He was the rightful heir to the
throne of Lytheria, the oldest male
heir. An image of his father, lying on
his deathbed and whispering words
that could have broken him but didn’t,
came to him. He was a Reinhardt,
though he was not his mother’s son.
Unable to conceive, Aksana had
foisted the newborn bastard of serving
girl as her own to please a husband
intent on seeing his son claim his titles
and lands. With a brittle smile, Kegan
dismissed the thought. Orrick had kept
the secret to his dying breath, and
Kegan intended to do the same. He
was, after all, his father’s son.
The day of Wilhelm’s burial, Kegan
had intended to claim the Lytherian
throne. He’d expected resistance on
the part of the princess who thought
herself equal to a man, but foreseeing
the support of the nobles, Kegan
hadn’t worried over it. Lytheria was
his birthright. No King of Morden
would take that from him. If not for
the bastard of the North, he would be
sitting on the throne, and those
princesses
would
be
rotting
somewhere, in a luxurious dungeon
perhaps, or Temple, never to be
married or birth royal heirs.
He pushed himself from the chair,
and it fell with a resounding crash
against the stone floor of his Great
Hall. A kitchen maid—a plump, hag-
faced girl that he’d punished many a
time for her clumsiness—whimpered
in fear and he tossed her a glare. She
bowed her head and waited. Had his
mind not been so taken with the
missive that he’d just received, Kegan
would have torn into her for that
reaction. Instead, he marched from
the Great Hall and into the bailey,
looking around for the face he sought.
He walked up to one of the men who
made up his small army and asked
after Dax.
Kegan was informed he was in the
stables, so he headed there, his stride
purposeful. Once there, it took him
minutes to find the man. He stood by
his stallion, a sleek white beast he’d
taken from a warrior after he’d slit his
throat.
Dax was the illegitimate son of
Azarius Shadid, the ruler of the largest
kingdom in the South. They’d met
when, as a boy of twelve, Kegan’s
father had taken him to visit Sulan.
They were a tall and willowy people,
friendly to those they liked, and
deadly to their enemies. The first time
Kegan laid eyes on Dax, he had not
known he was a boy. His hair had
been a long, tawny red, cascading
around small shoulders and falling to
his narrow waist. He had been
wearing cloth that looked suspiciously
like a dress—a very rumpled and dirty
dress. He’d been in the kitchen,
sprinkling what appeared to be
crushed leaves across the sweets that
had been laid out for the night’s
dinner.
“You there! Wench! What are you
doing?” Kegan had called angrily,
thinking a servant girl was trying to
poison them. The ‘wench’ in question
had barely spared him a second
glance before replying in a calm voice
that belittled what she was doing. “I
am putting cedar leaves in the sweets.
If you do not like being sick, you will
not eat them.”
Kegan had angrily stalked over to
the girl and tugged harshly at a
delicate arm. Dax had fallen from the
stool upon which he stood, and had
looked up at Kegan through the mass
of red hair that hid his face. In the
next instant, Kegan was on the floor.
The wench, who he then recognized
as a boy, was atop him with a wicked-
looking dagger at his throat.
“I should kill you for that,” Dax had
told him cynically, digging the point of
the blade further into Kegan’s throat
without drawing blood. “But… I
won’t.”
Kegan had remained still, unsure of
who this person was, but knowing
from his control of the language that
he was not a servant. “Who are you?”
The girl-boy sitting across his chest
lifted delicate red brows as she
quickly hid the dagger in the folds of
her gown. “I should be the heir but I
am not. I am a bastard called Dax.
And you are a nobleman. A pleasure.”
With that, he’d agilely jumped up
and went back to lacing the sweets
with crushed cedar leaves. After
pulling himself up and watching him
for many moments, Kegan had asked
his reasons for doing so.
Dax, unapologetic boy that he was,
had replied calmly. “My brother has a
sweet tooth. This is my revenge for his
constant reminder that I, although the
oldest, am not the heir.”
Kegan had watched Jarel, younger
than Dax by a few months, gobble
down the pastries at supper. Dax had
not been allowed to sit with them but
Kegan had felt his presence as Jarel
consumed sweet after sweet. After the
fifth, the boy began to sweat
profusely, and he grabbed his stomach
before the sickness came. King
Azarius had immediately sent for the
apothecary and the surgeon both, and
Jarel had been taken to his rooms.
With the entire castle in utter chaos
over what ailed the future king of
Sulan, Dax had slipped into the dining
hall, only to pass Kegan a come-hither
smile before leaving once more.
That had begun a friendship that
lasted years, with Dax eventually
being sent away after a fight with Jarel
that had left them both bloody and
battered. Azarius asked Kegan’s
father to take the unruly child on as
one of his squires, to train beside his
own son, and Orrick Reinhardt had
agreed. Kegan was fifteen, Dax
thirteen. From the moment of Dax’s
arrival, they were never apart. Kegan
was an only child and found having a
companion was a good thing. Rumors
started about the extent of their
relationship but neither ever gave any
indication if the rumors were true.
Dax, although feminine and soft, was
deadly with the dagger and crossbow
and Kegan was known for his sexual
exploits in Neren and the surrounding
towns.
“I take it you have something
important to tell me,” Dax said slowly,
his soft and mellow voice pulling
Kegan from his memory and back to
the present. He turned to face Kegan,
the mass of red hair pulled away from
his face in a queue, but wisps still
strayed and curled beguilingly around
the icy blue of his eyes. The Sulanese
were known for the shocking color of
their hair and eyes. Dax’s face was
pale and smooth, without a hair save
for his eyebrows. Dressed in the right
clothing, he could easily pass for a
woman, an exotically beautiful one.
“Or have you already missed my
company since this morning?”
Kegan glanced around quickly, glad
that Dax had placed the stallion in a
stall toward the rear of the stables,
where there were hardly any people
to overhear his bold statements.
“I wish to speak with your father,”
he announced, before Dax spouted
something else that would give them
cause to fight. “As soon as possible.”
He
watched
Dax’s
expression
change from flirtatious to hostile in the
span of seconds. Turning his head
from Kegan, he stroked the stallion’s
neck, crooning softly as the horse
snorted in pleasure.
“Why?” he asked shortly. Kegan
moved closer to him, coming to stand
a hair’s breadth behind the tall, thin
man. “I need to know if Sulan will
support me when I march against the
Northern Wolf.”
Dax’s head whipped around, the
stallion all but forgotten, and surveyed
Kegan. After long, contemplative
moments, a small smile lifted the
corners of his lips.
“So you will challenge the great
beast of the north for the right to rule
Lytheria?” Dax asked carefully.
Kegan’s nostrils flared as he glared
at his closest companion. “Think you I
cannot do it?”
Dax bowed his head slightly before
fixing his gaze to Kegan once more.
He saw a handsome, golden-haired
man in his late twenties with eyes that
burned with his lust for power. The
smile disappeared from Dax’s lips.
His teasing tone was gone. “You will
need a powerful army behind you,
along with the support of at least half
of
the
Lytherian
nobles
and
landholding warriors. The rest can be
persuaded after you’ve taken the
throne, or they can be replaced.”
Kegan smiled. This was why Dax
was his closest friend, his confidant,
because they were alike. Dax knew
what he was thinking even before he
voiced it. “I know that. I will need
your father’s army to retake Lytheria
and hold it against the Wolf.”
Dax nodded and a smile more evil
that the one Kegan wore graced his
beautiful face. “Perhaps my brother
would like the privilege of leading the
Sulanese army against the Northern
Wolf?”
Years of being around Dax had
taught Kegan to understand the
workings of his companion’s twisted
mind. He understood immediately.
“Yes, perhaps this will be a last and
most valiant stand for the heir to the
Sulanese throne.”
Dax lowered his lids slowly,
allowing his long red lashes to rest
lazily against his pale, almost glowing
cheek before he turned back to the
stallion.
“How soon can you be ready to
ride?” Kegan asked him, his gaze on
the tight, unmarred skin of Dax’s
neck. He was truly beautiful.
“Tomorrow morning,” was the easy
reply. “Ready the men, milord.”
***
The Northlands,
Morden
Jaisyn stood in front of the stables,
waiting for one of the squires to fetch
Orion, one of the stallions sired by
Ajax. Along with his Ajax, Orion and
two mares were part of the dowry
she’d brought to Morden. As Orion
was yet young, Jaisyn rode him as
much as she could, seeing his
potential to be as great as his sire.
She was surprised at how quickly
she’d become accustomed to Morden.
She was allowed free range of the
castle, countryside, and even the city,
as long as she took guards with her.
Within weeks, she was at ease in the
castle and had begun to think of it as
her other home.
Vulcan
had
even
given
her
permission, although she’d already
done so, to write to her sisters and
have them write to her. Except for the
occasional squabble and at mealtimes,
she did not see much of her husband
during the day. She did, however, see
much of Lady Savoy, who seemed
intent on visiting the castle to dine
with the king at least once every few
days. Jaisyn wished she could banish
the lady from court but although
accustomed to Morden, she was still
unsure of the reach of her powers in
this strange land. She knew that
Vulcan did not respect the rights of
females, so she would not be
surprised to know that she had
absolutely no rights except the title of
queen, to select items for the castle, to
select clothing and do little else.
Should she find out that her role was
that limited, she was going to attack
her husband. A little grin touched her
lips as she thought of the two swords
she’d had the servants pack along
with her jewelry.
“Something tells me that the smile
upon your face has nothing to do with
me,” Vulcan said as he approached