Warrior (27 page)

Lyria, that they would not. Vulcan

was pleased. He dismissed everyone

except General Urian.

“Where

is

your

son,

faithful

general?”

Vulcan

asked

quietly,

noticing that the older man became

uneasy. Vulcan had sent squires and

servants out to find Malcolm, thinking

it time that he discuss the event that

Varian had witnessed, but he could

not be found anywhere.

General Urian cleared his throat and

sighed. “Malcolm has left Lytheria,

my liege.”

Vulcan nodded. Had Malcolm

known that he’d been followed and

fled to avoid the punishment he

thought his king would dish out?

“Why has he left, general?”

“I do not know the exact reason, my

king. My son did not see fit to speak

with me about his decision before he

left. All that I know is that he does not

intend to return from wherever it is

that he has gone.” Urian’s voice broke

slightly and Vulcan stared at the man

long and hard. Urian was a good

general and from how much he cared

about his son, a good father. He

thought of his father, now dead, and

thanked Rika for that. Frederick had

been a great warrior, and a ruthless

leader, but he had not been a good

father. He’d taught his sons all they’d

need to know about wars, sieges and

fighting, but when displeased he had

been a mean bastard.

Vulcan remembered the first time

he’d seen his father’s anger. He’d

been seven or eight, and had been

wielding his wooden sword, when

he’d fallen off balance and scraped his

knee against the hard ground. It had

been his first experience with real

pain.

He’d

cried.

For

crying,

Frederick had locked him in the

dungeon. It had been dark, cold, and a

foul odor had permeated the space.

That had led to him bawling until he

was hoarse and could utter no more

sounds. After hours of silence, his

father had released him. From then

on, Vulcan had learned. No matter

how much it hurt, he would not cry.

Years of testing his son’s mettle, both

in battle and in his general leadership,

and King Fredrick had grudgingly

accepted that Vulcan was growing

into the cold and ruthless heir that he

desired.

“Is your son plotting against me,

Urian?” Vulcan asked, dismissing

thoughts of his father and his

childhood.

General Urian swallowed, meeting

the gaze of the king full-on. “I do not

know, my liege. I am quite unaware

of the thoughts that now pass through

Malcolm’s head.”

“If your son is plotting against me,

Urian, will you act the part of my

loyal subject and go after him?”

Vulcan asked, knowing that it was a

difficult question for the man, but

needing to see where his loyalties lay.

Urian’s gaze never left his king. “I

have sworn my loyalty to you, my

liege. If Malcolm were to pose a

threat to you, I would challenge him.”

Vulcan nodded. “I am glad to hear

that, Urian. Let us hope it does not

come to that.”

***

Isolde glared at the man who stood

before her, wondering how he’d

managed to find her in her haven.

Was she to have no place to herself,

where he was concerned? She’d left

the bustling, noisy castle for an hour

of silence and peace at her favorite

place in the kingdom. The Lytherian

Falls were but a ten-minute walk

upstream from St. Ives Castle. She

had alerted her maids, as she had

done for the past days, that she would

be there for a few hours in case

anyone asked after her, and had taken

a copy of her favorite novel, before

heading for the rocks surrounding the

waterfall. She’d been sitting there,

allowing the rays of sunlight to caress

her eager skin and the wind to blow

through her hair, when a twig snapped

and her head whipped in the direction

of the sound. She immediately went

on guard.

Varian approached her, his lips

curved upward in what appeared to be

a smile but she recognized as a snarl.

He was angry… no doubt, with her.

She straightened her spine but refused

to move away from the rock. She

could now literally look down her

nose at him.

“Good day, Princess. It is a fine day

to sit and take in this beautiful

scenery, is it not?” he asked casually,

coming to a halt directly before her.

His eyes moved over her body, taking

in the soft green of the dress she wore

and noticing that it complimented her

eyes. The dress was cut with a deep

V at the front, but like the modest

princess that she was, Isolde had worn

a frilly white garment underneath that

came all the way to her neck.

Isolde did not answer. She just kept

her cool eyes on his, letting him know

from her hostile expression that he

was in no way welcome in her space.

“I see that you agree with me,” he

continued, as if she’d answered.

“Perhaps it would have been wise to

have a few soldiers accompany you

on this excursion. Is that not right,

Princess?”

She

remained

silent.

Varian’s

eyebrow lifted and he flashed his teeth

at her. It could not be called a smile.

“If you prefer to continue in silence,

Princess, I will have no choice but to

lift you from that rock, throw you over

my shoulder, and take you back to the

castle. When you are there, I will lock

you in your room and hope that you

will reminisce on the stupidity of

coming to a secluded area without

guards.” Varian’s voice was calm and

if she hadn’t been a few feet from

him, she would have sworn she’d

heard him incorrectly. His face was

relaxed, friendly, and yet he was

threatening to drag her from her

private place and lock her in her

room.

Varian of Morden was
insane
. He

had to be. How else could he be so

calm as he spoke of bodily removing

her and locking her up?

“I will ask you but once more,

Princess. Did you not think it would

be smart to have a few soldiers

guarding you in this secluded area?”

he asked calmly.

Isolde’s lips curled up in a true snarl

as she replied, “Has it not occurred to

you, Prince Varian, that I wanted to

be alone… by myself… away from

the likes of you, your brother, and

your people?”

Varian didn’t even bat an eyelash at

her outburst. Instead, he replied

evenly, “That thought did occur to

me, Princess, but as we both know,

we are currently in Lytheria. There

are Lytherian soldiers willing to

accompany a beautiful princess to

such a pretty place. You have no

excuse except for your stupidity.”

Isolde’s eyes widened for two

different reasons. Varian had called

her beautiful, which made a slight

blush creep into her cheeks. But then,

he’d called her stupid and the blush

was forgotten as angry splotches of

red formed. Never in her life had she

been called stupid.

“I am in no way stupid, Varian of

Morden, and it would do you well

never to forget that!” she hissed at

him, slamming the book she hadn’t

even had a chance to open against the

rock.

“That may be so, Princess, but your

actions this day have cast serious

blemish upon your ability to think in a

fashion befitting your status,” Varian

replied

easily,

seeming

entirely

unruffled as he faced the princess.

She’d almost given him a heart attack

when he’d spotted her heading into

the thick forest, entirely alone.

Isolde pushed herself to the edge of

the rock and jumped down. She

turned to grab her book and tilted her

head up to him.

“I find that I no longer wish to be

here, Varian of Morden. The noisy

castle is preferable to spending any

amount of time in your company.”

She made a move to walk away

from him but he caught her arm and

pulled her back, bringing her directly

before him.

Isolde recognized the look in the

flashing blue of his eyes, even if his

face remained expressionless. It was

the look he always got before he

attempted to kiss her, as if she were

some scullery maid wanting his

affections. Even though she’d bitten

his lip once, and had kicked him the

other time, Varian seemed relentless

when it came to kissing her.

Bracing herself, she waited for him

to lower his lips to hers, thinking to

clobber his handsome head with the

hard binding of her book, but as if

sensing that she would do so, he

turned and began walking in the

direction of the castle, tugging her

until she walked beside him.

Isolde attempted to take her hand

back but after futile attempts, decided

to settle for having Varian hold her

arm as they walked back toward the

castle. He wasn’t hurting her; his grip

was quite gentle. Deciding that it

could be worse—he could have

thrown her over his shoulder like he’d

threatened—she ignored him, relaxed,

and allowed herself to enjoy the walk

back to the castle.

***

Vulcan allowed his breathing to

return to normal as he lay on the bed,

his wife above him in a similar state of

exhaustion. Her pale yellow bed gown

had been hiked up to her hips, the

bodice pulled down to expose her

exquisite breasts, as she sat atop him.

Jaisyn’s breathing gradually settled,

and as Vulcan heard the telltale signs

of sleep nearing—the evening of her

breath, the soft sighs that escaped her

lips—he spoke in a low voice. “We

leave for Morden in a sennight.”

Her head lifted from his chest and

she blinked down at him in confusion.

“A sennight?” she asked slowly,

clearing her throat as her voice came

out croaky. “But is that not early—”

Vulcan’s eyes held hers as he

replied, “I am needed at Morden

Castle. I have been away for months

and my people expect to be presented

to their new queen.”

Jaisyn tried to lift her body from his

but his hand at her back prevented her

from doing so. She glared down at

him

angrily.

“What

about

the

Lytherians? The nobility has yet to

swear allegiance to you. Will you

leave Lytheria open to attack?”

Eyes narrowing, Vulcan replied

smoothly, “The nobles will swear

allegiance to me through Varian. He

will rule in my stead.”

“But, liege—”

“Vulcan,” was the gruff reply. He

disliked it when Jaisyn resorted to

formalities in bed, especially when he

knew her as intimately as she did him.

“Vulcan,” she started once more,

possibly sensing that he would not

listen if she defied him tonight, “it is

more plausible to wait a few more

weeks before leaving for Morden.

You’ve been here but two months and

—”

Vulcan cut her off. “We leave for

Morden in a sennight. I have been

here long enough to establish my rule.

My brother will continue in my

stead.”

He would not be swayed on this.

The Northlands were missing their

High King and an unseen king was

almost as bad as no king at all. If he

remained in Lytheria any longer, one

of the smaller northern kingdoms

might become bold and challenge his

lordship over their country.

Jaisyn glared angrily down at him in

contempt. “If that is my lord’s wish.

You may release me now.”