was twirling her younger sister
around. Mathilda looked breathtaking
in the blue-green ball gown. Her hair
had been pulled away from her face
and pinned such that her curls ran
down her back. For the first time,
Jaisyn recognized that her sister
looked…mature. She’d thought of
Mathilda as beautiful, charming, and
childish, but never mature. The large
and open smile that usually graced her
face was no longer there. In fact, the
expression on her face was secretive,
even
aloof.
Continuing
her
observation, Jaisyn noticed that her
sister smiled softly every now and
again, and that the young man dancing
with her smiled at those times as well.
It was as if she were giving him a cue.
Was her sister flirting?
“What do you think of Bael and
Isolde?” Vulcan suddenly asked from
beside her. Jaisyn blinked and turned
to him. Her brows lifted. Whatever
was her husband referring to? He
indicated a couple dancing to their left
and Jaisyn turned in that direction.
She first caught sight of his sister’s
bouncing red hair. In the months and
weeks since Isolde had been at the
castle, her hair had grown to her
shoulder blades. She no longer wore
the cap atop her head, and could
usually be caught running her fingers
through her locks. Jaisyn smiled. She
knew that Isolde’s attachment to her
hair was not out of vanity. She was
happy something that had been taken
from her was coming back.
Isolde turned suddenly and Jaisyn
saw a large grin upon her face, and
upon the face of her partner. Bael
shook his chestnut head at something
she said, but he too was smiling down
at her sister.
Jaisyn turned to look at Vulcan
suspiciously, her mind reeling with
thoughts. “What does that mean,
Vulcan?”
“I intend to give Isolde to Bael.”
Jaisyn shook her head, already
dreading the answer to her next
question. “As what?”
Vulcan glared at her. “As his wife,
of course.” He saw her visibly relax
and take a few deep breaths.
“Have you spoken to Isolde?”
“Not yet.”
“Bael?” she continued, looking back
to where they were dancing, quite
happily.
“Bael knows.”
She shook her head and turned
away from him without another word.
After she’d been quiet for many
minutes, Vulcan leaned closer to her,
his voice rank with amusement, “Have
I angered you to the point of silence,
wife?”
Jaisyn did not answer. She wasn’t
angry. She was furious. This was
exactly what she’d meant when she’d
asked Vulcan to change the Morden
laws. Men—
these
men—didn’t see
women on any kind of footing with
me n.
Equal
was too big a word in
their vocabularies. Her husband had
told Bael of his intentions, but Isolde,
her sister, was entirely unaware. She
would be notified only after the
betrothal was drafted, and signed.
She was so busy stewing in her own
anger and frustration at her husband
that she didn’t hear the hush that
descended upon nobles gathered.
Feeling her husband tense beside her,
she turned to glare at him, but noticed
his eyes were fixed on something
before them. She turned to look and a
genuine, if startled, smile appeared on
her lips.
Varian was heading toward them,
his strides long and filled with
purpose, his face relaxed, with an
easy smile on his lips. He was dressed
for the court and made quite a picture
in the finery he wore. Unlike his
brother, Varian appeared at home at
court. His hair had been swept back
from
his
face,
leaving
his
handsomeness completely on display
for the females in the ballroom. His
cravat was dainty white and tucked
neatly into the dark and snug jacket he
wore. His breeches were close fitting
as well, revealing muscular thighs and
strong calves.
Jaisyn’s eyes moved from him to
Lady Lydia and she saw that the
woman was staring after Varian with
a deep smile on her face. It was the
proud look of a mother. She returned
her gaze to Varian, who had stopped,
and was now bowing to the waist, as
if he did it daily. There was no
stiffness,
no
awkward
hand
movement.
“Majesties,” he murmured, moving
closer until he was but feet from
Vulcan.
“Why are you here, Varian?”
Vulcan demanded immediately and
Jaisyn tossed him a furious glare. He
hadn’t seen his brother in months and
that was the way he intended to greet
him?
Varian didn’t react as she did.
Instead, he bowed his head. “I
received your missive and thought to
answer it in person.”
Eyes narrowing, lips tightening and
face reddening, Vulcan asked, “And
what is your answer?”
Jaisyn looked anxiously between the
two men, wondering it was her
husband was referring to.
Varian’s smile was catchy as he
replied. “My answer is yes.” He
paused and stared down at his
brother. In the next blink, his
expression changed. Gone was the
smiling,
easy-going
royal
who’d
walked into the ballroom, and in his
place was an angry and menacing
personality. Jaisyn’s eyes widened but
Vulcan merely arched a brow, as if
he’d expected it. “Did you expect
another answer, brother?” His eyes
flashed angrily and Jaisyn noticed that
his hands were clenched into fists at
his sides. She turned to look at
Vulcan, whose eyes had never left his
brother.
“I expected you to do your duty to
the Crown,” Vulcan replied, waving
his hand in dismissal. “But I now see
that I was wrong.”
Varian did not bow again as he
walked away. Jaisyn’s eyes followed
him as a path opened before him and
he
headed
purposefully
toward
someone. She looked at Vulcan in
confusion but he was staring after
Varian as well, his jaw locking
angrily.
“Where is he going, Vulcan?” The
question was asked softly, but she was
sure her husband heard it.
He chose not to respond. Jaisyn
soon found out.
***
Bael felt the hairs on the back of his
neck rise, and abruptly lifted his head.
The dance had finished, and he had
been making light conversation with
the woman who would soon be his.
Isolde St. Ives. When Vulcan’s
missive had first arrived, he’d raged
against the king, had cursed every cell
in Vulcan’s body, but then he’d
thought it through and had come to
recognize that this was probably the
first thing Vulcan was going to do that
he wouldn’t really mind. Vulcan
thought that by tying Isolde to him, he
would make an alliance. Of course, he
was wrong. He couldn’t be more
wrong, but he wasn’t going to let the
High King know that. Bael wanted
Isolde of Lytheria, she was stunning,
and if the only way to get her was
through marriage, then so be it.
When his gaze lifted from Isolde’s
sparkling green eyes, he froze.
Standing feet behind Isolde was a tall
man with multi-colored hair, and a
smile that was more frightening than
his scowl: Varian Mor’an. Bael had
seen the king’s brother fight once and
had been sorry for the soldier who’d
died at the point of his sword. He did
not wear a sword at the moment, but
Bael knew that he did not need one to
do injury. Not that Bael was afraid of
Varian in any way, he just respected
that the king’s brother was a worthy
opponent on the battlefield.
Isolde must have seen and felt him
tense at whatever was at her back for
she turned away from him. He heard
a soft gasp escape her lips.
“Varian?”
Bael frowned at the fact that she
said his name, and the familiarity with
which it was used. A lady of Isolde’s
standing should not be on such
familiar terms with Varian Mor’an.
She hadn’t called him “milord” or
“Prince Varian”, but just “Varian.”
And she sounded like a woman whose
lover had returned after years of war.
Isolde said his name as if she didn’t
believe he could be here, but wished
her eyes weren’t lying.
Varian’s gaze left Bael’s and looked
down to her. Taking her hand, he
brought it to his lips, placed a lingering
kiss on the back, and bowed over it.
Isolde flushed, but did not remove
her hand.
The music started once more and in
a practiced way, Varian swept her
onto the floor.
Bael was left staring after them, his
eyes darkening in anger.
***
At first, Isolde was so surprised and
happy to see Varian that she didn’t
hear the music swirling about her. She
just followed and he led, beautifully at
that. The man was a master at the
waltz.
Then the notes of the music came,
louder than her own heartbeat. Her
eyes bulged. She couldn’t dance the
waltz and she couldn’t dance the
waltz with an unmarried man who
was not related to her by blood. Her
eyes skimmed the people standing
around the dance floor, and noticed
that the majority of their eyes were
fixed upon her and her partner.
“Relax.”
Varian’s
voice
was
soothing and the hand at her back
tightened slightly, pulling her closer to
him. She tensed even more.
“I’m not supposed to dance the
waltz,” she told him rapidly, and
waited for them to spin around before
continuing, “It is not proper, Varian.”
He shook his head and replied
evenly. “Do not worry. All will be
right.”
She stared into the blue of his eyes
and relaxed, ignoring the looks that
came their way. Her gaze remained
on his face for the rest of the dance.
Isolde couldn’t help but wonder if
she’d ever seen a man as handsome
as he.
***
Keeping her scowl at bay was the
hardest thing Lydia Mor’an did that
evening. Why was her beloved son
dancing with the queen’s, red-haired
sister? Did he not know what it
implied? She turned to the left and
looked for her niece. Calista was
standing with Bael, and from the light
touches and laughter in Calista’s eyes,
she knew that the girl was doing
exactly as she’d told her.
Her eyes went back to her son and
Isolde. She shook her head and
focused on Varian. A smile formed on
her lips as she surveyed him. He had
inherited her looks. He looked nothing
like Frederick or Vulcan. And like
her, Varian was quick of mind. She
needed everything to work out this
night, for if it did, Varian would soon
be sitting on the Morden throne. A
Dakar would be the High King of the
North. Her smile widened and she
longed to run her hands along her
son’s hair, as she had done countless
times in the past.
***
“Do not think to come to my bed,
tonight, Vulcan,” Jaisyn said with a
brittle smile as the last dance of the
night ended. She was in her husband’s
arms,
and
she
wished
herself
anywhere but. She was upset with
him for numerous reasons that she
was too tired to recount this night.
Vulcan did not immediately release
her. “I will come to your bed
whenever I wish, Jaisyn. You are my
wife.”
She shook her head and replied
softly. “You will not come to my bed