go now.”
She nodded and headed inside, stopping only to pull on a pair of his too-big breeches and her socks and shoes.
He pulled a pair of gloves out of a drawer and watched her pull them onto her hands, sad to see her cover the entwined vines that marked their bond, but glad for her to be warm and protected.
He wrapped the cloak around her, not stopping for the kiss he badly wanted. Her safety had to come first.
They stepped out the front door and he slipped into his bear form.
The sight of the melting snow faded, his senses overwhelmed with the regular scents of the forest coming back to him. And the delicious scent of his mate, of course.
She climbed onto his back and he sailed off the porch and landed on all four paws, Willow’s surprised laughter ringing happily in his ears.
He ran full out for the trees behind the house.
Once they were safely ensconced in the woods, the bear would have an advantage over its pursuers.
But the whistle of an arrow stopped him short, just before they reached the shadow of the trees. A terrible pain in his left haunch collapsed him to the ground, with Willow still astride.
He fought the pain, but his bear retreated, leaving him in human form with an arrow in his upper thigh.
“Run, Willow,” he groaned as he tugged the arrow out, bringing a hunk of flesh with it, and barely managing not to scream in agony.
“No,” she said through clenched teeth, rising to her feet over him like a mother lioness.
Unfortunately, her magic knowledge did not match her raw power.
A battalion of polar bears rushed them, Winter Court elite soldiers, armor gleaming in the sunlight.
Heath dragged himself to his feet, and willed himself to shift.
The first bear was on him before he could finish.
By the time Heath was fully transformed, the thing had its teeth in his scruff and another was piling on.
That was just fine. The more that attached at once, the less guilty he would feel about the damage that he was about to dispense. Elite soldiers or not, six polar bear shifters couldn’t hold a candle against the bear prince of Autumn.
He roared in anticipation of bloodshed.
“No,” Willow screamed.
He sensed her movement before he could see it.
If he pushed the fight, she was going to do something stupid and get herself hurt. Fighting on his own was one thing, but he couldn't risk the safety of his princess.
Bitterly disappointed, Heath went limp and allowed the polar bears to capture him.
One by one they slid up into Fae form. Not without getting in a last maul or nip on his helpless form beforehand, of course. Honor was never a strong suit of the Winter Court.
At last they all looked down at him, scoffing, as he curled his big body up in surrender.
He stole a glance over at Willow.
Winter soldiers were grabbing her, dragging her away from him.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself to shift back to his regular form.
The soldiers hauled him to his feet.
“Autumn filth,” one of them sneered, spitting on him.
He put his head down, trying to hear what was happening to Willow.
“We are most proud to have rescued you from this vile Autumn kidnapper, Princess Ashe,” the captain said to Willow, with a creepy little bow.
Please play along, Heath begged her inwardly.
“I was born to the cold and to the cold I shall return,” Willow said in a frigid voice, echoing the statement the midwife had said to her earlier.
Heath did not manage to hide his smile at her cleverness.
“What are you so happy about, scumbag?” one of the soldiers asked him.
“He won’t be smiling in a minute,” another said in a tone of ghoulish anticipation.
Heath glanced up to see the soldier was wearing gloves up to his elbows and carrying thick chains of cold iron.
There would be pain.
He closed his eyes and focused on all his thoughts on Willow as they chained his wrists and ankles in the burning agony of iron.
The hateful metal sizzled against his Fae skin.
But he pictured his princess, safe in the coach ahead, and he was able to hold onto his dignity.