vivid image of Stephen, pale and
sweating despite the four furs covering
him, his eyes barely open, and lips
blue, came into her mind. She blinked
immediately, pushing the image away.
“But what will happen to us if he
dies?” Mathilda continued, staring up
at Jaisyn as if she had all of the
answers.
Though she wished she did know,
Jaisyn did not. Often, she asked
herself that question. With Stephen
gone, there could no longer be a
smooth succession. It was the first
time the kingdom of Lytheria had no
male heir. Her father’s extended
family included male cousins who
could potentially vie for it, but Jaisyn
didn’t see the Crown being simply
handed over to any of them. She
allowed herself to bask briefly in the
thought that nagged her constantly.
What about her? Could she inherit? It
had never been done before, but she
loved her country as much as any
man, and was a trained warrior—
“Nothing will happen to us.”
Isolde’s voice penetrated her thoughts
easily, and Jaisyn turned to find Isolde
glaring down at Mathilda. “Honestly,
Matty, you can be so depressing at
times. We’ll remain princesses and
after we marry, we’ll be queens.”
“Isolde,” Jaisyn warned slightly,
shaking her head and returning her
gaze to the large mirror before her.
“What if I don’t want to get
married?” Mathilda, never one to give
up, directed the bold question at
Isolde, who in turn smirked and
brushed a few stray strands of hair
away from her face.
“Well, then you’ll die a spinster and
they’ll change your nickname to
“Mathilda St. Ives—Spinster Flower
of the East,” Isolde chuckled and
Jaisyn tried to hide the smile forming
at her lips.
Mathilda
only
frowned
and
countered, “You’re just jealous,
Isolde, that I have a nickname and you
don’t.”
Isolde’s laughter died and knowing
that her sister was about to say
something that would send Mathilda
into another bout of hysterics, Jaisyn
decided to change the topic. “What do
you think of the new dresses from
Gisbon?” She referred to a new
shipment of clothing that had come
from the dressmakers of one of their
cities though she had little interest in
such things.
“They’re exquisite. How the Gisbon
women blend those colors, we will
never know. And the riding habits—
how absolutely beautiful. And of
course, there are those hats…even the
Mitherie women admire our hats.”
Isolde was the first to reply and the
conversation returned to safe ground.
As they chattered away, Jaisyn stared
at her reflection in the mirror. She
now stood at five feet eight and a half
inches, and because she’d continued
her training, was lean and lightly
muscled, with feminine curves where
nature willed it.
Unlike her sisters, she wasn’t soft or
necessarily receptive, and at times,
could be even more blunt and forward
than Isolde. She ran the comb through
her curls once more before grabbing
one of her many leather bands and
pulling her thick hair into a bun. On
her body was a simple, high necked,
blue gown of the previous collection
by the Gisbon women that enhanced
the dark bronze of her complexion
and set a stark contrast to the vivid
gold of her eyes. Although her father
constantly told her she reminded him
of her mother, she saw more of
Wilhelm in herself than her mother.
Her face was more oval than round,
with thin yet pouty lips, high
cheekbones, a very regal nose and
eyes that slanted up slightly.
Jaisyn didn’t consider herself a great
beauty; she left that for Isolde and
Mathilda to fight over. What she knew
was that she was a good fighter. Even
her father’s generals complimented
her skill with the sword. While Isolde
had perfected playing the harp and
Mathilda had perfected her voice,
Jaisyn had perfected her sword arm.
Jaisyn’s biggest regret was that she
had not been this good five years ago.
Had she been, her brother might have
lived...
She stopped. Not today. She’d
thought about that day obsessively for
years and finally, finally, she’d
stopped. Not today. Tomorrow was
soon enough.
***
One month later…
Jaisyn fell with a thud upon the hard
earth, grimacing as the breath was
knocked from her straining lungs. A
collective groan came from the
gathered crowd as she struggled to
force air into her body. Through the
visor of her helmet, she saw her larger
opponent advance. The high sunlight
glinted off his sword as he lifted it.
Although aware he fought a princess,
he was merciless. His movements
were quick and precise, and before
she could move, the sword was
pressed to Jaisyn’s leather-covered
throat. A deafening cheer rang up
from the small crowd of warriors and
soldiers who’d taken a break from
their training to watch the duel.
“Yield?” he asked, his breaths
coming hard and fast. Jaisyn analyzed
her situation and decided surrendering
wasn’t in her nature. She feigned
surrender by turning her head to the
side and when he relaxed, brought her
knees up—glad she was only dressed
in chain mail and protective leathers
and not heavy armor—and shoved
hard.
He fell backwards and as he
tumbled
to
the
ground,
Jaisyn
pounced, pressing her sword against
his uncovered neck.
“Yield?” she taunted and when he
didn’t answer soon enough for her,
she pushed the sword further into his
skin. If not for the helmet covering his
face, she knew she would see his eyes
widen then narrow.
Malcolm was a few years older, but
from the moment she’d begun her
training, he’d always been paired with
her. At first, it was because they’d
both been beginners, but after, it was
because he was the only one not
afraid of laying her flat or being
beaten by a female—and a princess at
that.
“I surrender,” Malcolm called out.
Jaisyn pushed her body from his and
tugged her helmet off. A large smile
covered her face, revealing pretty
white teeth, twinkling golden eyes,
and a sweat-covered face.
The crowd roared once more and
this time there was a clamor for
payment from those who’d bet on her.
Jaisyn grinned. She’d expected it. The
crowds and the bets had been present
from the moment she and Malcolm
began their training. When she’d
trained with the soldiers, those men-
at-arms who hadn’t yet perfected a
weapon, the bets had been small.
Now that she practiced with the
warriors, those skilled at one weapon
or more, the bets were at times
outrageous. Once, she’d heard of a
newly arrived warrior losing a gold
coin to a veteran who knew of
Jaisyn’s prowess.
“That was luck, Princess,” were the
first words out of Malcolm’s mouth.
He’d pushed to his feet, and
removed his helmet. Jaisyn merely
lifted her eyebrows at him and
smirked. “I guess I‘ve been very lucky
for the past weeks, then?”
A small smile tugged at Malcolm’s
lips as he dipped his head respectfully.
“That was what I was implying, Your
Highness.”
Malcolm Sudbury was the eldest son
of Lord General Urian Sudbury, the
warrior responsible for her father’s
armies in the city. The Sudbury family
was among the most important in
Lytheria, and arguably the most
important of the warrior class, as
they’d served the St. Ives loyally for
many years. Only some of noble birth
could weigh their importance above
the Sudbury’s and many a time, what
they had in blood ties was lost in favor
to the king. As such, the St. Ives ladies
saw a lot of Malcolm, and there were
absolutely no complaints from the
younger princesses. Malcolm was
what Mathilda would call “perfection
incarnate.” He stood at six feet two
inches, with a body made for battle,
and a natural charm that made him
very popular with women. Rich, poor,
old, young—they all fawned over
Malcolm. Well, that was with the
exception of Jaisyn. She knew
Malcolm was quite attractive, with his
golden skin, gold-blond hair, and
unusual sea-colored eyes, but he was
her fighting partner, her friend, and
she simply could not picture him that
way.
She had not been able to picture any
man in that way. What others found
giggle-worthy, Jaisyn found practical.
The hardness of a man’s arms and
belly did not addle her wits; instead,
she wondered at the reason. Was he
warrior, farmer, or tradesman? And if
tradesman, blacksmith or tanner? So
much
could
be
revealed
from
appearance.
While her sisters prattled lovingly
about Malcolm and sighed about
something new he’d done that day,
Jaisyn half-listened, thinking Malcolm
would be stupefied if he heard the
way they spoke of him. Maybe she
should tell him just to see the look on
his face.
“Good fight, both of you.” Urian’s
voice interrupted her thoughts as he
approached them. His expression, as
usual, was completely stoic. To Jaisyn
he said, “Your skill increases with
every bout, Your Highness.”
Jaisyn
smiled
easily.
“It
is
Malcolm’s fault, General. He shows
no mercy.”
Urian nodded and turned to his son.
“Ian needs help with his technique.
He’s over by the bailey.”
Malcolm nodded and passed a smile
to Jaisyn before heading off in search
of Ian.
“Well, I’m off,” Jaisyn told Urian,
as a thought entered her mind. “Do
you know the whereabouts of my
father?”
Urian nodded and a rare smile
curved his lips.“The king rode out
with a hunting party while you were
practicing, Princess.”
Wiping a trail of sweat from her
cheek, Jaisyn beamed. Her father’s
health had improved drastically from
what it had been a month ago.
Wilhelm’s
sun-kissed
glow
had
returned in place of the sickly tinge,
and he was fond of leaving the castle
walls, be it on a hunting expedition or
to meet with the villagers outside of
the castle.
“Did he see me win?”
It always gave her a sense of pride
to have her father watch her train. He
was the one who’d supported her
‘hobby’ even as others secretly
ridiculed him. Once, she’d overheard
the Earl of Rotterdam mention that
her father couldn’t control his own
daughters. The conversation might
have gone further if Jaisyn hadn’t
stepped directly into his path, and told
the plump lout that it wasn’t his
daughters Wilhelm needed to worry
about. The very same earl now stayed
clear of her whenever he paid homage
to his king.
“No, Princess, but I’m sure he knew
you would.”
A chuckle left her lips and she
shook her head. “If I didn’t know
better I would say you either
overestimate
my
reach
or
underestimate your son, General. As I
do, I thank you for the flattery.”
“Princess.” He dipped his head, and
Jaisyn gave him a half curtsy that was
at odds with her dirt-covered, tunic-
and-leathers appearance, and smiled.
With that, she turned for the
kitchen. Lunch had passed, but cook
would have something to hold her