As her sisters took their places at his
table, and the soldiers began piling in
to sit at smaller tables, he’d waited for
her, refusing to begin the meal until
she arrived. The thought of her
defying him had entered his mind and
he’d sent Magda after her. When
she’d
finally
arrived,
smiling
graciously with that mass of dark-
wheat hair flowing around her like a
halo, and explained she’d been
resting, his urge to strangle her had
vanished and he’d felt—well, he’d felt
what he always felt in her presence.
He wanted to take her away from
prying eyes and bury himself in her
body until they were both exhausted.
“What has you so taken, my
brother?” Varian’s deep voice cut into
his thoughts and Vulcan turned to
him. Varian sat next to him, a tankard
of ale in one hand and the leg of a
pheasant in the other. Vulcan divulged
most things to his brother but he
would burn in the fires of Talamund
before he told Varian of whom he was
thinking.
“It is nothing,” he replied gruffly.
His eyes narrowed as they zoned in
on Varian’s face. Although his brother
wore the same calm and almost
friendly expression that he usually
wore, something disturbing glittered in
his eyes.
“I should ask the same question of
you, Varian.” It was not a question
but a command. Vulcan wanted to
know his brother’s thoughts.
Varian placed the tankard down and
lifted his hands to his mouth, lazily
caressing what Vulcan recognized as
a small cut on his lower lip. His eyes
flicked across the table, over to the
redheaded princess who was currently
laughing with her sisters. Vulcan saw
his gaze linger on Isolde as he replied,
“My mind is clear, Vulcan. As clear
as it will be for a very long time.”
Knowing that whatever Varian was
thinking would lead to complications,
Vulcan changed the subject. He didn’t
need to think of anything dealing with
the Lytherian princesses, or their
queen for that matter.
“Any word from Morden?” he
demanded, turning his attention back
to the meat on his platter.
Varian shook his head. “The
messengers
from
Morden
and
Mitherie are expected in a week’s
time.”
“I want to know as soon as they
arrive,” Vulcan told his brother
seriously. “If Mitherie does not accept
my rule of Lytheria, we will have to
prepare for another battle. And if they
do, then preparations have to be made
for the return to Morden, especially as
we will be traveling with a queen.”
***
Jaisyn found it impossible to argue
with her husband in the solar. In fact,
whenever they were there, it usually
led to one thing, and that only served
to add to her frustration. She wanted
to yell at him, to tell him that his
views, Morden’s views of women,
were unacceptable; that he would not
keep his rule by enforcing those laws
on her people. She usually only got a
few sentences out before he pounced
on her, resolve fled, and her body, as
if working automatically, responded to
his.
The only thing that kept her sane
through this awkward relationship
with her husband was her training.
Early afternoons usually found Vulcan
and his generals, now consisting of the
Lytherian generals, behind closed
doors in the study or the throne room.
During that time, Jaisyn would have
Everik give Malcolm the message to
meet her by the lake and would dress
in the garments of a serving lad,
covering her hair with a cap, and
rubbing dirt on her cheeks, as she
escaped from her prison of a castle.
Although practicing with Malcolm
had been awkward at first, they soon
left those emotions behind as they
fought.
It was different today. In every
thrust of his sword, Jaisyn could feel
Malcolm’s frustration; in every lunge,
she
could
see
conflict
in
his
positioning. She did not think that it
was all due to her. In fact, after she
surrendered to him twice, she allowed
him to pull her up and broached the
topic.
“What’s wrong, Malcolm?”
Tugging his helmet off, Malcolm
looked down at her. She read too
many emotions to place in his eyes
and waited. Finally, he sighed and
asked, “May I speak freely, my
queen?”
Jaisyn, wondering if she would
regret it, gave him permission.
Malcolm moved to stand before her
and began lowly, “I am a Lytherian
warrior. I’ve served honorably under
your father and I served under you. I
cannot help but be bitter, angry, and
remorseful, when I see what Lytheria
has come to.”
Jaisyn
froze,
glancing
around
quickly. No one had heard him. She
glared at Malcolm, but he continued.
“Vulcan parades around with naught
but a care for our values or rights. He
is not—”
“Don’t speak like that, Malcolm.
You’ve sworn allegiance to Vulcan of
Morden. Betrayal of one’s king is
punishable by death and so is any talk
of treason,” Jaisyn reprimanded.
Malcolm’s eyes flashed angrily and
he bit out, “Weeks ago you were not
so eager to defend him, my lady.
Weeks ago, we both held St. Ives
Castle against a Morden bastard who
massacred loyal Lytherian soldiers to
secure his rule and who has somehow
bewitched a Lytherian princess into
thinking that he and his army of
scavengers can protect us.”
“I am not bewitched by Vulcan,”
Jaisyn snapped angrily before she
drew a deep breath and stared hard at
her friend. Anger pumped through her
veins. What had come over him? She
was in no way bewitched, and
especially not by the Northern Wolf!
She did not like Vulcan of Morden but
he was her husband. In the eyes of all
that Lytheria considered holy, and
with the blessing of the Goddess,
Vulcan was her husband and she
would do nothing to dishonor those
vows, especially as she had chosen
this path herself.
“If you feel so strongly against the
new king of Lytheria, perhaps it is in
your best interest to serve elsewhere,
Malcolm,” Jaisyn told him coolly,
spinning and heading over to the large
rock. She placed her sword beneath it
and rose, knowing that Malcolm’s
eyes followed her every move. Her
eyes found his once more, and the
expression on his face gentled her
words. “You have served me well. I
could not ask for a better soldier or a
better friend, but if you cannot—”
“Where are you suggesting I go,
Majesty?
” Malcolm’s voice was short
and snappy. He was not in a good
mood. Not at all.
Jaisyn held on to a temper that was
threatening to come to the forefront at
any moment. In her most level voice,
she replied, “I am suggesting that you
accept the new rule in Lytheria. You
will still be serving me, Malcolm.
Nothing will change.”
“Everything has changed. I will not
serve a Mor’an!” he hissed angrily
and Jaisyn saw the anger… and the
jealously. Yes that was it. Jealousy
lined his eyes, stood out starkly
against his handsome features. Now
she understood. Malcolm might dislike
Vulcan for other reasons, but the one
that stood out was because he was her
husband.
“I regret you feel that way,
Malcolm, but before Vulcan learns of
your true feelings, it would be better if
you left.” She paused and unable to
stare at him any longer, turned away.
“It would sadden me greatly if my
husband were to take your head.”
***
Malcolm watched angrily as Jaisyn
removed the leather helmet and
donned the boy’s cap. She sheathed
her sword and hid it under the large
rock and grabbed up her satchel.
Passing a fleeting look to him, one that
showed the sadness in her eyes, she
moved away, this time for good, and
headed in the direction of the castle.
He remained where he was for
many moments, looking out at the
blueness of the water in the lake as his
mind whirled in turmoil. Malcolm
knew he could not serve under
Vulcan, especially as he was married
to Jaisyn. He had sworn allegiance to
Vulcan of Morden when Jaisyn had
still been a freewoman, when she’d
still been available, and he’d been
prepared to go along with whatever
scheme she would dish up to get
Vulcan out of Lytheria. Now there
was really nothing for him in Lytheria.
Although his father was a wealthy
general, and Malcolm would inherit
from him, he had no title in his own
right. Loyalty produced titles when
one wasn’t born with any and
Malcolm highly doubted he could be
loyal to Vulcan of Morden with Jaisyn
by his side. Even now, when he saw
them together, he wanted to rip
Vulcan’s throat out. To think that
Vulcan had taken what would have
possibly been his place, in Jaisyn’s
bed, in her life, in her heart— No, he
could not stay here. He had one
option. As Jaisyn had suggested, he
would have to go elsewhere, and as he
made up his mind, only one kingdom
entered his mind.
***
So caught up was she in the
memory of the angry conversation she
had just had with one of her most
trusted
friends,
Jaisyn
did
not
recognize that she was walking
directly into the path of a warrior until
she’d smacked directly into him.
Thrown off balance, she fell to her
knees and looked up.
Varian looked down at her in
confusion before pulling her as if she
weighed naught but a feather to her
unsteady feet.
Jaisyn froze. She was disguised, but
was it enough to keep Varian from
recognizing her? She lowered her
head and mumbled a gruff apology,
even as Varian stood motionless and
tried to scrutinize her features.
“S’rry, milord,” she said quickly,
hoping to beat a hasty retreat into the
stables. They were standing in the
courtyard,
opposite
the
Castle
Temple, as laborers, soldiers, and
traders bustled around them.
As she made to walk past Varian, he
reached out and grabbed her arm.
Jaisyn refused to lift her eyes.
She began to pray. If Varian
recognized her, Vulcan would have
solid reason to do as he’d promised
weeks ago and strangle her.
“Where are you heading, squire?”
Varian asked. His voice remained
easy, low yet commanding.
Jaisyn wished he would release her
so that she could run to the stables,
but instead settled for answering.
“Stables, milord.”
“Ah, the stables.” Varian paused
before asking in a low voice. “Have
you seen the Queen around the
stables?
She
seems
to
have
disappeared once more.”
Jaisyn felt her heart begin to
pummel her ribcage. He knew. Dear
Lyria, he knew. Or at least suspected.
She needed a miracle to get out of this
one—
“Jamie! Jamie!”
She heard someone shouting from
next to her. She paid no attention to it,
though. Whoever Jamie was, he was
better off than she. Someone tapped
her shoulder and Varian released his
grip on her arm.
“Jamie!” Ishat said to her, and
Jaisyn’s brain immediately caught on
to what the High Priestess was doing.
Shock made her voiceless at first, but