shook his head and walked off,
probably to try to persuade their other
captive to eat.
“What is your name?” Vulcan asked
the man. He was covered in grime,
sweat and blood alike, and looked like
some sort of unwashed golden dog.
What was no doubt some form of
blond hair stuck to his head, along
with dark filth.
The man did not reply so Vulcan
continued,
“Will
your
people
surrender to Morden?”
The man blinked and shrugged.
Vulcan crossed his arms before his
chest and said coldly, “What is your
name? I will not ask you again.”
The man continued to keep his
silence until finally, he lifted his head,
his eyes staring directly into those of
the king. He spat out, “Malcolm.”
“If Lytheria surrenders to Morden,
will you challenge me?” Vulcan
assessed the man as he sat there, rope
binding his arms and legs. He’d
wounded two of his warriors, and had
put up a good fight against Varian. He
took no pleasure in killing good
fighters and men loyal to their
countries. But if this man answered
wrongly, he was taking his head. He’d
had about enough of the Lytherian
resistance.
The man cleared his throat, and
replied slowly, “
If
Lytheria surrenders
to Morden, I will not fight it.” The
way he said “if” told Vulcan that he
didn’t expect any such surrender.
Vulcan’s jaw locked angrily. If
Lytheria didn’t surrender, his men
were going in through the secret
entrance, and slaughtering anyone
who stood in their way.
As it happened, thoughts like that
turned out to be unnecessary. When
noon arrived, and Vulcan, carrying
the wrongly named Flower before
him, arrived at the line, he noticed that
the drawbridge to the castle had been
lowered.
Although
soldiers
still
manned the battlements, there were
no arrows pointed in their direction.
Varian, now wearing full battle armor,
came up alongside him. The timid
princess sat before him.
“This could be a trap,” Varian told
him,
staring
at
the
lowered
drawbridge. Vulcan knew that. It was
for that reason that a portion of his
men were going in first, before he and
Varian would enter, followed by the
rest.
General Akos reined his horse in
beside his king and asked for his
orders. Vulcan conveyed them and
before long, Morden soldiers on
horseback began a slow canter toward
St. Ives Castle.
When the soldiers had entered into
the realm of the arrows, and none
were loosed, Vulcan nudged his horse
forward and Varian flanked him.
The sisters were not gagged today
but thankfully, they remained quiet.
The Flower was as tense as ever
before him, but with one of his hands
securely around her middle, she was
going nowhere.
They
crossed
the
drawbridge
unharmed and entered the inner
bailey.
Vulcan
looked
around,
noticing the crowd of armored
Lytherian soldiers that lined all sides
of the courtyard. They stood still as
his soldiers passed them and made
their way to the main bailey, where
the generals and the other princess
should be waiting. Vulcan was
prepared to accept nothing less than a
full surrender.
When they entered the main bailey,
they
were
greeted
with
more
Lytherian soldiers, but ahead of them,
standing before a door that no doubt
led to the Great Hall, were a cluster of
soldiers
who
seemed
to
be
surrounding,
if
not
protecting,
something.
The Flower squirmed before him
and Vulcan tightened his hold on her.
She stopped moving, but her body
remained coiled as if at any moment
she intended to jump from Shadowfax
and run. When they approached the
cluster of soldiers, a few stepped aside
and Vulcan saw whom they’d been
shielding. It was obviously a woman,
if the blue and silver dress were any
indication, but he couldn’t make out
her face as a blue veil covered most of
her head. A silver crown encrusted
with various stones rested neatly upon
her head. This was the other princess.
“I am Vulcan of Morden, High King
of the Northlands. Does Lytheria
accept me as her liege?” His voice
was loud, intended for everyone
gathered to hear.
Silence greeted his question and
then as if she had to force herself, the
princess in the Lytherian colors
stepped forward and curtsied low,
dipping her crowned head as she did
so.
“I am Princess Jaisyn St. Ives of
Lytheria. Lytheria accepts Vulcan of
Morden as her liege.” The words
were not offered freely. In fact, he
was sure that she’d said them from
between clenched teeth.
Varian turned his stallion to face the
approaching soldiers of Morden and
the Lytherian soldiers who had not
heard that declaration. “Lytheria
accepts King Vulcan of Morden as
her liege!”
“Will you release my sisters, now…
my lord king?” Jaisyn of Lytheria
posed what sounded more like a
statement than a question.
Vulcan wished the veil gone to see
her eyes. He was sure she wasn’t
smiling but her eyes would tell him if
it was defiance he heard in her voice,
or fear. He had a feeling that it was
the former.
“Lytheria is now a subject of
Morden. As such, all Lytherians are
free of harm from any of the subjects
or allies of Morden.”
Vulcan threw the words back at her,
but he swung his leg over Shadowfax
and slid from the horse, lifting the
Thorn—that was a better name
anyway—down with him. Her feet
had barely touched the ground before
she tore from his arms and ran to her
sister. Varian had dismounted as well
and the timid one followed suit.
Obviously, she was the eldest, this
Jaisyn of Lytheria. Vulcan had always
thought her name interesting for a girl.
All of the Jaisyns he’d known were
male:
warriors,
landowners,
clergymen. She was the first woman
that he knew of with such a name.
After hugs and assurances, she
finally placed her sisters behind her.
They remained near as she addressed
him once more. He stood many inches
taller than she and had to look down.
“Will you join us for our first meal
together?”
Again, she asked her questions as if
they
were
statements.
Vulcan
clenched his jaw, annoyed with this
princess who stared in defiance
instead of cowering, and who held
herself as regal as any queen, as if
she’d permitted him to be overlord to
her kingdom and he hadn’t wrestled it
from her dainty fingers.
Varian, no doubt sensing his brother
might have had enough of diplomacy,
spoke calmly. “As a sign of goodwill,
we are returning one of your
soldiers.”
Varian snapped his fingers and two
soldiers brought forth Malcolm, dirty
and bloodied. Jaisyn and one of the
soldiers
around
her
released
involuntary cries at seeing the man.
From the close resemblance and the
fact that the man rushed over to him,
Vulcan recognized him as his father.
Vulcan’s eyes narrowed on the
princess, taking in her reaction. Who
was this man to her? His curiosity was
piqued.
***
Vulcan sat at one head of the long,
draped table with Jaisyn perched
regally at the other. There was an
obvious divide. On his side sat Varian,
Akos, Hector, and Chevan. On
Jaisyn’s sat the Thorn, the Timid, and
two more of her trusted soldiers,
possibly even generals.
The servants brought out the food—
meats, cheeses, bread, and ale—and
laid them out attractively. It was a
handsome selection for both sides as
the Lytherians had been rationing food
while the Morden soldiers survived on
only meats.
Despite the come-hither call of the
food, Vulcan wasn’t stupid. He
certainly did not train stupid men.
They would wait until the Lytherians
took bites of every food item before
they ate. He wouldn’t put it past the
veiled princess to have the food laced
with poison.
The servants returned with carving
knives and began to cut chunks of the
meat and place it onto their platters.
Varian was the epitome of relaxation
as he smiled down the table at the
princesses. Vulcan’s scowl never
faded.
When everyone had their ale and
food before them, Vulcan directed his
gaze to the princess on the other side
of the table.
“Is something wrong with your food,
my liege?” she asked, again between
clenched teeth.
“I do not know, Princess. Is there?”
he countered, making no move to pick
up the utensils beside him.
He still couldn’t see her through that
veil and wondered how she intended
to eat with it on. He soon found out
when she brushed it aside, exposing
full, pink lips, and lifted the tankard to
them. Immediately, her men did the
same. She lowered the tankard and
took a small taste of the meat. When
she was through with that, the veil
slipped back into place and she said
bitingly, “There is nothing wrong with
the food, my lord king.”
Vulcan picked up his knife and cut
into the meat, using the fork to bring it
to his mouth. His men followed suit
and soon they were all eating. Tension
still reigned, but they ate. Together.
“My men and I will need lodgings.”
Jaisyn tilted her head slightly but
didn’t answer.
Varian added, “And there is still the
matter of the betrothal.”
She started and turned to him before
returning her gaze to Vulcan, whose
eyes were narrowing. “I beg your
pardon, liege. I thought that was
forgotten.”
“The betrothal was witnessed by our
Seer and your High Priestess. It is
sacred and cannot be easily broken,”
Varian continued, passing a look to
his brother before returning his gaze
to her. Vulcan remained silent.
Exactly where was Varian going with
this? “That is—unless our king
renounces it.”
Someone dropped a utensil and it
crashed to the floor. It was the Timid
One. She looked pasty, as if she were
going to be sick at any moment.
“Jassy,” he heard her say in a whiny
voice. Her lip trembled as if she were
about to cry.
‘Jassy’ addressed her. “It is all right,
Matty.”
Vulcan and Varian exchanged
knowing
looks.
‘Matty’,
which
sounded like Mathilda, was the Timid
One?
“Princess Mathilda?” Vulcan called,
his eyes on her. Startled, she
immediately looked to him, and he
flashed her a wolfish grin. Her eyes
widened and she seemed to draw
closer to Jaisyn.
He turned to the Thorn. “And you
are?”
She tilted her chin defiantly,
although her lips trembled slightly. “I
am Princess Isolde of Lytheria.”
Varian clucked his tongue, and lifted
his goblet. “Princess Isolde, it is a
pleasure to meet you.”
Isolde sent a withering glare his way
but Jaisyn nudged her under the table.
Instead of allowing her mouth to voice
what her eyes were saying, she
replied demurely. “And I you, Prince
Varian.”
Vulcan pushed his chair back and
stood. His men did the same.
“Princess Jaisyn, I am ready to be