many miles but on the other side are
more cities and provinces of Morden.”
Jaisyn turned to face him and spoke
softly. “You must have enjoyed
coming here as a child.”
His eyes did not leave the sea. “I did
not come here as a child, Jaisyn. I
have been to this castle a handful of
times.”
“But it is so very beautiful and
peaceful here,” she countered, turning
back to the sea, and listening to the
waves as they crashed on the rocks
below. “Did you not visit your mother
when you were younger?”
“My mother died before I was old
enough to remember her.”
Pulling her gaze from the sea, Jaisyn
stared at him. He did not return her
gaze, but continued to stare down at
the water. So Vulcan and Varian did
not have a mother; he had not had the
loving hand of a mother or maternal
figure to raise him. That certainly
explained some of Vulcan’s views on
women. It also explained his lack of
compassion and the coldness that
seemed to waft off of him at times.
“I am sorry that you and Varian lost
your mother—”
“Varian’s mother is still very much
alive. She spends most of her time at a
similar castle in Milton, about an
hour’s ride from Morden. I was
informed that she had a slight chill and
would arrive to pay homage as soon
as the illness passes.”
Her eyes narrowed in confusion and
Vulcan explained.
“My father remarried after my
mother’s death. Varian and I are half-
brothers.”
She nodded as understanding settled
in. Vulcan had been raised by his
stepmother
but
from
his
expressionless face as he spoke of
her, she decided that one way or the
other, his stepmother had not had a
great impact on his life.
“My mother died when I seven,”
she told him abruptly, and Vulcan’s
eyes widened as he stared at her. “But
my father never remarried. He always
said she was the great love of his life,
the only queen he would ever take.
Still, we were very happy. Were you
happy, when your father remarried?”
“It did not affect me,” Vulcan
replied. “Until Varian was born. I
have not felt happiness much in my
life but I am thankful for my brother.”
They continued to stare at each
other, each recognizing for the first
time that they truly did not know
much about the other. They had both
lost their mothers at early ages; they
both loved their siblings above all
others.
“What about your father?” Jaisyn
asked suddenly and regretted the
question immediately. Vulcan’s face
closed to her and the scowl that
usually graced his face appeared once
more. He turned away, looking to the
sea again.
“Frederick was a great ruler, an
undefeated warrior. He taught Varian
and I everything we know about
fighting and leading.”
Jaisyn checked the urge to lift her
hand to his face, to gently draw his
gaze back to hers. Instead, she
continued pleasantly. “My father
wanted his first born to be a son, so
he raised me as one. Until Stephen—”
She broke off as the memory of a
Morden soldier impaling her brother
on his sword swiftly brought her back
to reality. She remembered her
broken arm, and the pain and the guilt
that had plagued her for weeks and
months and years after. Her eyes
hardened as she stared at Vulcan. His
soldier was responsible for her
brother’s death. His army... She spun
away in anger, both at Vulcan and at
herself.
She had forgotten her brother.
Forgotten that she blamed his death
on the man standing behind her. How
could
she
do
something
so
unforgivable?
As
she’d
grown
accustomed to Vulcan and Morden,
she’d forgotten Stephen. An angry
tear rolled down her cheek and she
brushed it away.
Vulcan’s hand touched her arm and
he turned her to face him.
“Who is Stephen?” He broke off his
words as tears gathered in her eyes.
“What is the matter?”
She pulled from his grasp and
stepped away.
“Stephen was my brother,” she spat
out and Vulcan blinked in confusion.
Crossing his arms before his chest,
he looked down at her. “And where is
he now?” Unable to remember any
talk of an heir, Vulcan’s curiosity was
piqued.
A bitter laugh erupted from her
before she covered her mouth with a
trembling hand. Her reply was final
and rank with accusation, “Dead. You
and your army murdered him.”
***
To say that Vulcan was shocked at
Jaisyn’s sudden outburst was an
understatement. One instant they had
been getting to know each other and
the next, she was accusing him of
killing a brother he didn’t even know
she’d had.
“What?” he demanded, his eyes
hardening as he glared down at her.
Jaisyn smiled bitterly and turned
away from him.
“Five years ago, when you first
fought
my
father,
your
army
murdered my brother.”
Vulcan’s head was beginning to
ache as he tried to understand her. A
distant memory shadowed his mind of
Varian mentioning something to him
about a dead prince. “Jaisyn, in
battles, good men die. I am sorry—”
“No! Don’t you dare say it,” she
threw at him, spinning around to show
him just how much hatred blazed in
her eyes. “He was only fourteen and
unskilled with the sword!”
Holding on to his temper, Vulcan
countered, “If he was unskilled with
the sword, why then was he on the
battlefield?”
***
Jaisyn’s eyes widened at his
question. Because he’d wanted to
protect her. Because he gave his life
to save hers. The guilt rushed back to
her once more and she turned from
Vulcan. His savage army had killed
her brother but she was just as
responsible for his death. No matter
how much her father had told her it
wasn’t her fault, she always knew that
it was.
She drew in a deep breath and
wiped all expression from her face.
When she next turned back to Vulcan,
her face was blank. “I am feeling
light-headed. Will you have someone
show me to a room?”
Vulcan nodded. “Use this room. I
will send the servants to tend you.”
Moving past her, he headed for the
door. He was pulling it open when her
voice stopped him. “That will not be
necessary. I only intend to rest my
head until the meal is ready.”
Jaisyn read the confusion on his face
as he left the room. It did not matter
that Vulcan Mor’an had not dealt the
blow; he was still responsible.
***
The meal might have been good but
Jaisyn did not know it. She ate
without tasting, stared without seeing.
Unlike at the high table of Morden
Castle, she sat to the right of her
husband, making it easier for them to
converse. They did not. The loyal
warriors Vulcan had assigned to guard
her sat with them, talking and laughing
over events that Jaisyn did not know
or care about. She knew Vulcan
watched her, and even replied when,
on occasion, he would ask her
questions. Was the food to her liking?
Would she like more wine? She was
glad when it was over, for she was
able to return to the room at the top of
the castle, and stared out at the sea.
The sun was now high in the sky and
its rays fell prettily onto the water,
changing its color to a lighter blue. An
image of her brother, happy and
slightly bossy Stephen, dreaming of a
day when he would be king, entered
her mind.
How things had changed from that
time. She’d slightly resented that
while she was the oldest, Stephen
would be king, but she had eventually
gotten over it. That was the way of
her people and when she’d learned
that Lytheria was the only kingdom so
liberal in the rights of their female
citizens, she’d been proud of her
country. She’d imagined that in years
to
come,
Stephen’s
female
descendants might have been able to
ascend the throne without a male
counterpart. A frustrated sigh escaped
her lips. Now Stephen was dead and
because of her marriage to the man
who bore responsibility for her
brother’s death, she was queen. She
lifted her eyes from the sea and briefly
stared into the bright circle that was
the sun.
Closing her eyes, she saw the
familiar shine on the insides of her lids
that occurred when one did that. To
save one sibling, she’d married the
man she blamed for the death of the
other. To save Lytheria, she’d given
herself to a warrior who did not
believe women on equal footing with
men, who thought that they should be
ruled, in all things, by their male
counterparts. To save Lytheria, it
seemed, she’d damned herself in the
process. The irony of her situation
was almost laughable.
She thought of Vulcan, with his
piercing grey gaze and his ability to
take away her very breath when they
were alone. He had not changed from
the first time she’d met him in his tent,
as she struggled under him. He was
still the mighty king—the arrogant
warrior who’d conquered her people,
the seductive man who’d captivated
her.
She
remembered
Malcolm,
staring down at her with anger upon
his face, telling her that she was
bewitched. Her head bowed as she
saw the truth in his words. She had
been, but no more. She did not love
her husband. She enjoyed the things
he did to her body and she grudgingly
admitted that she admired him as a
warrior, but love, she did not—
could
not—love Vulcan of Morden.
Finally, her eyes opened and she
inhaled deeply. Her marriage was
genuine, blessed by the Goddess
herself. Ishat had advised her to forget
the past, and love her husband. As she
thought of her father and her high
priestess, she wanted to cry. Their
betrayal stung most of all. That they’d
planned for her to marry the man she
blamed for the death of her brother.
She was Vulcan’s wife, and nothing
save death would change that.
***
Both the journey from Seacrest
Castle to Morden Castle and the
events that followed after informed
Vulcan of his wife’s new coldness to
him. Instead of the fight he was
usually guaranteed whenever he
pushed
her,
Jaisyn
was
expressionless.
Unaccustomed
to
being ignored by women, especially
by his wife—he was King, damn it—
Vulcan felt his temper surge. He held
onto it, knowing that it was pointless
to become enraged with his wife in
the state that she was in. It was no
doubt due to her brother, whom she
seemed
set
on
believing
he’d
murdered. He’d stared at her during
supper, barely paying attention to
either lady on his side.
Two of his ex-mistresses, Lady
Savoy and Lady Grangerly, had
somehow
managed
to
position
themselves at his side. He’d half-
listened to them both as they threw
barbs at each other, each stopping
short of insult by a thread. To keep
from snapping and dismissing them
from his castle, he’d turned his full
attention to his wife. She’d barely
spoken to her ladies and she certainly