Warrior (18 page)

and continued, “She is too young for

marriage—”

“Women much younger than your

sister have married and borne healthy

sons,” Vulcan told her witheringly.

“And she is not easy to get along

with. Matty is selfish, stubborn, naïve

—”

“That will in no way affect me.”

“And she is also sickly. I’m sure my

father did not mention that. She

contracts illnesses easily, especially in

cold areas like the Northlands—”

“That will not affect me either.”

Jaisyn wanted to attack him. He

wouldn’t care if her sister became ill?

That just reinforced her belief that he

would be a terrible husband to

Mathilda. Her poor sister would die of

neglect or verbal tyranny.

“Will it not affect you when she

carries your heir?” she tossed out

angrily, trying to make him see that it

was not a good match.

Vulcan took a step forward and

replied frostily, “When she carries my

heir, your sister may return to

Lytheria, where the sunshine and

warm winds will give her health to aid

with the birthing. Does that satisfy

you,
Princess
?”

It was a rhetorical question but

Jaisyn was going to answer it anyway.

“No! That does not satisfy me in any

way!” she yelled, picturing Mathilda

looking miserable as an extended belly

loomed before her. Taking a deep

breath, she continued in the most

submissive tone she’d ever used with

him, hoping to appeal to his logical

side. “My liege, you do not have to

wed Mathilda to control Lytheria. It is

already yours. Please, my king. She is

not ready for marriage.”

***

Vulcan lifted a dark brow at the

princess before him. My liege? My

king? So this was what Jaisyn resorted

to when she was at her wit’s end? She

looked defeated, with her eyes

lowered demurely, but then one saw

the defiant tilt of her chin and knew

she was secretly plotting ways to get

her sister away from the monster

before her.

“Will you take her place?” he asked

and had the pleasure of seeing her

head snap backwards and her eyes

widen to the size of small moons.

Vulcan advanced, relishing in the

further widening of those eyes. He

stopped an arm’s length away from

her. “Will you have the barbaric and

savage Wolf of the North in place of

your sister?”

Jaisyn blinked and swallowed the

lump that had suddenly appeared in

her throat.

“Well—I—no—it

shouldn’t

be

necessary for anyone to take her

place—you do not need—”

Vulcan spun away and headed

toward the half-room adjoining the

solar. “Make sure that your sister is

ready, Jaisyn. It will be done before

nightfall.”

He disappeared into the adjoining

room, which housed a large, hand-

carved wooden tub and chests of

clothing and jewelry that had once

belonged to her parents.

***

She remained rooted where she

was. Could she marry Vulcan of

Morden? Oh, Goddess. Lyria knew

she had no wish to, but could she, for

Mathilda? Inhaling deeply, Jaisyn

walked into to the adjoining room, not

bothering to announce her presence

until she found herself facing a

shirtless Vulcan. She blushed. His

torso was longer and broader than

most of the soldiers she’d seen this

way, and muscles leaped anxiously in

his back. That shouldn’t make her

blush, but because this body belonged

to Vulcan—

He spun around, reaching for his

sword once more, before he caught

sight of Jaisyn.

“What is it now?”

Leaning forward, he trailed long

fingers through the water in the tub.

Cool. Perfect to soothe his aching

head and prevent him from strangling

a Lytherian princess.

Jaisyn stared at his chest. He was a

warrior so the muscles on his chest

were developed—beautiful even—but

that wasn’t particularly what caught

her attention. The men of Lytheria

were smooth, except for the hairs that

grew at the apex of their thighs, but

there was a line of black hair, almost

the span of her pinky finger, that

started below Vulcan’s navel and ran

down into his breeches. She didn’t

know how long she stared, but

Vulcan’s velvet voice interrupted her

thoughts.

“Have

you

looked

your

fill,

Princess, or should I remove the

breeches as well?”

Feeling even more heat rush to her

face, Jaisyn spun around immediately

and gave him her back. “N-no. I have

something to say.”

She peeked over her shoulder at

him. He was standing with his arms

crossed about his chest, waiting for

her to speak. Jaisyn turned, hoping

that the blush was gone from her face.

With her eyes leveled on his face,

she spoke firmly. “I will take my

sister’s place. I will marry you.”

***

It happened so fast that when it was

over,

Jaisyn

hardly

believed

it

happened at all. In fact, except for the

fact that everyone was congratulating

her, she would think that it had all

been a dream.

She’d donned a flowing cream-

colored gown and had stood before

the High Priestess as Ishat asked Lyria

to bless the union of King Vulcan of

Morden and Princess Jaisyn of

Lytheria. After, there was a quick

coronation, with Ishat placing a

jeweled golden crown upon Vulcan’s

head and announcing him liege and

ruler to all of Lytheria, before placing

a smaller crown upon Jaisyn’s head,

and doing the same. Vulcan then led

her from the Temple to the Great Hall,

where the servants had outdone

themselves by turning the regular

evening’s supper into a feast. She now

sat with her two sisters on one side

and her husband—that thought was

enough to make her queasy—on the

other.

Someone nudged her and she turned

in their direction. Mathilda’s golden

eyes stared into her similar ones. Her

sister looked sad, but Jaisyn gave her

a large smile, and soon she perked up.

She threw her arms around Jaisyn and

hugged her close.

“You won’t have to leave us, will

you?” Mathilda asked, and for the first

time since she’d decided to marry

Vulcan of Morden, five hours ago,

Jaisyn thought of that question. There

was little doubt in her mind she

would. Vulcan belonged in Morden

and as his wife, her place was at his

side.

“Not right now, Matty,” she told her

younger sister softly, and when

Mathilda smiled and went back to

chattering with Isolde, Jaisyn knew

she’d done the right thing. She was

the eldest. She was more prepared for

marriage than either of her sisters.

As

the

wedding

celebrations

continued, Jaisyn forced herself to

keep

smiling

and

accepted

congratulations from the Lytherian

soldiers as well as their counterparts

from Morden. Her people. Supper had

been cleared away and Isolde, along

with the bards, was playing a lively

tune on the harp while Mathilda sang

along. The soldiers, most of whom

were already in their cups, were

dancing to the princess’s tune. Seated

in a chair, Jaisyn looked on at the

crowd and tried hard to keep her

thoughts from her husband, who’d

disappeared from the Great Hall some

minutes ago. Malcolm took the

opportunity to approach her.

A genuine smile fluttered across

Jaisyn’s lips. She’d seen him only a

handful of times since Vulcan had

returned him to them. During those

times, he’d been resting or she’d been

doing something or the other that had

not allowed them to speak as they

usually did. He was dressed for the

occasion—a stylish cream tunic with

brown trim and brown breeches. His

flaxen hair was combed away from

his handsome face, allowing his sea-

colored eyes to fully dominate his

face.

Feeling the need to tease, Jaisyn

asked in a mock angry tone, “Are you

trying to outshine me on my wedding

day, Malcolm?”

Malcolm smiled, although it did not

reach his eyes. “No one could

outshine you, Majesty, and especially

not on your wedding day.”

Jaisyn clucked her tongue. “Ah, I’ve

missed your flattery. Are you feeling

well? How is your head?”

“Better. I have been training again

but I miss my partner,” he told her

with a gleam in his eye.

A sad smile tugged at Jaisyn’s lips.

She hadn’t chanced going down to

train with the men, as Vulcan was still

unaware of the extent of her skill. In

fact, she knew he would not

appreciate it.

“I understand,” Malcolm said as if

he’d read her min. His voice lowered

slightly, “Is this what you want?”

There was no easy way to answer

that question. No it wasn’t, but yes it

was. She was spared an answer,

however, as Vulcan approached them

and held out his hand. He was dressed

in the colors of his house: red and gold

with black breeches. She allowed

herself to be pulled up. Malcolm stood

as well and dipped his head to Vulcan,

before addressing them both.

“Congratulations, Majesties.” His

gaze managed to catch hers as he

spoke.

Vulcan nodded and Jaisyn smiled,

though happiness did not reach her

eyes. Malcolm turned and headed

away from them, over to some of the

soldiers that he knew.

Leaning down, Vulcan placed his

mouth near to Jaisyn’s ear and said,

“Come, wife. It is time to finish what

we started.” With that, he put her

hand in the crook of his arm, covered

it with his other hand, and headed for

the stairs. She had no choice but to

follow.

Jaisyn knew the meaning behind the

comment, but she hadn’t thought of

that until this moment. She really

hadn’t thought their union through. A

trickle of fear sent a chill down her

spine.

Before they were fully away from

the festivities, a voice she recognized

as Varian’s called out loudly.

“To the King and Queen! May you

have strong sons to rule your

kingdoms and beautiful daughters to

captivate all others!”

A cheer went up at that toast and a

few soldiers, no doubt Morden

soldiers, threw in their own bawdy

salutes.

***

Jaisyn’s blush did not go unnoticed

by Vulcan, who had been planning the

night in his head from the moment

that his princess, now his queen,

walked into the Temple wearing a

gown that revealed only her neck and

fingers, but that outlined the shape of

her breasts very nicely and made him

think back to when she’d been under

him and he’d had them in his hands.

When they entered the solar, it was

brighter than usual. Along with the fire

at the hearth, a torch had been lit. A

lady’s maid was waiting by the bed

for Jaisyn. Vulcan dismissed her.

He would be undressing his wife

tonight.

***

With shaky fingers, Jaisyn removed

the veil and the crown that kept it on

her head and placed them onto the

mantle. She knew what happened on

wedding

nights.

Her

maids,

governesses and tutors had informed

her of that whenever they touch on

the topic of anatomy. What terrified

her was that she now, for most

purposes, belonged to Vulcan of

Morden. She was his wife; she would

bow to him. She would share his bed.

She would bear his heirs.