him. Although she had wanted to
protest, Jaisyn did not do so. Months
ago, she would have insisted on being
in the thick of things, but months ago
she did not carry anything as precious
as she did now. Her hand involuntarily
rubbed her belly through the thin
material of the dress.
Oh Vulcan
, she prayed silently.
Please be alive. Come for me…for us.
She had stopped pacing on that
prayer and sought to do so once more
but there was a commotion outside.
Suddenly, she was facing a man she
neither expected nor wished to see.
Her eyes darted frantically around the
solar for a sword or dagger. She’d left
the one she’d taken from the soldier in
the study.
Kegan Reinhardt was bloody from
head to foot and a similarly bloody
sword was pointed directly at her.
“Come, Morden whore,” he spat
angrily. Jaisyn flinched and took quick
steps back, her eyes never leaving the
bloodied sword. “Do as I say and that
bastard in your belly may yet live to
draw its first breath.”
Her hand flew to her belly
immediately and a bitter smile touched
his lips as he advanced on her. “I
should kill you for what he has taken
from me, but you will prove useful
yet.” With that, he grabbed her arm
roughly, ignored her cries of pain, and
pushed her forward.
***
As they had done countless times
before, Vulcan, Varian, and one of his
generals, rode their horses slowly to
the castle, stopping just short of the
reach of the arrows, yet close enough
so they could be heard.
“Greetings, Azarius of Sulan,”
Varian called out loudly, his gentle
voice belying the blood and gore that
marred his armor and helmet. “The
High King of the North and Lytheria
had come but for one thing: Jaisyn of
Lytheria, his true wife in every known
sense of the word. Not only was their
marriage blessed by the High Priestess
of Lytheria, it was blessed by the Seer
of Morden, and consummated in a
Lytherian bed, the sheets burned as an
offering to their Goddess.”
There was a bit of rumbling from
the men-at-arms of the battlements
but Varian continued. “My lord King
was prepared to show leniency, and
good faith, had she been returned to
him before this ridiculous and ill-
served battle. You have enraged our
generous king and he now seeks not
only his true wife, but also your fealty
to his rule. Accept those terms and
you and your men will live to breathe
another day. Deny them, and we will
take pleasure in bringing you to heel.”
***
The words were said pleasantly but
Azarius felt color touch his cheeks in
outrage. Vulcan of Morden was mad.
He was already King of the
Northlands but now he wanted the
allegiance—no, the subjugation—of
the most powerful kingdom in the
South? He was mad. Sulan was no
small kingdom. He had called forth
but half of his army for this battle and
had not sought help from any of his
allies. If Vulcan of Morden thought
this was over, he was sorely mistaken.
Azarius
prepared
to
tell
his
messenger, standing beside him for
word, to inform the King of Morden
that his greed would be his downfall
and Sulan and her allies would stand
against the Northlands. He turned to
the man and would have spoken, but
for what happened next.
***
Vulcan sat atop Shadowfax, who
pawed the ground impatiently, and
took in the defenses of the castle. It
was a strong castle, built to withstand
a siege. It would take weeks, months
even, depending on the size of the
larders and buttery. Varian had
stopped speaking and they were
waiting for the response, when a
feeling of unease settled deep in the
pit of Vulcan’s belly. He saw the king
turn to his messenger before turning to
look behind him. What Azarius Shadid
saw made him freeze, for he gave
Vulcan and his men his back and
turned full on to confront whatever it
was. Vulcan did not have to wonder
long, for the wind whipped a scarlet
material into view moments before his
wife, who looked pale and drawn,
stepped forward. Azarius lifted a
hand, and he was sure that it was a
command to his men rather than a
message to them.
His eyes narrowed when Kegan
stepped up behind her, impossibly
close to his wife. Vulcan’s keen eyes
narrowed
and
widened
at
the
wickedly curved, bloodied dagger that
rested at her throat. Sensing his
unease, Shadowfax pawed the ground
before snorting and relaxing once
more.
“There is a dagger at her neck,
Vulcan,” Varian said softly. Vulcan
swallowed and nodded. He could not
speak.
His
vocal
chords
were
paralyzed. Was the blood on the knife
hers? Her face looked drawn. She
was in obvious pain. Why was her
cousin holding her hostage if she was
his ally? He thought back to the way
Malcolm had spoken to him in camp.
Was it possible that Jaisyn had been
forced to leave him? That she was
innocent in this? He remembered
Anhur’s cryptic responses to his
questions, that she’d gone both
willingly and unwillingly. And if
Malcolm had been telling the truth of
that, was he also telling the truth of
the extent of their relationship?
“Vulcan of Morden!” Kegan roared.
His voice was filled to the brim with
his rage. “Remove your helmet and
ride forward so that I may face you,
man-to-man!”
“No, Vulcan. It is a trap,” Varian
whispered. Hector chimed in the
same.
Kegan did something that made
Jaisyn whimper and cry out. The
helmet was in his hand before he
could think more of it and he’d
already nudged Shadowfax forward.
He vaguely recognized that he was
now in the line of the archers.
Kegan focused his eyes on the man
who called himself the Northern Wolf.
“You will give me safe passage from
Sulan else I will cut your heir from
your wife while she still draws
breath!” To show that he was not
being idle with threats, he lifted the
hand that Vulcan had not been able to
see, due to the parapet before them,
and waved another deadly blade in the
air. The dagger disappeared once
more and Jaisyn’s face wrinkled in
pain. She bit her lip and whimpered.
Vulcan was reeling at two things:
Jaisyn was carrying his heir? Why had
she not told him—? Kegan was
threatening to remove it from her
body? That bastard! That sniveling
coward who would use something as
helpless as an unborn baby to
negotiate his passage out of Sulan!
“Did you hear me, Northern Wolf?”
Kegan demanded.
Vulcan nodded and called out
loudly. “Yes, I hear you. Safe passage
from Sulan. Go! But leave my wife.”
An hysteric laugh erupted from
Kegan’s throat. “Think you I am
stupid, Wolf of the North? You are
ruthless and would kill me before I
passed the outer gates! I will take your
wife with me and release her when I
have arrived safely at my destination.”
Vulcan longed to scream his denial
but Kegan was to be dealt with
carefully. So long as he held the life—
no lives—of two of the most important
people to him in his hands, Vulcan
would go slowly.
“You have my word, Kegan. You
may leave Sulan unharmed by any
warrior of mine. To get that, you must
leave Jaisyn where she is.”
“NO!” Kegan’s denial was hot,
fierce. “You lie! I will not be lied to!
You have taken a most precious
person from me and it galls me not to
slit the pretty throat of your whore.”
Kegan began to whisper frantically to
the archer standing by his side.
“Vulcan, he is manic. There will be
no arguing—” Varian began from
behind him only to snap his teeth
together as Vulcan hissed, “That is
my wife, my unborn child, in his
arms!”
***
“Take the shot or I swear on that
black-hearted goddess Lyria and all of
her descendants that I will slit her
throat before you can so much as
blink,” Kegan was telling the archer
on her left. Jaisyn was in pain, and
she was very much afraid, not only for
herself, for them all. Something had
snapped within Kegan and he reacted
brashly to everything, and was
unnecessarily brutal. As he’d dragged
her to the battlements, he’d pushed
her against the stone walls and choked
her until she almost lost consciousness
before releasing her and dragging her
the rest of the way. The evil in his
eyes that had lain dormant had come
forth, and he seemed bent on bringing
pain to all.
She did not doubt that he would slit
her throat. Whether today or a few
days from now, Kegan had no
intention of ever letting her live. And it
seemed as though he intended to see
Vulcan dead as well.
The archer looked over to Azarius
for confirmation and Jaisyn tried to
shake her head but could not do so
without presenting her own throat.
Azarius glared at Kegan, and knowing
that his soldiers were too many steps
away to get to Kegan before he sliced
open the young queen, he nodded
once.
From the side of her eye, Jaisyn saw
the affirmation and as she looked to
the other side, she saw the man take
an arrow and load it to his crossbow.
She went limp in Kegan’s arms.
Kegan released his hold on her slightly
to lean close to the archer. “Aim for
his head or neck. I want him dead.”
Jaisyn sent a prayer up to the same
Goddess that Kegan had just called
black-hearted, just seconds before she
allowed herself to collapse backward,
leaning all of her weight on Kegan.
Though slight of weight, she forced
him backward as well. He’d done as
she’d anticipated. The knife at her
belly dropped, the knife at her neck
was removed; both of his hands
moved to her arms to steady her.
“Fainted,” he muttered in disgust,
moments before she spun out of his
arms. His mouth barely emitted the
‘What are you—?’ before Kegan saw
the glint of light from something to his
left and lifted his eyes to meet
impending death. It was a clean cut,
severing any and everything in its path
—thin skin, thick arties, flexible
tendons—before exiting smoothly. A
look of shock and confusion flickered
across his face moments before his
head slid from his body and landed
with a dull thud to the battlement
floor. Jaisyn whirled on the archer,
who’d all but forgotten the command
to shoot when he noticed the woman
had taken his king’s sword.
“Put that weapon down! Stand
back!” she hissed angrily, grasping the
golden hilt in her small, steady hands.
He nodded and put his bow down
immediately. He was going to do
everything she said. He liked his head
exactly where it was.
***
Vulcan had found himself praying
for a miracle. When the archer had
taken aim at him, he’d known that
man had been given a command to kill
him. Although he’d resigned himself
to die, he’d prayed. He’d not had
enough time with his wife. He wanted
to see his heir, wanted to be a father
both loved and respected. His eyes
had remained open, pinned on his
wife, as he awaited death. A battle cry
had left his throat as his wife’s body