Warrior (63 page)

already forgotten their conversation

and was once more fascinated with

her belly. Sighing, she closed her

eyes. She had to find a way to make

him listen.

***

to having her way. In fact, from the

moment that Ragan, one of the

wizards her father had consulted, had

told her she would be Queen of

Morden, she’d begun to order

everyone about. She’d only been

fifteen

when

Ragan

made

his

premonition, but from that moment,

she’d been treated like a queen. Being

that her father was one of the most

powerful chieftains in the North, the

people had been willing to accept that

his daughter acted like a born

princess. Some had murmured about

it, some had even laughed at her

actions, saying she thought herself on

par with royalty, but it was she who’d

had the last laugh, although it seemed

ages in coming.

Months after Ragan’s prophecy,

Frederick married Eleanor, and Lydia

had felt her world crash down about

her. Ragan had been brought before

her father but he’d maintained his

sight was accurate and Lydia would

be queen. After three years passed

and Eleanor was still queen, Lydia

took matters into her own hands. By

this time, she was eighteen and ripe

for marriage. She’d bypassed Ragan

and taken up her cause with Zora, one

of the women branded witch for all

her evil deeds and sent further into the

mountains to die. She’d found Zora

easily, as the witch had taken a liking

to the ambitious young girl who

wanted to be queen, and had made

her request. Days later, a vial was

delivered to her. It contained a moss-

green liquid. A small parchment was

attached to it. It read, “One drop.”

Lydia understood.

When King Frederick demanded

that Alfric Dakar come to Morden

Castle to pay fealty, Lydia had begged

her father to take her. She’d smiled

lovingly at the old man, had told him

that perhaps after seeing her face,

Frederick would cast aside his wife

and take her instead. Her father was

persuaded, as he always was when it

came to his only daughter, and they

travelled to Morden Castle.

After bowing to both king and

queen, Alfric had presented his son

followed by his daughter. Frederick’s

eyes had been cold as steel as he

surveyed them, and Lydia was

beginning to feel odd that the man

wasn’t reacting to her beauty when

Eleanor

spoke.

She

was

kind,

complimenting Alfric on having such

handsome children. And then, as

Lydia watched, Eleanor had turned to

Frederick, who’d turned to face the

queen as she spoke. A forced smile

had broken out across Frederick’s lips

as he added a compliment of his own.

Eleanor had invited Lydia to have

afternoon tea with the ladies of the

court, and feeling shame that her

beauty had failed to capture the

attention of the one man she wanted,

Lydia had reluctantly agreed.

She had tea with Eleanor every day

for the week they remained in

Morden City, and every time she

found an opportunity, she slipped a

drop of green liquid into the queen’s

cup. She even contemplated giving the

green liquid to the active toddler who

was usually escaping the clutches of

his governess, but decided that it

would be too risky. Lydia was

disappointed when she left to go back

to the mountains and Eleanor was still

healthy. But weeks later, word

reached her that the queen was ill

with a cough. Eleanor was strong

though, because she lived for long

months with it. When she finally

succumbed, Lydia was ecstatic, and

went to pay another visit to Zora, this

time for a different type of potion.

The call to the chieftains came once

again from the king but Lydia

persuaded her father to ignore it.

Months later, Frederick himself rode

onto their lands, with hundreds of

soldiers at his beck and call. He’d

been angry, raging angry, and had told

her father in quite brutal terms that if

he did not bow to his king, he would

cut him down where he stood and

appoint another chieftain.

Unaccustomed to being set-down

before his people, Alfric had turned a

bright shade of red, and Lydia had

stepped before him, inviting the king

into their keep, and ordering the

servants to see to his men-at-arms.

Frederick had almost dismissed her

until she stepped closer to him and

gently took the reins of his horse.

From then on, it had been simple. He,

along with some of his warriors,

joined them for supper, and Lydia had

slipped the entire vial of the potion

into his drink. By nightfall, she’d

claimed him as her own. Weeks later,

they were married, and a few weeks

after that, she was heading to her new

home. Everything had finally been set

right, but for one thing: Vulcan.

Lydia had still had the potion she’d

used against his mother and with her

unlimited access to him, had thought

to put a few drops into his milk. That

was

more

difficult

than

she

anticipated. Frederick watched him

like a hawk, and appointed warriors,

and even servants, to do the same in

his stead. Even she was not allowed to

be alone with his precious heir.

Gradually, Frederick stopped coming

to her bed. At times she would find

him staring at her with hatred blazing

in his eyes, and she’d visit Zora once

more. When she returned, he’d be

unable to resist her, and it was

through such occasions, Varian was

conceived. She’d made a few more

attempts on Vulcan, but they had not

seen fruition because of the close

watch Frederick kept on his son.

When Frederick began to train him,

she looked on helplessly as he grew

strong and untouchable. Although

she’d disliked the genuine love the

brothers shared, she could do nothing

about it that would not draw

suspicion.

So she’d bided her time. Frederick

died, barely days after her son passed

his eighteenth year, and Vulcan had

been named king. Lydia had known

true fear. She and Vulcan had never

been on good terms and with him

being king, and unpredictable, perhaps

even more so than his father, she

hadn’t wanted to chance any part of

his wrath. But when she’d tried to

convince Varian to go with her to

Winterly, her son had refused, saying

that he wished to stay with his brother

and serve his king. So she’d left

Varian, and had continued to plot

ways to destroy Vulcan. She sent

mercenaries after him, but they were

cut down easily. She even paid

whores to slip Zora’s concoction into

his drink, but Vulcan was careful,

even when he took his pleasure. He

would drink nothing that wasn’t

poured by his own hand.

And so her plots failed, until a few

years ago, she thought of the perfect

one. Calista. If she could get Vulcan

to marry Calista, all of her problems

would be solved. After months, even

years of marriage, Vulcan would

begin to trust his wife, and Calista

would poison him. Lydia would not

have to worry about her niece

conceiving the next heir to throne,

because Calista could not, the result of

a terrible and almost terminal sickness

she’d had as a child. It was a beautiful

plan, and she’d let Calista know only

parts of it. She knew that her aunt

wished for a marriage between her

and Vulcan but did not know why.

But then Lydia had found out that

Vulcan had married a Lytherian

princess, and her plans had changed.

The months she’d stayed away from

the new queen were spent creating a

new plan, which she’d already set into

motion.

A crooked smile touched her lips as

she remembered the story she’d

related to Jaisyn. Frederick might have

been a cold, unfeeling bastard to her,

but never to Eleanor. The week she’d

spent visiting the castle had alerted her

that the match between Frederick and

Eleanor, while it had not started out

that way, was one of love. He’d been

cold to Lydia, had only suffered her

because of Zora’s potions, while she’d

secretly pined, hoping that one day he

would look upon her as he did

Eleanor, without the use of a witch’s

serum.

Lydia knew Jaisyn loved Vulcan,

and that he felt for her. But she had to

dissolve any feelings they shared in

order to make way for her niece. So,

she’d put doubt into Jaisyn’s heart

and although the younger woman had

not reacted as Lydia had anticipated,

she knew her words would plague the

young queen.

Lifting her hand, Lydia stared at the

small glass vial between her fingers. It

was filled to the brim with a golden

liquid she’d received from Zora a few

months ago. Soon, she would carry

out the second part of her plan, and

everything would be right once more.

How appropriate it was that the same

thing she had done to the father would

be done to the son.

***

Vulcan’s eyes were glued to the

missive that had just arrived from

Montak. Two weeks ago, he’d sent

out two important parchments: one to

Montak; the other to Lytheria. The

first response had just come and as he

read the words, a smile touched his

lips. Bael was in agreement with his

proposal. He folded the paper and

placed

it

with

the

numerous

parchments on his desk. He would

wait for Varian’s response to alert his

wife of his plans. The smile on his lips

faded as that thought entered his

mind. He already knew she would not

like it.

***

Jaisyn was ecstatic when the

evening of the last ball of the Season

arrived. Along with Lydia and their

ladies, she oversaw the preparations.

The dress she’d intended to wear for

the ball had been substituted for

another gown, as it would have

pressed down too much on her

swollen belly. At five months, her

belly was only growing larger, and at

a faster rate. She wore a sleeveless

red and cream gown that cinched her

under her breasts and flowed freely to

her toes, leaving her belly free from

the constraints of corsets. It was

probably the first of its kind made and

Lydia had assured her that by the next

Season, it would be copied in all

corners of the kingdom.

Her thick hair had been brushed for

long hours and pulled up in an

elaborate style that allowed for the

bejeweled golden crown upon her

head. The conversation she’d had

with Lydia had been dismissed; the

lady acted as if she’d said nothing to

Jaisyn. Although Jaisyn wished to

breach the subject once more, she had

come to the decision that Lydia had

had her best interest at heart and had

just been trying to warn her. After

being married to Frederick for many

years, it was no wonder the former

queen had the opinions she did. So,

she put it from her mind, or at least

tried to, and watched as both Isolde

and Mathilda, but mostly Mathilda,

danced

gaily

with

the

eligible

gentlemen there.

Her

attention

was

particularly

focused on a gangly but tall man who