Warrior by Violette Dubrinsky Page B

known were
    male:
    warriors,
    landowners,
    clergymen. She was the first woman
    that he knew of with such a name.
    After hugs and assurances, she
    finally placed her sisters behind her.
    They remained near as she addressed
    him once more. He stood many inches
    taller than she and had to look down.
    “Will you join us for our first meal
    together?”
    Again, she asked her questions as if
    they
    were
    statements.
    Vulcan
    clenched his jaw, annoyed with this
    princess who stared in defiance
    instead of cowering, and who held
    herself as regal as any queen, as if
    she’d permitted him to be overlord to
    her kingdom and he hadn’t wrestled it
    from her dainty fingers.
    Varian, no doubt sensing his brother
    might have had enough of diplomacy,
    spoke calmly. “As a sign of goodwill,
    we are returning one of your
    soldiers.”
    Varian snapped his fingers and two
    soldiers brought forth Malcolm, dirty
    and bloodied. Jaisyn and one of the
    soldiers
    around
    her
    released
    involuntary cries at seeing the man.
    From the close resemblance and the
    fact that the man rushed over to him,
    Vulcan recognized him as his father.
    Vulcan’s eyes narrowed on the
    princess, taking in her reaction. Who
    was this man to her? His curiosity was
    piqued.

    ***

    Vulcan sat at one head of the long,
    draped table with Jaisyn perched
    regally at the other. There was an
    obvious divide. On his side sat Varian,
    Akos, Hector, and Chevan. On
    Jaisyn’s sat the Thorn, the Timid, and
    two more of her trusted soldiers,
    possibly even generals.
    The servants brought out the food—
    meats, cheeses, bread, and ale—and
    laid them out attractively. It was a
    handsome selection for both sides as
    the Lytherians had been rationing food
    while the Morden soldiers survived on
    only meats.
    Despite the come-hither call of the
    food, Vulcan wasn’t stupid. He
    certainly did not train stupid men.
    They would wait until the Lytherians
    took bites of every food item before
    they ate. He wouldn’t put it past the
    veiled princess to have the food laced
    with poison.
    The servants returned with carving
    knives and began to cut chunks of the
    meat and place it onto their platters.
    Varian was the epitome of relaxation
    as he smiled down the table at the
    princesses. Vulcan’s scowl never
    faded.
    When everyone had their ale and
    food before them, Vulcan directed his
    gaze to the princess on the other side
    of the table.
    “Is something wrong with your food,
    my liege?” she asked, again between
    clenched teeth.
    “I do not know, Princess. Is there?”
    he countered, making no move to pick
    up the utensils beside him.
    He still couldn’t see her through that
    veil and wondered how she intended
    to eat with it on. He soon found out
    when she brushed it aside, exposing
    full, pink lips, and lifted the tankard to
    them. Immediately, her men did the
    same. She lowered the tankard and
    took a small taste of the meat. When
    she was through with that, the veil
    slipped back into place and she said
    bitingly, “There is nothing wrong with
    the food, my lord king.”
    Vulcan picked up his knife and cut
    into the meat, using the fork to bring it
    to his mouth. His men followed suit
    and soon they were all eating. Tension
    still reigned, but they ate. Together.
    “My men and I will need lodgings.”
    Jaisyn tilted her head slightly but
    didn’t answer.
    Varian added, “And there is still the
    matter of the betrothal.”
    She started and turned to him before
    returning her gaze to Vulcan, whose
    eyes were narrowing. “I beg your
    pardon, liege. I thought that was
    forgotten.”
    “The betrothal was witnessed by our
    Seer and your High Priestess. It is
    sacred and cannot be easily broken,”
    Varian continued, passing a look to
    his brother before returning his gaze
    to her. Vulcan remained silent.
    Exactly where was Varian going with
    this? “That is—unless our king
    renounces it.”
    Someone dropped a utensil and it
    crashed to the floor. It was the Timid
    One. She