Warrior (4 page)

vivid image of Stephen, pale and

sweating despite the four furs covering

him, his eyes barely open, and lips

blue, came into her mind. She blinked

immediately, pushing the image away.

“But what will happen to us if he

dies?” Mathilda continued, staring up

at Jaisyn as if she had all of the

answers.

Though she wished she did know,

Jaisyn did not. Often, she asked

herself that question. With Stephen

gone, there could no longer be a

smooth succession. It was the first

time the kingdom of Lytheria had no

male heir. Her father’s extended

family included male cousins who

could potentially vie for it, but Jaisyn

didn’t see the Crown being simply

handed over to any of them. She

allowed herself to bask briefly in the

thought that nagged her constantly.

What about her? Could she inherit? It

had never been done before, but she

loved her country as much as any

man, and was a trained warrior—

“Nothing will happen to us.”

Isolde’s voice penetrated her thoughts

easily, and Jaisyn turned to find Isolde

glaring down at Mathilda. “Honestly,

Matty, you can be so depressing at

times. We’ll remain princesses and

after we marry, we’ll be queens.”

“Isolde,” Jaisyn warned slightly,

shaking her head and returning her

gaze to the large mirror before her.

“What if I don’t want to get

married?” Mathilda, never one to give

up, directed the bold question at

Isolde, who in turn smirked and

brushed a few stray strands of hair

away from her face.

“Well, then you’ll die a spinster and

they’ll change your nickname to

“Mathilda St. Ives—Spinster Flower

of the East,” Isolde chuckled and

Jaisyn tried to hide the smile forming

at her lips.

Mathilda

only

frowned

and

countered, “You’re just jealous,

Isolde, that I have a nickname and you

don’t.”

Isolde’s laughter died and knowing

that her sister was about to say

something that would send Mathilda

into another bout of hysterics, Jaisyn

decided to change the topic. “What do

you think of the new dresses from

Gisbon?” She referred to a new

shipment of clothing that had come

from the dressmakers of one of their

cities though she had little interest in

such things.

“They’re exquisite. How the Gisbon

women blend those colors, we will

never know. And the riding habits—

how absolutely beautiful. And of

course, there are those hats…even the

Mitherie women admire our hats.”

Isolde was the first to reply and the

conversation returned to safe ground.

As they chattered away, Jaisyn stared

at her reflection in the mirror. She

now stood at five feet eight and a half

inches, and because she’d continued

her training, was lean and lightly

muscled, with feminine curves where

nature willed it.

Unlike her sisters, she wasn’t soft or

necessarily receptive, and at times,

could be even more blunt and forward

than Isolde. She ran the comb through

her curls once more before grabbing

one of her many leather bands and

pulling her thick hair into a bun. On

her body was a simple, high necked,

blue gown of the previous collection

by the Gisbon women that enhanced

the dark bronze of her complexion

and set a stark contrast to the vivid

gold of her eyes. Although her father

constantly told her she reminded him

of her mother, she saw more of

Wilhelm in herself than her mother.

Her face was more oval than round,

with thin yet pouty lips, high

cheekbones, a very regal nose and

eyes that slanted up slightly.

Jaisyn didn’t consider herself a great

beauty; she left that for Isolde and

Mathilda to fight over. What she knew

was that she was a good fighter. Even

her father’s generals complimented

her skill with the sword. While Isolde

had perfected playing the harp and

Mathilda had perfected her voice,

Jaisyn had perfected her sword arm.

Jaisyn’s biggest regret was that she

had not been this good five years ago.

Had she been, her brother might have

lived...

She stopped. Not today. She’d

thought about that day obsessively for

years and finally, finally, she’d

stopped. Not today. Tomorrow was

soon enough.

***

One month later…

Jaisyn fell with a thud upon the hard

earth, grimacing as the breath was

knocked from her straining lungs. A

collective groan came from the

gathered crowd as she struggled to

force air into her body. Through the

visor of her helmet, she saw her larger

opponent advance. The high sunlight

glinted off his sword as he lifted it.

Although aware he fought a princess,

he was merciless. His movements

were quick and precise, and before

she could move, the sword was

pressed to Jaisyn’s leather-covered

throat. A deafening cheer rang up

from the small crowd of warriors and

soldiers who’d taken a break from

their training to watch the duel.

“Yield?” he asked, his breaths

coming hard and fast. Jaisyn analyzed

her situation and decided surrendering

wasn’t in her nature. She feigned

surrender by turning her head to the

side and when he relaxed, brought her

knees up—glad she was only dressed

in chain mail and protective leathers

and not heavy armor—and shoved

hard.

He fell backwards and as he

tumbled

to

the

ground,

Jaisyn

pounced, pressing her sword against

his uncovered neck.

“Yield?” she taunted and when he

didn’t answer soon enough for her,

she pushed the sword further into his

skin. If not for the helmet covering his

face, she knew she would see his eyes

widen then narrow.

Malcolm was a few years older, but

from the moment she’d begun her

training, he’d always been paired with

her. At first, it was because they’d

both been beginners, but after, it was

because he was the only one not

afraid of laying her flat or being

beaten by a female—and a princess at

that.

“I surrender,” Malcolm called out.

Jaisyn pushed her body from his and

tugged her helmet off. A large smile

covered her face, revealing pretty

white teeth, twinkling golden eyes,

and a sweat-covered face.

The crowd roared once more and

this time there was a clamor for

payment from those who’d bet on her.

Jaisyn grinned. She’d expected it. The

crowds and the bets had been present

from the moment she and Malcolm

began their training. When she’d

trained with the soldiers, those men-

at-arms who hadn’t yet perfected a

weapon, the bets had been small.

Now that she practiced with the

warriors, those skilled at one weapon

or more, the bets were at times

outrageous. Once, she’d heard of a

newly arrived warrior losing a gold

coin to a veteran who knew of

Jaisyn’s prowess.

“That was luck, Princess,” were the

first words out of Malcolm’s mouth.

He’d pushed to his feet, and

removed his helmet. Jaisyn merely

lifted her eyebrows at him and

smirked. “I guess I‘ve been very lucky

for the past weeks, then?”

A small smile tugged at Malcolm’s

lips as he dipped his head respectfully.

“That was what I was implying, Your

Highness.”

Malcolm Sudbury was the eldest son

of Lord General Urian Sudbury, the

warrior responsible for her father’s

armies in the city. The Sudbury family

was among the most important in

Lytheria, and arguably the most

important of the warrior class, as

they’d served the St. Ives loyally for

many years. Only some of noble birth

could weigh their importance above

the Sudbury’s and many a time, what

they had in blood ties was lost in favor

to the king. As such, the St. Ives ladies

saw a lot of Malcolm, and there were

absolutely no complaints from the

younger princesses. Malcolm was

what Mathilda would call “perfection

incarnate.” He stood at six feet two

inches, with a body made for battle,

and a natural charm that made him

very popular with women. Rich, poor,

old, young—they all fawned over

Malcolm. Well, that was with the

exception of Jaisyn. She knew

Malcolm was quite attractive, with his

golden skin, gold-blond hair, and

unusual sea-colored eyes, but he was

her fighting partner, her friend, and

she simply could not picture him that

way.

She had not been able to picture any

man in that way. What others found

giggle-worthy, Jaisyn found practical.

The hardness of a man’s arms and

belly did not addle her wits; instead,

she wondered at the reason. Was he

warrior, farmer, or tradesman? And if

tradesman, blacksmith or tanner? So

much

could

be

revealed

from

appearance.

While her sisters prattled lovingly

about Malcolm and sighed about

something new he’d done that day,

Jaisyn half-listened, thinking Malcolm

would be stupefied if he heard the

way they spoke of him. Maybe she

should tell him just to see the look on

his face.

“Good fight, both of you.” Urian’s

voice interrupted her thoughts as he

approached them. His expression, as

usual, was completely stoic. To Jaisyn

he said, “Your skill increases with

every bout, Your Highness.”

Jaisyn

smiled

easily.

“It

is

Malcolm’s fault, General. He shows

no mercy.”

Urian nodded and turned to his son.

“Ian needs help with his technique.

He’s over by the bailey.”

Malcolm nodded and passed a smile

to Jaisyn before heading off in search

of Ian.

“Well, I’m off,” Jaisyn told Urian,

as a thought entered her mind. “Do

you know the whereabouts of my

father?”

Urian nodded and a rare smile

curved his lips.“The king rode out

with a hunting party while you were

practicing, Princess.”

Wiping a trail of sweat from her

cheek, Jaisyn beamed. Her father’s

health had improved drastically from

what it had been a month ago.

Wilhelm’s

sun-kissed

glow

had

returned in place of the sickly tinge,

and he was fond of leaving the castle

walls, be it on a hunting expedition or

to meet with the villagers outside of

the castle.

“Did he see me win?”

It always gave her a sense of pride

to have her father watch her train. He

was the one who’d supported her

‘hobby’ even as others secretly

ridiculed him. Once, she’d overheard

the Earl of Rotterdam mention that

her father couldn’t control his own

daughters. The conversation might

have gone further if Jaisyn hadn’t

stepped directly into his path, and told

the plump lout that it wasn’t his

daughters Wilhelm needed to worry

about. The very same earl now stayed

clear of her whenever he paid homage

to his king.

“No, Princess, but I’m sure he knew

you would.”

A chuckle left her lips and she

shook her head. “If I didn’t know

better I would say you either

overestimate

my

reach

or

underestimate your son, General. As I

do, I thank you for the flattery.”

“Princess.” He dipped his head, and

Jaisyn gave him a half curtsy that was

at odds with her dirt-covered, tunic-

and-leathers appearance, and smiled.

With that, she turned for the

kitchen. Lunch had passed, but cook

would have something to hold her