The light gleams on their fair skin as they dart through the fields, their muscles flexing and relaxing in perfect displays of masculine strength and vigor. Their prey might not be able to understand why such beauty was anathema to them. They just knew it enraged them, and that rage was what brought the two groups together.

Reaching the crest of a hill, one of them stops, nocking a white arrow on the string and drawing. The bow, made of a material no man could have ever drawn, easily bends to his will before the arrow flies with a precision and speed far surpassing any bullet ever made by man before piercing its target’s eye, sending it flipping twice through the air before thumping to the ground, dead.

“That’s another one,” Tyler gloats, jogging up to the corpse of the demon hound and wrenching the barbed arrowhead from the hideous skull. “I hope you don’t expect me to do all the work today. That’s three already.”

“What do you mean?” grunts Noah, slamming a demon in the head with his staff, crushing the skull with a blow akin to a sledgehammer. “I’ve done seven, and I get to do it up close.”

Tyler doesn’t have an answer, watching as his friend wipes the head of his staff on the ground. However, their friends are not willing to let the two have the final say.

“You know, Noah, your staff is impressive,” says Jacob before leaping into the air, flipping once with a twist as he avoids one hound’s teeth before flinging one of his trademark throwing daggers into another’s side. “But let’s face it. I get more style points. Oh . . . and that’s eight, lads.”

Jacob lands, and the three look at the chasm the demon hounds are issuing from. They’re little more than pests to warriors of such skill and ability, but not all in the Fae realm see the creatures as easy prey and weaponry practice.

“I wonder why they always pick the warmest days for their attacks,” Noah ponders as he wipes his sweaty hand on his pants. While Tyler is wearing his standard archer’s protective vest, the others are all stripped from the waist up, their chiseled, muscular frames glistening with a light sheen of sweat, the occasional pearl of light forming and running down a powerful chest or over a set of washboard abs as sweat forms into droplets.

Except for a small grunt as his silvery sword slices the next demon hound in half, Cole is the quiet one of the foursome. In his mind, Cole knows he’s killed more of the demonic threats than any of his peers . . . but let them have their fun. As Fae, joy and humor are their sources of strength, light to counter the darkness. Also, it helps to mask the concern they all have because Noah’s correct. Today’s outpouring of demon hounds is heavier than anything Cole can remember from the past. And his memory stretches back an exceptionally long time.

“So, Cole, is your butter knife living up to its reputation?” Tyler asks as he fires another arrow. “Shit . . . that one disappeared into the chasm. No way to retrieve that arrow.”

“I’m sure the Royal Treasury will compensate you for the cost of an arrow,” Noah quips, chuckling. “Perhaps if you keep slinging your shafts so powerfully, Her Highness might let you into her bedchamber come her next birthday.”

In almost any other situation, members of any level of the Guard casually dropping an innuendo about one of their own being a sexual target of their monarch would be the cause of jealousy. However, the four had been friends since they first met, soon after basic training for the Queen’s Guard, and had been tighter than brothers for close to three hundred years.

Besides, it wasn’t like Tyler was the only one who’d lusted after the queen. She actively encouraged it among her personal guard, to the point of almost fanatical devotion, although only one Guardsman per year was ever allowed into her bed. “I’ve heard your pounding would be equally appreciated,” Jacob comments as he reverses a knife in his left hand and wades into a trio of dogs, his knives flashing in silvery white streaks as he slaughters all three in less time than it takes to breathe twice. “Although I think my deftness has its own place.”

Cole again says nothing, his sword, the same one presented to him in person by the queen when he’d joined her elite of the elite and had protected Lunaria for centuries, cleaves demonic foes left and right until he stands in a muddy field of blood and stinking entrails. One final hound hurls itself from the pit, but Noah strikes it down, swinging his staff like a long baseball bat to send it hurtling back to the depths from whence it came.

“And yet again, the party stops just when I’m having fun,” Jacob complains good-naturedly as Cole kneels at the edge of the rift to seal it. “Do you have to, Cole?”

Cole just growls, pressing the enchanted stone to the edge of the pit. Webs of light weave themselves across the pit before the land rumbles lightly and reknits itself, scarred but intact. Satisfied, Cole stands up. “This isn’t about entertainment. It is about doing our jobs and doing them well.”

“In that case, the sorceress who enchanted that stone may get some congratulations from me tonight,” Tyler says as he surveys the field. “That was a large rift, but the reknit was perhaps the calmest I’ve ever felt. Remember that one six months ago? My head was rattled so much I thought I was going to lose a tooth.”

“Well, it’s done. Let’s report to Her Highness. It’s nearly time for dinner, and I’ve worked up a mighty hunger,” Noah says.

Cole reflected on the heavy weight of the demon skull hanging from his belt as the four faerie warriors passed through the town gates and into the main square of Lunaria. Frightened Fae, both city dwellers and those who lived outside the walls, crowded the four champions until Cole held the skull aloft, a throaty cheer coming from the relieved population.

“Another beautiful afternoon,” Tyler says as the four walk through the streets. “I do love market days.”

Cole nods, not because he also likes the baubles and distractions that his friend wastes so much of his pay on, but because Cole appreciates the colors. Too much of his work in the Imperial Guard consists of violence, and with violence comes the dark . . . black or scarlet, gray, and brown.

None of those are in evidence now. Instead, it’s bright golds and blues and greens that lift his heart. The delicious smells of fruits, of breads and sweets, and even some of the newest trend in Lunarian cuisine, human ‘fusion’ food, fills the air. There’s laughing children, women talking, men joking with each other . . . Cole doesn’t know if heaven exists, but if it does, he hopes it looks and smells like market days.

Still, as he walks, Cole can see those who dim the happiness. Like any society, Lunaria has those dissatisfied with the way things are run. The low-born commoners are tolerated, for they are important links in Fae society. Besides, they outnumber the highborn noble class by fifty to one. For the most part, Her Highness tolerates them to a certain point, drawing her soldiers and Guard exclusively from their ranks, a carrot of minor noble rank promised to those who serve her well until retirement. Secure in her power, she looks down on the other ruffians as nothing more than noisy insects, beneath her concern. To Cole, he’s not sure how to feel. It would make his life easier if the queen didn’t have such complaints, but at the same time, he can’t help but agree with some of their feelings.

For example, there are those who think Her Highness would be better as just a titular figurehead, that the human concept of ‘democracy’ would be a better way to govern. Such a system, with the elimination of the class system it entails, would focus on the needs of the common Fae and not just the concerns of the nobility.

Then again, Cole thinks as he passes a trio of dissenters, their ironic purple trousers a mocking jibe on royalty, none of these have faced actual struggle beyond choosing between this year’s or last year’s fashions.

Cole glances to his left, seeing a few of the green-garbed Lunarian Guard watching. Local constabulary, they usually let the dissenters have their say unless they cross a certain line. Cole gives one of them a nod, and he nods back. Cole remembers the last time he brought the subject up with Her Highness and her guidance on the subject.

“It’s like a pot, Cole,” she said, her voice charming, as always. “If you seal it, the heat of the world will eventually make enough steam, and the pressure will crack the pot and destroy the whole thing. But if you have a safety valve, let some of the pressure off . . . you can use the heat to make a wonderful dinner.”

“Look who it is, the Cum Slut Queen’s gigolos!” someone taunts, drawing the four to a halt. Tyler looks shocked that anyone would be so disrespectful, while Noah’s face flushes with rage.

“Excuse me?” Noah asks, his hand tightening on the haft of his staff. Only a fool would push him further in such situations, his massive strength and even more massive anger the source of legend even as he still serves.

A rather tall, skinny dissenter stands forth, his pouty, cocky lips twisting into a sneering smile. “You heard me, whore. Just because the queen demands worship from all the faerie warrior cock in Lunaria, it doesn’t change that you’re nothing more than a common cuckold.”

The Lunarian Guardsmen step forward, but Cole holds up a hand, staying them. “Her Highness has guaranteed all Fae the right to express their opinions,” he says, his voice tight with rage. “Even if it’s a disgusting one.”

“Well, then, try this,” one of the other purple-garbed dissenters says, stepping forth. He’s broader in the chest than his compatriots and looks like he might know how to handle himself. “Kill the Cum Whore Queen!”

Cole stops, surprised. Never, in all his hundreds of years of service to Her Highness, has he heard a threat so boldly made against the throne inside the city walls. What’s even more remarkable is that instead of shocking his compatriots, Cole notices that some of the other townspeople start joining the group of dissenters, grinning.

“Are you insane?” Cole asks, placing his hand on the handle of his sword. He’s often teased by his friends for his formal speech, and they know that when the ‘thees’ stop, the blood starts to flow. “Free speech is one thing. Blasphemy and treason are another.”

The disreputable faerie throws back his head. “Queen? That wood sprite is a ball sack licker who would choke on demon cock daily if she didn’t have her cadre of cum maidens to do her dirty work. She holds us down, denies our rights, and feasts on our sweat. No more!”

Cole draws his sword, but it’s Noah whose rage is now stoked to a boiling point as he steps forward, brandishing his staff. “On your knees, you spineless coward!”

The man laughs, his voice starting to echo, growing deeper and more powerful, his eyes glowing green. Cole lays a hand on Noah’s shoulder while raising his sword. “That’s no commoner, Noah. We have a demon in our midst.”

Sadness and anger fill Cole’s body as he utters the words. The last time any demon was found within the walls of Lunaria was when Cole hadn’t even gone into Guard training yet. Most of the rifts between the Fae realm and the demon realm produced demon hounds, and occasionally, the minor demon who’d literally raise a little hell on the outskirts of the territory, not penetrate the actual walls of Lunaria itself.

To do that, Cole knew they faced a major challenge. “Brothers, gird yourself. The demon must be destroyed.”

The demon laughs again, dropping the last of his magical disguise, his skin darkening to the dusky tones of his type, his fingernails lengthening and his teeth bulging against his lips. “Fools, it is your queen who will be on her knees after I feast on her people. I shall plunder, pillage, and rape your women to my heart’s content, and when I'm done, I will have the queen for myself.”

At least the transformation caused some of the Fae to break free of the demon’s enchantment, Cole thinks as the demon continues to change, roaring as he morphs into a huge, scaly, dark green beast. Jaws snapping, the demon tears three townspeople in half before Tyler can unleash a single arrow, Jacob’s silvery knife flashing behind it. Both thud into the demon’s side, but it doesn’t seem to mind as it continues its attacks.

And now the peace of Lunaria is again shattered by the remnants of The ‘Lightbringer’ flashes through Cole’s mind as he quickly tries to form a plan. Seeing that the Lunarian Guard has not fled, he points. “Distract him! Save the civilians!”

The Guardsmen fight bravely, but as Cole advances, he sees that for some of them, their bravery overwhelms their brains. Lunarian Guard weapons are not enchanted. They have no power against such a beast, and when one of them charges, his sword serves as little more than a toothpick for the demon.

“Tyler!” Cole yells as he closes in, ready to strike. “Is your bow good for anything other than looking cute?”

“Of course!” Tyler yells as he fires another arrow, “but it’s not designed to take down a fullly-grown demonic wyvern! That’s on you and Noah!”

Tyler fires as Jacob hurls another knife, both weapons striking home more effectively this time, Tyler’s arrow lodging in the beast’s left eye while Jacob’s knife somehow finds the narrow gap of its nostril. The demon roars in rage, and Cole, seeing his opening, attacks.

Noah is right with me, he thinks in satisfaction as his friend’s staff crashes into the beast’s right leg. It stumbles, its jaws just snapping over Cole’s shoulder as the half-blind demon roars again, this time in pain. Plunging his sword into the beast’s belly all the way to the hilt, his muscles surge, drawing the enchanted blade all the way up to the demon’s throat before ripping out, bathing Cole in blackish-red blood. The beast drops, and Cole looks into its dying eyes.

“I send thee back whence thou came,” he says, lifting his sword and cleaving through the beast’s neck. The head rolls away, shrinking as the enchantment wears off, and Cole picks it up. “The queen should see this.”

“She needs to be made aware,” Jacob agrees, and Cole looks around. The market, previously a place of great gaiety and joy, now reminded him of too many other battlefields, and sadness again tinges his heart.

“You’re right. Come. Let the Lunarian Guard start their cleanup.”

“The demon is dead, Highness,” Cole says, dropping the head on the platform steps leading up to the white stone- and jewel-encrusted throne. “I suspect, from his power, that he was a demon lord, although what rank, I do not know. Your Guard defeated him before he could cause too much devastation.”

On the throne, Cassina, Queen of Lunaria and Protector of the Light, stares balefully at the large demon head for a moment, her chest heaving in rage. “How many were hurt?”

Cole looks up, his lustful side taking in the queen’s beauty. A thousand years old, she’s still as beautiful as a maiden, her generous curves barely concealed by the translucent robes. Unlike his brethren, Cole had once seen the queen in all her glory . . . although he had never touched her perfect flesh. She had ordered him to be her bath attendant, and the sight of the water glistening on her skin as her golden hair clung to her body had more than fueled Cole’s fantasies for years to come.

“The Lunarian Guard will have a full report as soon as possible, Highness. But I would estimate the casualties at two dozen civilians and three Guardsmen. We struck back as quickly as possible, but there was still damage.”

Next to Her Highness, the Handmaiden Lysette glares at the head with pure hatred. Militant, wily, and devoted to her mistress, her words carry much weight in court. “How is this possible? Were you not sent to close the latest rift?”

“Not a single demon hound slipped through our grasp, Handmaiden,” Noah reports, his voice deep and rumbling. He detested Lysette. Her capricious temper almost always sparked against his restrained nature, but he still respected her place next to the queen. Only an idiot would disrespect Lysette in front of Cassina. “If I may offer a suspicion, the rift was a ruse, a distraction while the demon lord infiltrated the city.”

Cassina says nothing for a minute before speaking, her voice quaking with rage. “For centuries, no demon, lord or otherwise, has ever been able to step foot in our city! It is protected by faerie magic. And none have ever gotten so close to the palace! This should never have been possible!”

“It’s those damn humans!” hisses Lysette. “You know the truth, Highness! They won’t stop with their constant fighting, and it’s causing the veil between our world and the demon realm to grow fainter.”

“The Handmaiden speaks some truth,” says Argura, the queen’s sorceress, who’s standing to her left. She’s one of the oldest faeries and one of the last ones born with the gift, the magic of Fae itself. She still would not be one Cole would want to anger. “But there’s more than that. Something more powerful is causing a ripple through the cosmos.”

“What?” Cassina says. “Tell me, Argura. What does your inner vision tell you?”

“Something that I’ve hoped would never happen,” Argura replies. “I fear, Highness, that one with the power of Fae itself has now come into being . . . in the human realm.”

Cole remains quiet, hating the shocked silence that falls over the court. Few even breathe, and even Cassina herself sounds shaken when she speaks. “Are you sure, Sorceress? There hasn’t been a faerie born with the gift since before I came to the throne. Only minor magics. And only those of noble blood even have the ability to contain such power. How did this happen?”

Argura nods. “I understand your concern, Highness. I don’t know how it has happened, but whoever is causing this disturbance, causing the veil between the human world and the hellish realms to grow faint, it is because only now is her power coming awake. And it must be a woman—that is assured. To stop this, she must be found before her powers cause more trouble.”

“Who can I send after this faerie?” Cassina asks, sitting back in her throne. “If Argura can sense this, certainly, the old Lightbringer king can sense it as well.”

“Perhaps I and a few others can do it,” Lysette offers, a falsely sweet smile on her lips. “It will be easy, and I will beat this upstart faerie into submission until her powers are suitably tamed.”

“No!” says the sorceress, her voice rising. “Though I can sense little, I know that this new power—she is innocent in many ways but is even more powerful than me. If she blindly strikes out with her power, it would be devastating to all three realms. And against another woman . . . no, this will require the work of the male Fae. My eyes may be blind to the color of my robes, but I can still see the coils of destiny. Only they will succeed.”

Lysette looks upset but says nothing as Cassina ponders more. “Which men?” she asks. “Mere soldiers would be ineffective. They do not know Earth. This is the work of the Imperial Guard.”

“More than that,” Argura says, turning her gaze unerringly to Tyler, Cole, Noah, and Jacob. “It requires the best of your personal Guard. Those men. My power is telling me if we are to succeed, they will be the reason.”