The Vampire & Her Witch

The first words came from Serge Otker, even though none of the lords who were present seemed interested in hearing what he had to say.

The young lords had barely settled into their loose cluster, their horses falling into an easy, matched pace on a stretch of trail wide enough for three riders abreast as they followed along with the hunt, when the Otker heir straightened up in his saddle and fixed his bleary gaze on the column ahead.

In front of them, Owain and his inner circle had pulled further ahead, the gap between them and the young lords growing as the trail narrowed and the pace of the column’s vanguard quickened to keep up with the hounds and the elk.

Behind them, the lower-ranked knights and the three young squires had moved over to a trail on the other side of the creek, leaving the five young lords in a pocket of relative privacy between the two groups.

”Have to hand it to the man,” Serge said, gesturing with his wineskin toward the front of the column where Owain’s silhouette was barely visible through the fog. ”One sister dies, and within weeks, the next one’s wearing the betrothal jewelry. You’d think Lord Owain was shopping for horses at a fair.” He let out a laugh that was too loud for the quiet forest, startling a bird from the branches of a nearby hemlock in a flurry of dark wings and indignant chirping.

”He knows what he wants, and he takes it,” Serge continued, apparently unconcerned by the bird or the looks he was receiving from his companions. ”There’s something admirable about that, even if the rest of us would have the decency to wait until the pyre was cold.” He punctuated the statement with another pull from his wineskin, and a thin rivulet of red escaped the corner of his mouth, running down his chin before he wiped at it with the back of his glove.

Reynold Aleese’s jaw tightened. It was a small motion, barely visible beneath the stubble that darkened his strong chin, but it pulled the muscles along the side of his neck taut and his gray eyes went flat and hard in a way that reminded Erling less of a storm and more of the sky before one, heavy and still and waiting.

The Aleese heir said nothing. He didn’t need to. His brother was missing, possibly dead, and the household responsible for sending Rain into the wilderness was the same one that was rushing to celebrate a wedding before the funeral pyres had even been lit. Whatever Reynold thought of Owain’s haste, he kept it locked behind those storm-gray eyes and the tight set of his jaw.

Tulori Leufroy, by contrast, couldn’t help but speak up, though Erling couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he genuinely cared about what he was about to say or if he just didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut when someone offered an opportunity.

”It’s not unprecedented,” the Leufroy heir said smoothly, his voice carrying that particular quality of slightly frayed calm that came after surviving a ’close call’ even though the Elk hadn’t come anywhere near them. ”Political marriages following a death in the family are well documented. In the Duchies, it’s considered prudent to secure the alliance before the mourning period invites rival offers.”

”It’s rare,” Tulori added quickly when he felt the weight of Reynold’s disapproving gaze shifting to him. ”But the Church allows it with a blessing from a High Priest or higher, provided the marriage serves the stability of the domain. Which, um, which Lord Owain’s marriage to Lady Jocelynn, um, that is, since it’s right before the start of a Holy War, I’m sure that High Priest Aubin approved,” he finished lamely.

”Don’t,” Wes warned, looking between the two youngest members of their party with a fierce glower. ”Don’t try to act like there’s anything ’prudent’ about what’s happening here,” he said, giving Tulori a pointed look. ”Much less anything ’admirable’ about it,” he added with an even sterner look at Serge.

”But it is prudent to get married before riding off to war, isn’t it?” Tulori protested, refusing to back down. ”Just like it’s wise to ensure that alliances withstand tragedies and plans are made for successions,” he said, sitting up straight in his saddle as he tried to think of a precedent he could quote or some lesson from one of his teachers that might be relevant to reference.

”Baron Iriso,” Reynold rumbled, nudging his horse along the trail and speaking over his shoulder. ”When Lord Tulori finally gets engaged, please help me remember to tell his betrothed about this conversation. I’m sure his future wife would like to hear how quickly he thinks a wife can be replaced when it serves his purposes.”

”Oh, what do you know about anything?” Tulori snapped petulantly. ”You’re not married, or even engaged. I’m sure that a proper lady would understand a lord’s obligations and his reasons for moving on quickly in the wake of such a tragedy. Lord Owain doesn’t even have an heir since Lady Ashlynn died before giving birth to...”

”Who said I’m not engaged?” Reynold said, reining in his horse as he finally turned to look directly at the smaller lord from Leufroy. ”What do you think my father wanted to speak to yours about so badly when we arrived in Lothian City? Your sister is of age, and my father is done waiting for me to find a bride,” he said bluntly.

”I would never in a hundred years wish to see Lady Adala come to harm,” the burly lord added. ”But, it’s good to know that my bride’s family won’t be bothered by it if I turn to a ’spare’ should anything happen to my betrothed. Maybe Lady Charlotte would make a good replacement,” he added, turning his stormy gaze on Lord Serge.

”She’d count herself lucky to take a dead woman’s place before the funeral pyres were even lit, wouldn’t she?” Reynold asked. ”She’d find that to be, what was the word you used? ’Admirable’ in a man, wasn’t it?”

”Hey now, don’t you go twisting things that shouldn’t be twisted,” Serge said, shaking an accusing finger at Lord Reynold so fiercely that he nearly toppled from his saddle.

Tulori Leufroy, however, had gone as pale as a bedsheet as he stared at the mountain of a man who had turned his horse to block the trail.

”You... you’re going to marry my sister?” Tulori said, his eyes wide in disbelief. ”Is this, is this some kind of joke?”

Behind him, Wes Iriso gave Erling Fayle a pointed look, but he didn’t need to say the words. If the Aleese Barony had decided to tie themselves to the Leufroys with a wedding to Lady Adala, then that was one less eligible noblewoman for consideration, and the odds that someone else might be making a move to secure a wedding with Lady Charlotte while they were out hunting were even greater.

After all, Lord Reynold’s father, Baron Tybal Aleese, had avoided the hunt, allowing him to make arrangements with the other barons who stayed behind in Lothian City. But who could make such arrangements on behalf of the youngest baron in Lothian March?