and continued, “She is too young for
marriage—”
“Women much younger than your
sister have married and borne healthy
sons,” Vulcan told her witheringly.
“And she is not easy to get along
with. Matty is selfish, stubborn, naïve
—”
“That will in no way affect me.”
“And she is also sickly. I’m sure my
father did not mention that. She
contracts illnesses easily, especially in
cold areas like the Northlands—”
“That will not affect me either.”
Jaisyn wanted to attack him. He
wouldn’t care if her sister became ill?
That just reinforced her belief that he
would be a terrible husband to
Mathilda. Her poor sister would die of
neglect or verbal tyranny.
“Will it not affect you when she
carries your heir?” she tossed out
angrily, trying to make him see that it
was not a good match.
Vulcan took a step forward and
replied frostily, “When she carries my
heir, your sister may return to
Lytheria, where the sunshine and
warm winds will give her health to aid
with the birthing. Does that satisfy
you,
Princess
?”
It was a rhetorical question but
Jaisyn was going to answer it anyway.
“No! That does not satisfy me in any
way!” she yelled, picturing Mathilda
looking miserable as an extended belly
loomed before her. Taking a deep
breath, she continued in the most
submissive tone she’d ever used with
him, hoping to appeal to his logical
side. “My liege, you do not have to
wed Mathilda to control Lytheria. It is
already yours. Please, my king. She is
not ready for marriage.”
***
Vulcan lifted a dark brow at the
princess before him. My liege? My
king? So this was what Jaisyn resorted
to when she was at her wit’s end? She
looked defeated, with her eyes
lowered demurely, but then one saw
the defiant tilt of her chin and knew
she was secretly plotting ways to get
her sister away from the monster
before her.
“Will you take her place?” he asked
and had the pleasure of seeing her
head snap backwards and her eyes
widen to the size of small moons.
Vulcan advanced, relishing in the
further widening of those eyes. He
stopped an arm’s length away from
her. “Will you have the barbaric and
savage Wolf of the North in place of
your sister?”
Jaisyn blinked and swallowed the
lump that had suddenly appeared in
her throat.
“Well—I—no—it
shouldn’t
be
necessary for anyone to take her
place—you do not need—”
Vulcan spun away and headed
toward the half-room adjoining the
solar. “Make sure that your sister is
ready, Jaisyn. It will be done before
nightfall.”
He disappeared into the adjoining
room, which housed a large, hand-
carved wooden tub and chests of
clothing and jewelry that had once
belonged to her parents.
***
She remained rooted where she
was. Could she marry Vulcan of
Morden? Oh, Goddess. Lyria knew
she had no wish to, but could she, for
Mathilda? Inhaling deeply, Jaisyn
walked into to the adjoining room, not
bothering to announce her presence
until she found herself facing a
shirtless Vulcan. She blushed. His
torso was longer and broader than
most of the soldiers she’d seen this
way, and muscles leaped anxiously in
his back. That shouldn’t make her
blush, but because this body belonged
to Vulcan—
He spun around, reaching for his
sword once more, before he caught
sight of Jaisyn.
“What is it now?”
Leaning forward, he trailed long
fingers through the water in the tub.
Cool. Perfect to soothe his aching
head and prevent him from strangling
a Lytherian princess.
Jaisyn stared at his chest. He was a
warrior so the muscles on his chest
were developed—beautiful even—but
that wasn’t particularly what caught
her attention. The men of Lytheria
were smooth, except for the hairs that
grew at the apex of their thighs, but
there was a line of black hair, almost
the span of her pinky finger, that
started below Vulcan’s navel and ran
down into his breeches. She didn’t
know how long she stared, but
Vulcan’s velvet voice interrupted her
thoughts.
“Have
you
looked
your
fill,
Princess, or should I remove the
breeches as well?”
Feeling even more heat rush to her
face, Jaisyn spun around immediately
and gave him her back. “N-no. I have
something to say.”
She peeked over her shoulder at
him. He was standing with his arms
crossed about his chest, waiting for
her to speak. Jaisyn turned, hoping
that the blush was gone from her face.
With her eyes leveled on his face,
she spoke firmly. “I will take my
sister’s place. I will marry you.”
***
It happened so fast that when it was
over,
Jaisyn
hardly
believed
it
happened at all. In fact, except for the
fact that everyone was congratulating
her, she would think that it had all
been a dream.
She’d donned a flowing cream-
colored gown and had stood before
the High Priestess as Ishat asked Lyria
to bless the union of King Vulcan of
Morden and Princess Jaisyn of
Lytheria. After, there was a quick
coronation, with Ishat placing a
jeweled golden crown upon Vulcan’s
head and announcing him liege and
ruler to all of Lytheria, before placing
a smaller crown upon Jaisyn’s head,
and doing the same. Vulcan then led
her from the Temple to the Great Hall,
where the servants had outdone
themselves by turning the regular
evening’s supper into a feast. She now
sat with her two sisters on one side
and her husband—that thought was
enough to make her queasy—on the
other.
Someone nudged her and she turned
in their direction. Mathilda’s golden
eyes stared into her similar ones. Her
sister looked sad, but Jaisyn gave her
a large smile, and soon she perked up.
She threw her arms around Jaisyn and
hugged her close.
“You won’t have to leave us, will
you?” Mathilda asked, and for the first
time since she’d decided to marry
Vulcan of Morden, five hours ago,
Jaisyn thought of that question. There
was little doubt in her mind she
would. Vulcan belonged in Morden
and as his wife, her place was at his
side.
“Not right now, Matty,” she told her
younger sister softly, and when
Mathilda smiled and went back to
chattering with Isolde, Jaisyn knew
she’d done the right thing. She was
the eldest. She was more prepared for
marriage than either of her sisters.
As
the
wedding
celebrations
continued, Jaisyn forced herself to
keep
smiling
and
accepted
congratulations from the Lytherian
soldiers as well as their counterparts
from Morden. Her people. Supper had
been cleared away and Isolde, along
with the bards, was playing a lively
tune on the harp while Mathilda sang
along. The soldiers, most of whom
were already in their cups, were
dancing to the princess’s tune. Seated
in a chair, Jaisyn looked on at the
crowd and tried hard to keep her
thoughts from her husband, who’d
disappeared from the Great Hall some
minutes ago. Malcolm took the
opportunity to approach her.
A genuine smile fluttered across
Jaisyn’s lips. She’d seen him only a
handful of times since Vulcan had
returned him to them. During those
times, he’d been resting or she’d been
doing something or the other that had
not allowed them to speak as they
usually did. He was dressed for the
occasion—a stylish cream tunic with
brown trim and brown breeches. His
flaxen hair was combed away from
his handsome face, allowing his sea-
colored eyes to fully dominate his
face.
Feeling the need to tease, Jaisyn
asked in a mock angry tone, “Are you
trying to outshine me on my wedding
day, Malcolm?”
Malcolm smiled, although it did not
reach his eyes. “No one could
outshine you, Majesty, and especially
not on your wedding day.”
Jaisyn clucked her tongue. “Ah, I’ve
missed your flattery. Are you feeling
well? How is your head?”
“Better. I have been training again
but I miss my partner,” he told her
with a gleam in his eye.
A sad smile tugged at Jaisyn’s lips.
She hadn’t chanced going down to
train with the men, as Vulcan was still
unaware of the extent of her skill. In
fact, she knew he would not
appreciate it.
“I understand,” Malcolm said as if
he’d read her min. His voice lowered
slightly, “Is this what you want?”
There was no easy way to answer
that question. No it wasn’t, but yes it
was. She was spared an answer,
however, as Vulcan approached them
and held out his hand. He was dressed
in the colors of his house: red and gold
with black breeches. She allowed
herself to be pulled up. Malcolm stood
as well and dipped his head to Vulcan,
before addressing them both.
“Congratulations, Majesties.” His
gaze managed to catch hers as he
spoke.
Vulcan nodded and Jaisyn smiled,
though happiness did not reach her
eyes. Malcolm turned and headed
away from them, over to some of the
soldiers that he knew.
Leaning down, Vulcan placed his
mouth near to Jaisyn’s ear and said,
“Come, wife. It is time to finish what
we started.” With that, he put her
hand in the crook of his arm, covered
it with his other hand, and headed for
the stairs. She had no choice but to
follow.
Jaisyn knew the meaning behind the
comment, but she hadn’t thought of
that until this moment. She really
hadn’t thought their union through. A
trickle of fear sent a chill down her
spine.
Before they were fully away from
the festivities, a voice she recognized
as Varian’s called out loudly.
“To the King and Queen! May you
have strong sons to rule your
kingdoms and beautiful daughters to
captivate all others!”
A cheer went up at that toast and a
few soldiers, no doubt Morden
soldiers, threw in their own bawdy
salutes.
***
Jaisyn’s blush did not go unnoticed
by Vulcan, who had been planning the
night in his head from the moment
that his princess, now his queen,
walked into the Temple wearing a
gown that revealed only her neck and
fingers, but that outlined the shape of
her breasts very nicely and made him
think back to when she’d been under
him and he’d had them in his hands.
When they entered the solar, it was
brighter than usual. Along with the fire
at the hearth, a torch had been lit. A
lady’s maid was waiting by the bed
for Jaisyn. Vulcan dismissed her.
He would be undressing his wife
tonight.
***
With shaky fingers, Jaisyn removed
the veil and the crown that kept it on
her head and placed them onto the
mantle. She knew what happened on
wedding
nights.
Her
maids,
governesses and tutors had informed
her of that whenever they touch on
the topic of anatomy. What terrified
her was that she now, for most
purposes, belonged to Vulcan of
Morden. She was his wife; she would
bow to him. She would share his bed.
She would bear his heirs.