Warrior (31 page)

He was the rightful heir to the

throne of Lytheria, the oldest male

heir. An image of his father, lying on

his deathbed and whispering words

that could have broken him but didn’t,

came to him. He was a Reinhardt,

though he was not his mother’s son.

Unable to conceive, Aksana had

foisted the newborn bastard of serving

girl as her own to please a husband

intent on seeing his son claim his titles

and lands. With a brittle smile, Kegan

dismissed the thought. Orrick had kept

the secret to his dying breath, and

Kegan intended to do the same. He

was, after all, his father’s son.

The day of Wilhelm’s burial, Kegan

had intended to claim the Lytherian

throne. He’d expected resistance on

the part of the princess who thought

herself equal to a man, but foreseeing

the support of the nobles, Kegan

hadn’t worried over it. Lytheria was

his birthright. No King of Morden

would take that from him. If not for

the bastard of the North, he would be

sitting on the throne, and those

princesses

would

be

rotting

somewhere, in a luxurious dungeon

perhaps, or Temple, never to be

married or birth royal heirs.

He pushed himself from the chair,

and it fell with a resounding crash

against the stone floor of his Great

Hall. A kitchen maid—a plump, hag-

faced girl that he’d punished many a

time for her clumsiness—whimpered

in fear and he tossed her a glare. She

bowed her head and waited. Had his

mind not been so taken with the

missive that he’d just received, Kegan

would have torn into her for that

reaction. Instead, he marched from

the Great Hall and into the bailey,

looking around for the face he sought.

He walked up to one of the men who

made up his small army and asked

after Dax.

Kegan was informed he was in the

stables, so he headed there, his stride

purposeful. Once there, it took him

minutes to find the man. He stood by

his stallion, a sleek white beast he’d

taken from a warrior after he’d slit his

throat.

Dax was the illegitimate son of

Azarius Shadid, the ruler of the largest

kingdom in the South. They’d met

when, as a boy of twelve, Kegan’s

father had taken him to visit Sulan.

They were a tall and willowy people,

friendly to those they liked, and

deadly to their enemies. The first time

Kegan laid eyes on Dax, he had not

known he was a boy. His hair had

been a long, tawny red, cascading

around small shoulders and falling to

his narrow waist. He had been

wearing cloth that looked suspiciously

like a dress—a very rumpled and dirty

dress. He’d been in the kitchen,

sprinkling what appeared to be

crushed leaves across the sweets that

had been laid out for the night’s

dinner.

“You there! Wench! What are you

doing?” Kegan had called angrily,

thinking a servant girl was trying to

poison them. The ‘wench’ in question

had barely spared him a second

glance before replying in a calm voice

that belittled what she was doing. “I

am putting cedar leaves in the sweets.

If you do not like being sick, you will

not eat them.”

Kegan had angrily stalked over to

the girl and tugged harshly at a

delicate arm. Dax had fallen from the

stool upon which he stood, and had

looked up at Kegan through the mass

of red hair that hid his face. In the

next instant, Kegan was on the floor.

The wench, who he then recognized

as a boy, was atop him with a wicked-

looking dagger at his throat.

“I should kill you for that,” Dax had

told him cynically, digging the point of

the blade further into Kegan’s throat

without drawing blood. “But… I

won’t.”

Kegan had remained still, unsure of

who this person was, but knowing

from his control of the language that

he was not a servant. “Who are you?”

The girl-boy sitting across his chest

lifted delicate red brows as she

quickly hid the dagger in the folds of

her gown. “I should be the heir but I

am not. I am a bastard called Dax.

And you are a nobleman. A pleasure.”

With that, he’d agilely jumped up

and went back to lacing the sweets

with crushed cedar leaves. After

pulling himself up and watching him

for many moments, Kegan had asked

his reasons for doing so.

Dax, unapologetic boy that he was,

had replied calmly. “My brother has a

sweet tooth. This is my revenge for his

constant reminder that I, although the

oldest, am not the heir.”

Kegan had watched Jarel, younger

than Dax by a few months, gobble

down the pastries at supper. Dax had

not been allowed to sit with them but

Kegan had felt his presence as Jarel

consumed sweet after sweet. After the

fifth, the boy began to sweat

profusely, and he grabbed his stomach

before the sickness came. King

Azarius had immediately sent for the

apothecary and the surgeon both, and

Jarel had been taken to his rooms.

With the entire castle in utter chaos

over what ailed the future king of

Sulan, Dax had slipped into the dining

hall, only to pass Kegan a come-hither

smile before leaving once more.

That had begun a friendship that

lasted years, with Dax eventually

being sent away after a fight with Jarel

that had left them both bloody and

battered. Azarius asked Kegan’s

father to take the unruly child on as

one of his squires, to train beside his

own son, and Orrick Reinhardt had

agreed. Kegan was fifteen, Dax

thirteen. From the moment of Dax’s

arrival, they were never apart. Kegan

was an only child and found having a

companion was a good thing. Rumors

started about the extent of their

relationship but neither ever gave any

indication if the rumors were true.

Dax, although feminine and soft, was

deadly with the dagger and crossbow

and Kegan was known for his sexual

exploits in Neren and the surrounding

towns.

“I take it you have something

important to tell me,” Dax said slowly,

his soft and mellow voice pulling

Kegan from his memory and back to

the present. He turned to face Kegan,

the mass of red hair pulled away from

his face in a queue, but wisps still

strayed and curled beguilingly around

the icy blue of his eyes. The Sulanese

were known for the shocking color of

their hair and eyes. Dax’s face was

pale and smooth, without a hair save

for his eyebrows. Dressed in the right

clothing, he could easily pass for a

woman, an exotically beautiful one.

“Or have you already missed my

company since this morning?”

Kegan glanced around quickly, glad

that Dax had placed the stallion in a

stall toward the rear of the stables,

where there were hardly any people

to overhear his bold statements.

“I wish to speak with your father,”

he announced, before Dax spouted

something else that would give them

cause to fight. “As soon as possible.”

He

watched

Dax’s

expression

change from flirtatious to hostile in the

span of seconds. Turning his head

from Kegan, he stroked the stallion’s

neck, crooning softly as the horse

snorted in pleasure.

“Why?” he asked shortly. Kegan

moved closer to him, coming to stand

a hair’s breadth behind the tall, thin

man. “I need to know if Sulan will

support me when I march against the

Northern Wolf.”

Dax’s head whipped around, the

stallion all but forgotten, and surveyed

Kegan. After long, contemplative

moments, a small smile lifted the

corners of his lips.

“So you will challenge the great

beast of the north for the right to rule

Lytheria?” Dax asked carefully.

Kegan’s nostrils flared as he glared

at his closest companion. “Think you I

cannot do it?”

Dax bowed his head slightly before

fixing his gaze to Kegan once more.

He saw a handsome, golden-haired

man in his late twenties with eyes that

burned with his lust for power. The

smile disappeared from Dax’s lips.

His teasing tone was gone. “You will

need a powerful army behind you,

along with the support of at least half

of

the

Lytherian

nobles

and

landholding warriors. The rest can be

persuaded after you’ve taken the

throne, or they can be replaced.”

Kegan smiled. This was why Dax

was his closest friend, his confidant,

because they were alike. Dax knew

what he was thinking even before he

voiced it. “I know that. I will need

your father’s army to retake Lytheria

and hold it against the Wolf.”

Dax nodded and a smile more evil

that the one Kegan wore graced his

beautiful face. “Perhaps my brother

would like the privilege of leading the

Sulanese army against the Northern

Wolf?”

Years of being around Dax had

taught Kegan to understand the

workings of his companion’s twisted

mind. He understood immediately.

“Yes, perhaps this will be a last and

most valiant stand for the heir to the

Sulanese throne.”

Dax lowered his lids slowly,

allowing his long red lashes to rest

lazily against his pale, almost glowing

cheek before he turned back to the

stallion.

“How soon can you be ready to

ride?” Kegan asked him, his gaze on

the tight, unmarred skin of Dax’s

neck. He was truly beautiful.

“Tomorrow morning,” was the easy

reply. “Ready the men, milord.”

***

The Northlands,

Morden

Jaisyn stood in front of the stables,

waiting for one of the squires to fetch

Orion, one of the stallions sired by

Ajax. Along with his Ajax, Orion and

two mares were part of the dowry

she’d brought to Morden. As Orion

was yet young, Jaisyn rode him as

much as she could, seeing his

potential to be as great as his sire.

She was surprised at how quickly

she’d become accustomed to Morden.

She was allowed free range of the

castle, countryside, and even the city,

as long as she took guards with her.

Within weeks, she was at ease in the

castle and had begun to think of it as

her other home.

Vulcan

had

even

given

her

permission, although she’d already

done so, to write to her sisters and

have them write to her. Except for the

occasional squabble and at mealtimes,

she did not see much of her husband

during the day. She did, however, see

much of Lady Savoy, who seemed

intent on visiting the castle to dine

with the king at least once every few

days. Jaisyn wished she could banish

the lady from court but although

accustomed to Morden, she was still

unsure of the reach of her powers in

this strange land. She knew that

Vulcan did not respect the rights of

females, so she would not be

surprised to know that she had

absolutely no rights except the title of

queen, to select items for the castle, to

select clothing and do little else.

Should she find out that her role was

that limited, she was going to attack

her husband. A little grin touched her

lips as she thought of the two swords

she’d had the servants pack along

with her jewelry.

“Something tells me that the smile

upon your face has nothing to do with

me,” Vulcan said as he approached