“You are wrong, Princess. I am
your liege. You
are
my servant. In the
future, you will remember that.”
With that, he released her and
walked back to the chair, where he
sat once more, leaning his head
against the back, his eyes never
leaving her face.
Although she seethed at what he’d
just told her, he was correct. He was
her lord, her king, her liege—and she
was no more than his… servant!
Never had she been anyone’s servant.
The St. Ives were not servants. They
were royalty: kings and queens, the
rightful rulers of Lytheria.
Jaisyn turned on her heel and left.
She had to find a way to drive the
Mor’an out of Lytheria. For now, she
would play the part of the subdued
princess, but soon, somehow, she
would be free of Vulcan of Morden
and she could go back to ruling her
people in peace.
***
Jaisyn was in the Temple, offering
her blessing to the goddess while
praying that her plan worked out,
when the feeling of being watched
crept up on her. She turned, fearing
that it was Vulcan, who’d been
searching and analyzing every square
inch of the castle since he’d been
allowed in two weeks ago. He’d
demanded the loyalty of her people,
and had promised swift retribution if
any betrayed him. Then, he’d
checked the supplies in the buttery.
After that, the stables. Later, the
kingdom’s
accounts.
He
was
everywhere, reminding the people of
Lytheria that he was their king, their
liege.
Her frown fell immediately when
she recognized who it was.
With her mane of golden hair
flowing about her shoulders and down
the back of her customary pristine
white gown, Ishat stood before her,
looking every bit the High Priestess.
She was one of the seven High
Priestesses of Lytheria, the mortal
daughters of Lyria, and the most
sacred of religious people in their
kingdom. Ishat served in the Temple
at St. Ives Castle, but a number of
times every year, she travelled to the
mountains to meet with her sister High
Priestesses. Sometimes she stayed a
few days; sometimes the gathering
kept her for a month. She had been at
one of those gatherings when Morden
had come to Lytheria and had only
returned today.
Jaisyn immediately rushed to Ishat,
kneeling before the woman who had
taught her most of what she knew
about religion, and with it, life. As a
High Priestess, Ishat would serve the
Goddess until her fiftieth year, or until
her death. If she were still alive come
time to end her service, she would be
afforded the opportunity to choose
whether to stay or to find another life.
All of the High Priestesses were
selected at birth. Although Ishat did
not look a day over thirty, one could
not be sure of her age. They all aged
gracefully.
Ishat knelt and pulled Jaisyn gently
to her feet.
“What has happened, my child?”
Ishat inquired in her soft, calming
voice. Her eyes, a gold some shades
darker than Jaisyn’s, invited Jaisyn to
tell her everything.
She started at the beginning. From
the death of her father to the Morden
armies invading, to the death of some
of her most trusted soldiers as the
Lytherians
resisted,
to
Vulcan
capturing her sisters to their surrender
to Morden and she finished off with
the most recent event—something
she’d done by herself. When she was
finished, Ishat’s eyes were gentle and
sad. With a sigh, She walked with
Jaisyn to the front of the Temple, near
the altar, and sat. She patted the seat
next to her and Jaisyn lowered herself
down.
It was then that Ishat began to
speak.
“Five years ago, when Vulcan
challenged your father for the right to
rule Lytheria, Wilhelm lost—”
Jaisyn shook her head, remembering
her father telling her that their armies
had driven the soldiers of Morden
away. He’d been proud when he
related that tale to her. She’d been in
bed nursing a broken arm and even
though she was in the utmost pain,
she’d managed her first smile since
her brother’s death. No, Wilhelm had
won.
Ishat held up her delicate hand and
continued. “He lost the battle. It lasted
almost a week before Wilhelm
recognized that Vulcan’s army was
larger, stronger and deadlier. He was
losing men rapidly. That night, after
consulting with me, Wilhelm, along
with myself, and two of his generals,
rode into Vulcan’s camp. We came to
an agreement: Vulcan would claim
Lytheria when Wilhelm died. I have a
sealed copy of that document in my
chambers as well. Three years later,
King Wilhelm became ill. As the
illness showed no signs of leaving,
your father knew it was only a matter
of time before he died and Vulcan
took Lytheria. He worried for you and
your sisters. Though he wished it,
none of you could truly inherit alone.
Although Lytheria is ahead of the
other kingdoms in its philosophies,
powerful Lytherian men would not
stand for serving a queen with no
king. You and your sisters would
become targets for any nobleman with
a tie to the crown, or any foreign
prince craving power. Your father and
I decided that the only way to secure
your future and that of your sisters
was to betroth one of you to Vulcan
of Morden. So we went to Morden
and persuaded the king to agree to the
betrothal.”
Jaisyn let out a horrified gasp and
her eyes widened. Dear Goddess, her
father had lost to Morden all along.
He’d lied to her—he’d lied to them
all. When he’d told her that she was
safe, that Vulcan of Morden would
never return, he’d been lying. Anger
engulfed her at that thought before she
pushed it away. Her father was dead.
There was no use being angry at a
dead man. She blinked rapidly and
turned to Ishat.
“Why—
why
Matty? Why not myself
or Isolde?” she managed to choke out
as the dawning horror of what her
father had done set in. Not only had
he lied, he’d betrothed the baby of the
family to his enemy.
Ishat
shrugged
her
shoulders
delicately as her lids swept down. She
took Jaisyn’s hand in hers and turned
to the altar. Gradually, her eyes
opened. “I do not know that, Jaisyn. I
prayed to Lyria about it and then I
chose one of you. I chose Mathilda
because she is young, and not set in
her ways like you or Isolde. She will
be able to adapt more easily than you
or Isolde.”
“Most able to adapt?” Jaisyn burst
out angrily, tugging her hand away
from the High Priestess. That was not
a valid reason to promise a hysterical
child to a ravaging madman! “That
man is a savage. He will break her,
Ishat! He will take everything that is
good about Matty and crush it!”
Ishat didn’t so much as blink or
flinch as Jaisyn began to scream at
her. Instead, she replied in her
calming voice, “Your sister is much
stronger than you give her credit for.”
When Jaisyn said nothing, Ishat
continued. “You should not have
blocked his entrance to Lytheria. You
should have heeded your father’s
advice. Vulcan is the rightful king and
if he still wishes it after the reception
that he received, Mathilda will be his
queen, and you and Isolde will
become wards of a High King. You
will make exceptional matches under
his guardianship.”
Jaisyn stood abruptly and began to
pace before the altar. Her father had
lost to Morden all those years ago?
And he’d never told them of it? And
Ishat had picked Mathilda for Vulcan?
Anyone with half of a working brain
could see that Mathilda was no match
for the Northern Wolf. She wanted to
tug at her hair but she settled for
pacing.
Ishat began to speak once more.
“When did you send the messenger to
Mitherie?”
Jaisyn came to a halt and looked
down
at
the
High
Priestess.
“Yesterday—around noon.”
Ishat nodded. There was no
reproach in her eyes. She faced
Jaisyn.
“You must send another message
contradicting your first quickly, else
you will give Mitherie false hope and
the Northern Wolf will annihilate
them. That will be the beginning of a
long and brutal war between the
remaining
kingdoms,
and
will
eventually lead to the destruction of
all.” Ishat’s voice had started out
normal and had grown lower and
slower, almost lyrical, as it normally
did
when
she
was
having
a
premonition.
Having no choice, Jaisyn nodded. It
seemed like there was no escaping
Vulcan of Morden. She would send
another message to Mitherie, telling
them that all was fine at Lytheria and
that they need not come, but there
was no way—no way—that she was
feeding her baby sister to the Wolf.
Ishat was wrong. Mathilda would not
be able to adapt to Vulcan of Morden;
her sister would die. Perhaps not
physically,
but
Mathilda
would
crumble. Jaisyn could not, would not
let that happen.
Chapter 5
Three weeks had passed since
Vulcan’s entrance into St. Ives Castle.
He’d done much to secure his place
as ruler in that time and his mind was
now straying back to Morden. He had
left one of his most trusted generals in
charge of his kingdom, but with nearly
half of his warriors in Lytheria, he felt
uneasy. Lytheria had its own soldiers,
who’d all sworn fealty to him. It was
time to intermix the soldiers, and take
an equal amount of Lytherian and
Morden
soldiers
back
to
his
homeland.
A shout went up from one of the
soldiers around the table, pulling
Vulcan from his thoughts. He looked
toward the sound. One of the Morden
soldiers and one of the Lytherian
soldiers were about to come to
fisticuffs.
“Ye blond, golden bastard! Ye stole
me meat right off me plate!” a man
that Vulcan recognized as a soldier of
Morden roared. The man was burly,
and from the looks of it, he’d had a bit
much to drink: he was unsteady on his
feet.
“I did not!” the Lytherian soldier
retorted angrily, and the other soldiers
quieted down, some eager to see a
fight, others wondering which side
they should choose.
“Ye calling me a liar?” the burly
soldier slurred out, pushing back his
stool.
The
Lytherian
soldier
pushed
himself up as well. “Yea, I’m calling
ye a liar! A big drunken liar!”
Vulcan shook his head. Let them
fight it out. He wouldn’t put a stop to
it. Varian, seated to his right, leaned
back, a large smile on his face, ready
to be entertained.
Before they could start battering one
another to the amusement of all
gathered, the doors to the Great Hall
were pulled open and one of the
soldiers announced that a messenger
had arrived from Mitherie.
Mitherie? The largest kingdom in the
West? What message did the Mitherie
wish to convey to Lytheria?
Curiosity piqued and the fighting
soldiers forgotten, Vulcan told the