was dragged harshly against a solid
chest. She heard them conversing
frantically before her neck burned as
her chain was ripped off.
Isolde lifted her hand to her neck,
feeling the scratches where the chain
had cut her. She looked around the
room. She’d never seen this room in
St. Ives Castle. Her eyes drifted down
to her clothing and she covered her
mouth to stifle a scream. Where was
her dress? And why was she wearing
the coarse garments of a servant?
What had happened after those vile
men took her chain? She searched her
memory but nothing came.
Feeling fear sink to the pit of her
stomach, Isolde searched the room for
a looking glass. One was near the high
window
and
she
immediately
approached it. When she stood before
it, nothing could stifle the scream that
escaped her lips. She was certain she
was looking into the mirror, but the
image that looked back was as foreign
to her as this place.
***
Dax stared at the queen as she
doubled over and retched into grass.
The potion he’d mixed should have
worn off by now. His eyebrows
crinkled and he wondered if he’d put
too much tree root in. Deciding that
he hadn’t, more would have certainly
killed her, he shook his head and
asked in his most gentle voice, the
voice he used when enlisting the trust
of a person, “Are you ill?”
***
Jaisyn glared up at him. After the
drug had worn off, she had awoken to
find that the maid was no maid but
man. A very beautiful man, but a man
nonetheless. When he did not wish
her to understand him, he spoke in a
foreign language to the four other men
who accompanied him. The other
men, who resembled him, with red
hair and pale skin, were in the coach,
awaiting them by the roadside.
“Well, are you ill?” Dax repeated,
ignoring the glare she was throwing
his way. He needed her alive for what
was to come.
“Have you poisoned me?” Jaisyn
retorted quickly, knowing that the
illness was due to her pregnancy but
seeing no need to disclose that fact to
this brute.
Dax shook his head slowly, his red
ponytail moving ever so slightly. “I
would not poison you, my lady. You
are yet needed alive.”
Jaisyn straightened and drew in a
deep breath, feeling her stomach
settle. The sickness had passed. She
moved in the direction of the stream
and rinsed her mouth before taking
the cool water into her body.
“Should I not have the liberty of
knowing my captor’s name?” Jaisyn
asked in a calm voice, cupping her
hands and using the water to wash the
sweat from her face and neck.
Dax looked down at her and a smirk
touched his lips. “Dax… I am called
Dax.”
“Do you not have a title or a last
name,
Dax?”
Jaisyn
continued,
splashing more of the cool water
against her face. She wanted more
information. Perhaps a last name
would tie him to an enemy.
“Those born on the wrong side of
the marriage bed seldom do, my
lady,” was his amused response.
Her shock at his response must have
showed clearly on her face, for his
smile brightened and he gave her a
mocking bow.
“Who has employed you for this
task, Dax?”
He chuckled. Leaning down, he
tugged her up. Jaisyn stood with a
slight grunt. As she was made to face
him, he spoke.
“No one.” His ice-like eyes seemed
to both pity and mock her even as a
cool smile touched his lips. “Come.
We have many days of travel ahead of
us.”
***
The Northern Wolf was on the
prowl. He’d assembled his armies,
warriors and soldiers alike, from
throughout the Northern kingdoms,
and was on the move. Leaving
General Tarkon enough men to hold
Morden Castle in the event of a siege,
he headed East. His first destination:
Lytheria. The missive he had received
from Varian had been short and to the
point. Isolde was missing. A message
had been left stating that she would be
released only when the rightful heir to
the Lytherian throne, as yet unnamed,
ascended.
Vulcan
grimaced.
The
higher-
ranking nobles had sworn fealty to
him, all but a few. That lot included
Kegan Reinhardt, the Duke of Neren,
who happened to be the oldest of the
males in the extended St. Ives lineage.
Had
the
succession
agreement
between Vulcan and Wilhelm not
been reached, Reinhardt would have
more than likely made a claim for the
throne.
With those thoughts in mind, the
Wolf and his armies rode far into the
night, sleeping mere hours, before
they began riding again at dawn. The
entourage reached Lytheria in seven
days. His generals followed Vulcan
into the castle. The warriors and
soldiers made camp in the open plains
before
St.
Ives
Castle,
some
remembering that only months ago,
they’d laid siege to the castle in this
very way.
***
The Westlands,
Mitherie
Seated upon one of the high-backed
chairs that graced the Great Hall of
Mitherie Castle, the main seat of the
Katarals, Malcolm Sudbury surveyed
Kegan Reinhardt in disgust. He hoped
the smile he wore revealed nothing of
his true feelings for the duke. Kegan,
as usual, was smiling like the
contented nobleman he was.
When he’d left Lytheria, his heart
broken, his pride wounded, Malcolm
had traveled directly to Mitherie, and
within months of showing his mettle
against both allies and enemies, had
been promoted to a lieutenant within
the army. It only helped that he and
Tarbin were already friends and he
was one of the few men the prince
trusted with his life. He hadn’t
forgotten Jaisyn, but months of
training in a foreign place and weeks
of enjoying the pleasures of the
Mitherie women had taken his mind
away from everything having to do
with Lytheria.
That was until Kegan, accompanied
by two dozen Lytherian and Sulanese
soldiers, rode into Mitherie. Malcolm
read the surprise in the duke’s eyes on
seeing him, but it was covered
quickly. As they sat around the table
in the Great Hall, Kegan told the king
that the Sulanese had pledged to
support his cause, that they agreed
Vulcan of Morden had usurped the
Lytherian throne and should be cast
down, and the rightful heir—Kegan—
should be returned. Malcolm, along
with Tarbin, who sat in the chair next
to him with a peculiar look on his
face, and a handful of Mitherie
generals, had listened in silence, as
Kegan attempted to persuade them.
“And what does the queen think of
your plan to overthrow her husband?
Will she agree that you are the rightful
heir to the Lytherian throne?”
Malcolm asked when Kegan paused
to take breath.
Pinning him with a glare, Kegan
forced a smile that did not quite reach
his eyes. “Jaisyn is a St. Ives. She
married the Morden king against her
will and has agreed that her marriage,
for all purposes, is null and void. She
has already pledged her loyalty to my
cause.” With that, he turned his
attention back to the king, a blatant
dismissal of Malcolm.
After listening to Kegan, the king
held up his hand, indicating that he
had heard enough.
“What say you, Tarbin?” he asked,
turning to his eldest. “For if I agree to
lend my armies to this cause, you will
lead them into this battle.”
Tarbin appeared relaxed, with a
hand cupping his chin and his swirling
silver eyes pinned on Kegan. The
duke shifted slightly, and looked a bit
uncomfortable. Even if he disliked
him, Malcolm understood. There had
always been something slightly off
with the Mitherians, but Tarbin
represented it completely. Perhaps it
was those eyes—silver that seemed
somehow inhuman—or the silver-grey
hair color that no one other race had
unless they were old.
Tarbin slowly released Kegan’s
gaze and turned to the man beside
him. Malcolm’s eyes were hard, his
jaw set. The smile he’d worn when
Kegan had begun his tale had faded
and a deep frown now replaced it.
Turning back to Kegan, Tarbin said
smoothly, “Let us think on it. My
father has called for a feast in your
honor. Tomorrow, we will give our
decision.”
***
Iliana was the maid assigned to the
woman in the locked tower. Rumors
had been circulating about the
woman, whom no servant but Iliana
had seen. She was the kitchen maid,
the one whose body bore marks of
different shades from the master of
the castle, the one who cowered at the
mere thought of his displeasure. It was
because of this that her master had
entrusted her with the care of the
woman.
She had not recognized the woman
the first time that she’d seen her, nor
had she the second. So changed was
she, without the long flowing red hair
that was key to her identity, that Iliana
had only come to know her name
when the woman disclosed it. Princess
Isolde.
Iliana was to bring food to her thrice
a day and see that she was bathed and
given fresh clothing once every couple
of days. She had been instructed not
to speak to the princess outside of her
duties and for the first few days, she
had done just that. But Isolde was
friendly and soon, she began to speak,
albeit cautiously, to the young woman.
It was during one of Iliana’s visits to
the princess’s chambers that Isolde
made her a proposition too good to
resist, but too scary to chance.
“You do not like it here,” Isolde had
said truthfully, her knowing green
gaze on the young woman as she
moved around the chambers. “If you
help me escape, I promise to take you
with me. You will be rewarded and
will want for naught in your lifetime.”
To a mere kitchen maid, without
husband and with siblings to support,
that proposition had been a dream.
But when she remembered her lord,
the duke, with his hard hands and
unmerciful ways, she paused and
shook her head.
“I am sorry, Yer Highness,” she’d
found herself telling the princess. “’is
Grace would be most displeased.”
“If you help me, Iliana, I can protect
you from Kegan.” Her voice had
hardened when she’d called the
duke’s name. “You do not have to
answer now. Think on it and when
next you come, let me have your
answer.”
Iliana had not been able to get
Isolde’s proposition from her mind.
She thought of her young sisters, who
were barely fed with the meager coin
she made in her current position, and
of the duke’s wrath if the plan failed.
If he found out she’d had a hand in
helping the princess escape, he would
kill her. He had promised to do so the
next time she displeased him and she
was certain that he would. He had
almost killed her once before, when
she’d first arrived at the castle, and
he’d nearly choked her to death.
She’d been the new girl and he’d
wanted to sample her. Quite innocent
in such affairs, she’d fought him, and
he’d tried to force her to his will by
choking her. Luckily, the pale man
whom all called Lord Dax had walked