our king the Flower of the East and
Lytheria, in return for being able to
continue ruling his lands without
interference.”
The man sounded angry as he
replied, “What evidence do you have
of such an agreement?”
Varian, never one to lose his
temper, reached into his satchel and
pulled out a few parchments.
“A betrothal agreement,” he waved
it before the Lytherians, and began to
read, “‘King Wilhelm of Lytheria
agrees to the betrothal of Princess
Mathilda St. Ives to King Vulcan
Mor’an
of
Morden.
Upon
her
eighteenth birthday or upon the death
of King Wilhelm, the princess, is
hereby betrothed to King Vulcan.
Upon the marriage of King Vulcan to
the daughter of the Royal House of St.
Ives, the rule of Lytheria will be
granted to his protection, long may he
reign.’ Signed, King Wilhelm of
Lytheria. Signed, King Vulcan of
Mor’an. Undersigned, High Priestess
Ishat Lyria of Lytheria. Undersigned,
Anhur, Seer of Morden. The seals of
both houses are also affixed.”
As he read, Vulcan heard a gasp
come from the Lytherian soldier
seated to the left of their commander.
Did no one know of the betrothal? It
did not matter. He’d made an
agreement with Wilhelm and it was
time to collect on it. One way or
another, by battle or marriage,
Lytheria was going to be his. And
from the ridiculous reception he’d just
received, he was itching for the
former.
“Copies of this betrothal were
handed to all of the witnesses. This is
my king’s copy. Your late king had a
copy. Your High Priestess has a copy.
And our Seer has a copy. It is no
forgery.”
Varian finished speaking, rolled up
the parchment and placed it back into
his satchel. The Lytherians said
nothing. Vulcan, already angry that
this wasn’t going as he’d planned,
demanded, “Will the Lytherians stand
down and allow their rightful king to
enter?” The question was directed to
the commander in the middle but it
was the smaller soldier to his left who
answered.
“No!”
The soldier in the middle cleared his
throat and continued, although his
voice
sounded
slightly
unsure,
“Lytheria will not give Morden
permission to enter.”
Vulcan
cursed
soundly
and
addressed his response to the smaller
soldier to the left, “Then prepare for a
short and bloody battle. One way or
another, Lytheria will submit to me.”
With that, he turned Shadowfax,
and began to ride back to his men,
who were now neatly lined up
according to his orders. Varian and
Hector waited a few seconds before
turning and following him.
***
This had to be what her father
meant by his cryptic message of
acceptance, Jaisyn thought, as she
turned Ajax and rode back to the line
of Lytherian soldiers.
How could he
?
He could not expect her to accept
this. That she’d give Mathilda to this
—
monster
! Vulcan of Morden might
not look like the devil at but his soul
was as evil as those black eyes of his.
He was obviously a savage from the
way he’d snarled out every comment
when addressing her general. His lips
looked like they were cruelly slashed
onto his face and forever curled down
into a scowl.
Jaisyn would meet him on the
battlefield today. The only way he
was going to take Mathilda would be
over her dead, decapitated body. His
awful kingdom had already taken one
sibling from her; she wasn’t going to
willingly hand over another. As soon
as they were back with the Lytherian
soldiers, Urian tugged his helmet off
and turned to face her. His expression
was almost comical. He looked
confused, apprehensive and angry.
“Your Highness, if what has been
said is true, and has been approved by
the High Priestess, we cannot stand
against it. The Goddess would be
displeased.”
Malcolm, who’d flanked his father
on the right, tugged his helmet off as
well. “We have to find out if the
betrothal is genuine. We need to find
Ishat and see if she has a similar
document.”
“And then what? Even if my father
has betrothed Mathilda to that
barbarian, I will not stand for it.”
“Will you go against one of Lyria’s
High Priestesses?” Urian demanded,
his eyes narrowing dangerously. The
Lytherians were deeply religious.
They held their Goddess above all
else. Lyria was responsible for giving
them life and in turn she demanded
their utter devotion and respect.
“I am not going against Lyria. I am
standing against Morden. They stand
for everything our Goddess is against.
They are barbaric and ruthless. I
cannot believe that
s h e
would wish
their leader upon one of her
daughters.”
Urian appeared to consider this for a
few seconds before he answered, “If
the High Priestess approved it, we
should not go against it…my lady.”
Jaisyn had had enough. Would he
argue this way with her father? Why
was he arguing with her? Was she not
their leader?
“Urian, you have served the St. Ives
family well until now. Is it your
intention to step down as one my
generals?”
Urian looked insulted and his lips
curled into a mean snarl. A few
seconds later, he sighed. “My loyalty
is and will always be to the St. Ives.
What are your orders, Princess?”
***
Malcolm shook his head from
behind his father. Jaisyn was not
listening to reason. She was allowing
her emotions to cloud her judgment.
She hadn’t yet thought that her father
would not willingly betroth her sister
to a ‘monster.’ Jaisyn might just be
the reason for unnecessary bloodshed
in Lytheria. As she passed her orders
to his father and the other generals,
Malcolm found his squire and sent
him on a mission, one that took him
from the field that would soon become
a battleground, and into the Castle
Temple.
***
Like most battles, this one was
bloody and wild but there was
something else that made Vulcan push
harder to have it over quickly: it was
unnecessary. Lytheria and Morden
had had their fight years ago. Today
was supposed to be one of happiness
—well, at least for the Lytherians and
the people of Morden. Happiness was
an emotion he was incapable of
feeling.
He’d told his warriors before the
fight began that he wanted them to
show no mercy and give no quarter.
Lytheria
had
reneged
on
an
agreement, and he wasn’t feeling
particularly hospitable. The sooner
their soldiers were crushed, the
sooner he could get on with staking
his claim to the country.
Vulcan was in no way surprised
when
after
hours
against
the
viciousness of his warriors, the
Lytherian army put up the call for
retreat. Covered in the blood of the
Lytherians and still seated atop a tiring
Shadowfax, Vulcan had watched
them
race
away
from
the
battleground, leaving behind their
dead and some of their injured.
“What should we do now?” Varian
called to him, looking every bit as
bloody as his brother.
“Follow them,” Vulcan replied, and
he lifted his sword into the air and
charged forward.
Varian turned and faced the men,
swinging his sword back and forth to
get their attention, and he yelled,
“After them!”
With that, he turned his stallion and
followed after Vulcan.
***
“Oh Lyria, what is that sound?”
Mathilda screeched as the pounding of
hooves and the clashing of steel met
her ears. She was lying abed, still
dressed in the colors of mourning,
when it reached her. Immediately, she
jumped from the canopied bed and
headed to her window. The windows
were specially designed to keep
arrows from entering, so she could
see a portion of the front of the castle.
That portion was enough to send her
scurrying to Isolde’s chambers, which
was a few doors down and on the
opposite side.
When she barged in, Isolde was in
the midst of running out and they
collided in a tangle of gowns and
limbs.
Both yelped and began to blame the
other before they heard the battle
cries and fear leaped into their hearts
once more.
“What’s
happening,
Isolde?”
Mathilda asked. Her voice trembled in
trepidation. Never before had they
witnessed battle. It had never come
this close to them.
Isolde, less naïve than her sister in
these things, gently pulled Mathilda
into her chambers and closed the
door, knowing that they were better
off there, at the top of the castle, than
on the ground floor.
“I think they are fighting in front of
the castle,” she said softly.
Mathilda shrieked. “Fighting? Why
so close to us? What if they get into
the castle? What will happen to us,
Isolde? And where is Jaisyn? Why
isn’t she here with us? Do you think
something’s happened to her?”
She began to cry. What started out
as lone tears slowly turned into great
sobs. Isolde’s warm hands wrapped
about her back and she heard her
sister whisper comforting words. They
only made her cry harder.
Chapter 3
Jaisyn, along with the remainder of
her battered army, charged across the
drawbridge and into the castle. She
was slightly nauseated. The Morden
soldiers had cut through her army
within hours, forcing them to retreat.
She’d watched warriors loyal to her
father, to her family, fall to their
deaths before her eyes. And there had
been so much blood, so many gut-
wrenching screams to couple with the
pungent odor in the air. She had
thought a battle similar to the many
practices and mock battles that she’d
participated in. It wasn’t. Not in the
least. Her only real experience had
been those years ago when she’d
faced the three men, and that hadn’t
been on the battlefield.
As she’d sat atop her stallion, with a
ring of Lytherian soldiers, Malcolm
included, surrounding her, she’d
watched helplessly as her people had
been cut to shreds, beheaded,
stabbed, crushed, maimed—
Dear Lyria
. They were absolute
savages. Her sadness fled. Rage
engulfed her once more.
“Lower the portcullis! Raise the
drawbridge!” someone shouted from
next to her. She heard a loud bang
and turned with her sword held high.
The drawbridge had been lifted. She
could see nothing of the grassy front
of the castle. All of the soldiers who
were still fit to fight were running
about with various tasks. Some were
helping their injured; others were
racing to the armory for more
weapons.
“Get
the
archers!
Man
the
battlements!”
Jaisyn shook herself. Her people
needed her. She was in charge of this
war, and like a leader, she needed to
take control. The inner bailey was
crowded with shouting men and
bustling women.
She began to shout above the noise,
“Check the buttery! Make sure there
are enough supplies for a siege!”