came time for her to select her
clothing, she selected a demure riding
habit
that
she’d
brought
from
Lytheria. It wasn’t a dress and the
skirt that usually made it formal could
be removed, as fashionable women’s
breeches were underneath. As such, it
would not get tangled between her
feet during the event that she was
almost sure would take place. After
donning it, Jaisyn sat before the fire,
absorbing the heat into her body and
picturing her encounter with her
husband.
The servants bustled around in her
room. Magda placed the chainmail
and armor into an empty chest and a
Lytherian soldier came for it. He did
not speak as he took it but passed a
cautious glance to his queen before
leaving. Magda had picked up Jaisyn’s
sword, intent was she on placing it
back in the chest with the jewels,
when her queen halted her with a
raised hand.
“No,” Jaisyn told her firmly, staring
at the amber-gold, emblem at hilt of
her sword. Each of the swords her
father had commissioned had the
same
mark.
It
was
almost
a
rectangular shape, curling down at the
edges, with a boar etched into the
middle. Jaisyn shook her head for
greater emphasis. “No, Maggie, leave
it there.”
Magda did as she was asked, though
she looked surprised at the request.
She wasn’t left wondering long
because the king suddenly threw open
the doors.
They smacked against the wall
loudly and the three women in the
room jumped visibly before giving him
their attention. He was no longer in
full armor but still wore chain mail,
and the expression on his face was
thunderous, perhaps murderous.
Before he could say anything, Jaisyn
told her maids in a calm voice belying
the situation, “Please leave us.”
Asha did not need to be told twice.
She was closest to the door and as
such, she was the first out of it.
Vulcan turned his angry glare to
Magda, who was staring at Jaisyn.
“Out!” he ordered angrily.
Jaisyn sent her most loyal servant a
small smile and nodded. Magda
walked from the room, passing a
pleading glance at Vulcan, who was
too busy glaring at his wife to notice.
As soon as Magda stepped from the
room, the door was slammed shut.
“You!” Vulcan accused, stepping
further into the room, approaching
her, stalking her like a large, brooding
jungle cat.
Jaisyn held his gaze. “Yes, Vulcan.
Me!”
He came to stand directly next to
her chair, but she did not move. His
hands swooped down and dragged her
from the chair. One minute he was
glaring at her and the next, he was
shaking her.
“You little fool!” he exclaimed as
her head bobbed uncontrollably on
her body. “I could have killed you!”
She managed to push herself away
from him and placed the chair
between them. It wasn’t enough. He
easily shoved it out of the way.
“Milord, you misjudge the reach of
your skill,” Jaisyn said bitingly, still
reeling from the shaking he’d just
given her. “It would have taken much
more from you to kill me.”
***
Vulcan’s teeth snapped together
audibly. Was his wife telling him that
she was more skilled than he on the
battlefield? From what he’d gathered
from the soldiers, Jaisyn of Lytheria
had been practicing her sword from a
young age. Apparently, Lytherians did
not see anything wrong with having
swordswomen; they saw nothing
wrong with sending a female, a person
who was supposed to birth and
nurture, into a battle! When she’d told
him that her father had wanted a son,
she’d forgotten to mention that he’d
also raised her like one!
“You are never to use a sword again
or I swear upon all I believe, I will
take you over my knee and throttle
you!” Vulcan roared, his face
contorting angrily.
Jaisyn’s brows lifted at that before a
frown marred her face. “You would
throttle your own wife?”
Caught off guard by the question,
Vulcan replied immediately, “I would
throttle
you
!”
“What has you more angry, my
liege?” Jaisyn snapped angrily. “That I
am skilled with the sword or that I
came close to defeating the great
Northern Wolf before his men today?”
Eyes narrowing dangerously, lips
thinning in determination, Vulcan
began a slow walk to her. He was
stalking her once more. Jaisyn’s eyes
darted to her sheathed sword, resting
against the side of the hearth. She
slowly backed up, moving with arm’s
reach of the sword.
Vulcan stopped inches from her. “It
seems that I am to make good on my
promise to throttle you before you
bend to my will.”
***
With that, he swooped in on her.
She was anticipating it. She easily
sidestepped and grabbed her sword.
As he spun to find her, she
unsheathed it and tossed the scabbard
away.
The look on her husband’s face
would be called priceless by some,
comical by others. He blinked a few
times, as if knowing that somehow his
wife did not actually have a sword in
her hand, before he flew into a rage.
Well, a greater rage.
“You would draw your sword on
your king?” he demanded, stalking to
her, weaponless. Jaisyn retreated, and
seeing that he was going to back her
into her door, she swung at him. It
wasn’t close enough to hit him, but
close enough for him to register that
she wasn’t going to hand over the
sword, nor was she going to willingly
bend over his knee for that throttling.
He stopped abruptly, glaring at the
tip of her sword, which was now
pointed at his chest, before glaring
into her eyes. His mouth opened, but
she spoke. Her voice was soft and
steely.
“I am your wife, Vulcan of Morden.
I am not your slave. If you wish to
throttle me, you will first have to take
my sword!”
***
Vulcan heard her words above the
roar in his ears and before he could
think better of it, he was pulling his
broadsword from his scabbard. The
shock and anger and fear he’d felt
when he found out that his wife had
faced him at sword point had vanished
and one thing remained: blind rage.
He pointed the blade at his wife and
said softly, in a voice reserved for the
worst of his enemies, right before he
dimmed their lights, “So be it. I will
take your sword and destroy it before
I take you over my knee. You forget
that you are my wife, and in so much
as wives go, you belong to me!”
With that, he lunged.
***
The sound of sword meeting sword
coming from the private chambers of
the queen drew the attention of many
servants. Many wished to open the
doors and find out what was going on
but an older woman prevented them
from doing so. She sat, as calm as
ever, as if unaware of the loud sounds,
before the doors leading to the
queen’s private chambers, doing her
sewing.
“Wha’ is that?” a servant asked the
woman,
a
Lytherian
from
her
coloring.
“By
the
Gads,
sounds
like
someone’s attacking the queen!”
another yelled frightfully.
Magda lifted her head from her
work and replied calmly. “The king
and queen are being entertained by a
troupe of actors. They’re performing
a play for ’er Majesty.”
Many of the faces relaxed at hearing
that but a few remained skeptical. The
commotion behind the queen’s doors
had reached the ears of Ingrid, who
pushed her way through the crowd
and listened to the resounding crash of
steel on steel before telling Magda to
move out of the way.
Magda stared up at the chatelaine,
who glared back with obvious venom,
before lowering her sewing to her lap.
“The King told me to keep anyone
from stepping foot into that room.”
Her voice was calm but firm. “Would
ye defy our king, Ingrid?”
A murmuring went up among the
servants and Ingrid’s dislike of Magda
intensified.
“I would like a word with the queen
when the troupe is gone,” Ingrid said
haughtily, swiping her pale hand
against her hair, which was already in
a tight bun.
Magda nodded. “And when the
troupe leaves, I shall tell her yer wish.
In the meantime, ye may all disperse.
The king won’t be pleased to find ye
shirking duties.”
As soon as she said that, many of
the servants began moving away,
murmuring still. In a few minutes,
everyone had left except for Ingrid,
who was listening intently to the
clashing noises behind the door.
She glared down at Magda. “I
wonder what they are performing in
which a battle lasts this long.”
Magda returned her glare and
smiled. “I wouldn’t know. Ye should
ask the queen when ye meet up wit’
her.”
***
Jaisyn’s sword arm hurt, but she
pressed on. Vulcan had not once hit
her body, even with the flat of his
sword, and she had the feeling that he
was consciously making an effort to
keep from doing so. Still, that did not
keep him from attempting to knock
her sword out of her arm. His heavier
sword had clanged loudly with each
contact. He placed all of his power
behind each thrust, trying to cause her
to release her sword. She held on for
dear life, sidestepping, using his
disadvantage—that he would not hit
her body—to her advantage. She
parried one of his thrusts and pressed
forward, flattening her sword against
the chain mail that covered his hard
stomach.
Vulcan
flinched
back,
glaring down at her all the while. Her
husband looked positively savage. In
no time, he rebounded, cornering her
until she was braced against the wall,
his sword against hers the only thing
between the two of them. She placed
all of her weight into dislodging him,
but it was useless. Vulcan outweighed
her and was stronger and taller than
she was. It had been skill and cunning
versus brute strength and with her in
this position, brute strength seemed
likely to prevail.
***
“Will you yield, stubborn woman?”
Vulcan demanded softly.
She shook her head.
“Yield!” he commanded.
Jaisyn considered yielding for a few
seconds before dismissing the thought
completely. Yielding to her husband
would only make him think he’d won
because he was the man and that was
the way of the world. She would not
give him the satisfaction.
“Never!” she hissed out, feeling her
heart pound rapidly against her chest.
She stared directly into those eyes of
his, trying to anticipate his next move
so she could counter it.
“Yield, damn you!” he roared once
more.
Jaisyn held her ground, using what
was left of her strength to push against
him. Neither he nor his sword budged.
“No!”
She half-expected his next move. He
pushed away from her as his eyes
glittered viciously. Jaisyn shook out of
her arm and prepared to engage again.
Instead of the rapid-fire attacks she
was sure she was going to have to
fend off, her husband lowered his
sword to the ground. Unsure of what
he was thinking, Jaisyn did no such
thing. She slowly edged away from