Lyria, that they would not. Vulcan
was pleased. He dismissed everyone
except General Urian.
“Where
is
your
son,
faithful
general?”
Vulcan
asked
quietly,
noticing that the older man became
uneasy. Vulcan had sent squires and
servants out to find Malcolm, thinking
it time that he discuss the event that
Varian had witnessed, but he could
not be found anywhere.
General Urian cleared his throat and
sighed. “Malcolm has left Lytheria,
my liege.”
Vulcan nodded. Had Malcolm
known that he’d been followed and
fled to avoid the punishment he
thought his king would dish out?
“Why has he left, general?”
“I do not know the exact reason, my
king. My son did not see fit to speak
with me about his decision before he
left. All that I know is that he does not
intend to return from wherever it is
that he has gone.” Urian’s voice broke
slightly and Vulcan stared at the man
long and hard. Urian was a good
general and from how much he cared
about his son, a good father. He
thought of his father, now dead, and
thanked Rika for that. Frederick had
been a great warrior, and a ruthless
leader, but he had not been a good
father. He’d taught his sons all they’d
need to know about wars, sieges and
fighting, but when displeased he had
been a mean bastard.
Vulcan remembered the first time
he’d seen his father’s anger. He’d
been seven or eight, and had been
wielding his wooden sword, when
he’d fallen off balance and scraped his
knee against the hard ground. It had
been his first experience with real
pain.
He’d
cried.
For
crying,
Frederick had locked him in the
dungeon. It had been dark, cold, and a
foul odor had permeated the space.
That had led to him bawling until he
was hoarse and could utter no more
sounds. After hours of silence, his
father had released him. From then
on, Vulcan had learned. No matter
how much it hurt, he would not cry.
Years of testing his son’s mettle, both
in battle and in his general leadership,
and King Fredrick had grudgingly
accepted that Vulcan was growing
into the cold and ruthless heir that he
desired.
“Is your son plotting against me,
Urian?” Vulcan asked, dismissing
thoughts of his father and his
childhood.
General Urian swallowed, meeting
the gaze of the king full-on. “I do not
know, my liege. I am quite unaware
of the thoughts that now pass through
Malcolm’s head.”
“If your son is plotting against me,
Urian, will you act the part of my
loyal subject and go after him?”
Vulcan asked, knowing that it was a
difficult question for the man, but
needing to see where his loyalties lay.
Urian’s gaze never left his king. “I
have sworn my loyalty to you, my
liege. If Malcolm were to pose a
threat to you, I would challenge him.”
Vulcan nodded. “I am glad to hear
that, Urian. Let us hope it does not
come to that.”
***
Isolde glared at the man who stood
before her, wondering how he’d
managed to find her in her haven.
Was she to have no place to herself,
where he was concerned? She’d left
the bustling, noisy castle for an hour
of silence and peace at her favorite
place in the kingdom. The Lytherian
Falls were but a ten-minute walk
upstream from St. Ives Castle. She
had alerted her maids, as she had
done for the past days, that she would
be there for a few hours in case
anyone asked after her, and had taken
a copy of her favorite novel, before
heading for the rocks surrounding the
waterfall. She’d been sitting there,
allowing the rays of sunlight to caress
her eager skin and the wind to blow
through her hair, when a twig snapped
and her head whipped in the direction
of the sound. She immediately went
on guard.
Varian approached her, his lips
curved upward in what appeared to be
a smile but she recognized as a snarl.
He was angry… no doubt, with her.
She straightened her spine but refused
to move away from the rock. She
could now literally look down her
nose at him.
“Good day, Princess. It is a fine day
to sit and take in this beautiful
scenery, is it not?” he asked casually,
coming to a halt directly before her.
His eyes moved over her body, taking
in the soft green of the dress she wore
and noticing that it complimented her
eyes. The dress was cut with a deep
V at the front, but like the modest
princess that she was, Isolde had worn
a frilly white garment underneath that
came all the way to her neck.
Isolde did not answer. She just kept
her cool eyes on his, letting him know
from her hostile expression that he
was in no way welcome in her space.
“I see that you agree with me,” he
continued, as if she’d answered.
“Perhaps it would have been wise to
have a few soldiers accompany you
on this excursion. Is that not right,
Princess?”
She
remained
silent.
Varian’s
eyebrow lifted and he flashed his teeth
at her. It could not be called a smile.
“If you prefer to continue in silence,
Princess, I will have no choice but to
lift you from that rock, throw you over
my shoulder, and take you back to the
castle. When you are there, I will lock
you in your room and hope that you
will reminisce on the stupidity of
coming to a secluded area without
guards.” Varian’s voice was calm and
if she hadn’t been a few feet from
him, she would have sworn she’d
heard him incorrectly. His face was
relaxed, friendly, and yet he was
threatening to drag her from her
private place and lock her in her
room.
Varian of Morden was
insane
. He
had to be. How else could he be so
calm as he spoke of bodily removing
her and locking her up?
“I will ask you but once more,
Princess. Did you not think it would
be smart to have a few soldiers
guarding you in this secluded area?”
he asked calmly.
Isolde’s lips curled up in a true snarl
as she replied, “Has it not occurred to
you, Prince Varian, that I wanted to
be alone… by myself… away from
the likes of you, your brother, and
your people?”
Varian didn’t even bat an eyelash at
her outburst. Instead, he replied
evenly, “That thought did occur to
me, Princess, but as we both know,
we are currently in Lytheria. There
are Lytherian soldiers willing to
accompany a beautiful princess to
such a pretty place. You have no
excuse except for your stupidity.”
Isolde’s eyes widened for two
different reasons. Varian had called
her beautiful, which made a slight
blush creep into her cheeks. But then,
he’d called her stupid and the blush
was forgotten as angry splotches of
red formed. Never in her life had she
been called stupid.
“I am in no way stupid, Varian of
Morden, and it would do you well
never to forget that!” she hissed at
him, slamming the book she hadn’t
even had a chance to open against the
rock.
“That may be so, Princess, but your
actions this day have cast serious
blemish upon your ability to think in a
fashion befitting your status,” Varian
replied
easily,
seeming
entirely
unruffled as he faced the princess.
She’d almost given him a heart attack
when he’d spotted her heading into
the thick forest, entirely alone.
Isolde pushed herself to the edge of
the rock and jumped down. She
turned to grab her book and tilted her
head up to him.
“I find that I no longer wish to be
here, Varian of Morden. The noisy
castle is preferable to spending any
amount of time in your company.”
She made a move to walk away
from him but he caught her arm and
pulled her back, bringing her directly
before him.
Isolde recognized the look in the
flashing blue of his eyes, even if his
face remained expressionless. It was
the look he always got before he
attempted to kiss her, as if she were
some scullery maid wanting his
affections. Even though she’d bitten
his lip once, and had kicked him the
other time, Varian seemed relentless
when it came to kissing her.
Bracing herself, she waited for him
to lower his lips to hers, thinking to
clobber his handsome head with the
hard binding of her book, but as if
sensing that she would do so, he
turned and began walking in the
direction of the castle, tugging her
until she walked beside him.
Isolde attempted to take her hand
back but after futile attempts, decided
to settle for having Varian hold her
arm as they walked back toward the
castle. He wasn’t hurting her; his grip
was quite gentle. Deciding that it
could be worse—he could have
thrown her over his shoulder like he’d
threatened—she ignored him, relaxed,
and allowed herself to enjoy the walk
back to the castle.
***
Vulcan allowed his breathing to
return to normal as he lay on the bed,
his wife above him in a similar state of
exhaustion. Her pale yellow bed gown
had been hiked up to her hips, the
bodice pulled down to expose her
exquisite breasts, as she sat atop him.
Jaisyn’s breathing gradually settled,
and as Vulcan heard the telltale signs
of sleep nearing—the evening of her
breath, the soft sighs that escaped her
lips—he spoke in a low voice. “We
leave for Morden in a sennight.”
Her head lifted from his chest and
she blinked down at him in confusion.
“A sennight?” she asked slowly,
clearing her throat as her voice came
out croaky. “But is that not early—”
Vulcan’s eyes held hers as he
replied, “I am needed at Morden
Castle. I have been away for months
and my people expect to be presented
to their new queen.”
Jaisyn tried to lift her body from his
but his hand at her back prevented her
from doing so. She glared down at
him
angrily.
“What
about
the
Lytherians? The nobility has yet to
swear allegiance to you. Will you
leave Lytheria open to attack?”
Eyes narrowing, Vulcan replied
smoothly, “The nobles will swear
allegiance to me through Varian. He
will rule in my stead.”
“But, liege—”
“Vulcan,” was the gruff reply. He
disliked it when Jaisyn resorted to
formalities in bed, especially when he
knew her as intimately as she did him.
“Vulcan,” she started once more,
possibly sensing that he would not
listen if she defied him tonight, “it is
more plausible to wait a few more
weeks before leaving for Morden.
You’ve been here but two months and
—”
Vulcan cut her off. “We leave for
Morden in a sennight. I have been
here long enough to establish my rule.
My brother will continue in my
stead.”
He would not be swayed on this.
The Northlands were missing their
High King and an unseen king was
almost as bad as no king at all. If he
remained in Lytheria any longer, one
of the smaller northern kingdoms
might become bold and challenge his
lordship over their country.
Jaisyn glared angrily down at him in
contempt. “If that is my lord’s wish.
You may release me now.”