Black Moon Draw(30)

But a battle-witch with no temperament for war, who sobbed uncontrollably after winning a battle? It was unheard of. Every witch preceding this one had been bloodthirsty and cold, the way he was.

Denial was a huge factor, he suspected. It was not unusual for warriors to go through such a stage. Clearly not of this kingdom, she was refusing to accept where she was, which left him wary for two reasons. If she was not of this world, as she admitted, then from whence did she come? Was she going to disappear before the end of the era the way she appeared?

“M’lord.”

And then there’s that. He stiffened and turned. Beautiful, regal, and the sister of an ally he needed, his betrothed was everything a Knight wanted in a queen. She wore green, his favorite color, and stood a short distance from him, head bowed in respect.

She was trailed by her sister, a woman who trained with the warriors and secretly fought alongside them.

“I wish to congratulate you on your victory,” his betrothed said, lowering the hood of her cloak.

He stepped aside to let her into the tent. “The battlefield is no place for you, princess,” he reminded her.

“My sister fights with your men and you are my future. Where else should I be?” she countered gracefully.

He knew the words were for anyone who might overhear them, just as he knew he was unable to complete their bonding rite. The night he tried, she had broken down in tears and admitted a truth not even her brother knew.

She was already secretly bonded to another man, one who was imprisoned by her brother, the Red Knight. A secret bonding such as this carried the penalty of certain death, a fate her brother would not hesitate to carry out.

Despite his fury at being tricked, the Shadow Knight had kept her secret for a year, protecting her and the man she loved, only because he needed her brother as an ally.

Now that he knew her brother was dealing directly with Brown Sun Lake, he began to think his mercy had reached its limits.

“Has your latest victory convinced you to reconsider returning me, m’lord?” she asked quietly enough for the battle-witch and her sister not to hear.

“Not yet.”

“I have followed you for a year.” She appeared hopeful. “Is that not enough to assure you of my family’s loyalty?”

If not for the curse . . . In truth he had been looking for an excuse to send her away without offending her brother. He was powerful enough that he did not need to explain his motivation to anyone.

But short on time, he was counting on good will with her brother to grant him a quick victory over White Tree Sound, one of the three remaining kingdoms he had not yet subdued. Of all his enemies, the peace loving Red Knight was the most likely to fold to reason or, barring reason, would surrender if his sisters’ lives were threatened.

“It is,” he allowed. “Upon the dawn of the new era, you will be free.”

She smiled, relieved, and sat without invitation. He had found her a good listener during their year together, her womanly touch at camp among the warriors reminding the army why they fought so hard. “I am pleased you have a new battle-witch.”

“A battle-witch is sacred. I cannot take her as queen,” he said curtly.

“As queen?” She appeared confused. “Certainly not. You will retire her rather than continue this needless war after Brown Sun Lake falls to you, and return to your home.”

He said nothing, registering what he had said. He had admired the battle-witch’s looks and spirit without giving any real thought to what happened to her once the war was over. That some small part of him entertained the unattainable desire of her becoming a warrior queen, like the great warrior queen who began the curse, struck him with some unease. From whence had those words come and more importantly – why had he voiced them?

Ever since discovering the battle-witch, his thoughts had begun straying from his focus on his next battle, at least with regards to her.

“I jest,” he replied.

His betrothed continued to frown. “‘Tis a jest in poor taste, m’lord. She is a sacred symbol to every warrior out there, one that need be respected, her skin forever protected from the touch of a man. My sister would gladly share your bed, m’lord, if you need the company of a woman.”

“I am aware,” he growled. Normally, he welcomed the idea of a woman who wanted into his bed after a battle, when his blood still pumped with victory and pride.

Yet he had been careful not to seek comfort in the arms of the Red Knight’s sisters, not when he needed them for a different reason.

“We ride early for Brown Sun Lake,” he said. “You need your rest.”

Understanding the dismissal, she rose without another word, curtseyed and left.

The Shadow Knight watched her go, resentful and frustrated. She represented a battle he had not yet won with a man who might have betrayed him. For now, his men regarded her as a symbol of hope and a peaceful future, and she was useful to him in that role.

Unlike the inconsistent battle-witch, who was a symbol of war, a great curse, victory, – and the past. The two were opposites in nearly every way and alike in one: the beautiful women were keys to his submission of the entire realm, each in her own different way.

Mind on the battle-witch, he left the tent for the cool night. Her squire was bent over a scroll in the firelight, carefully recording the events of the day’s battle. Wise behind his years, the squire had been taught at a young age how to read and write and remained one of the only three people in the Shadow Knight’s army who held that skill.