Due to the closure of Noble Romance Publishing, this title is currently not available
On the planet Kanaan, Jiovahnie Dorrian, the Marques of Gryffin, walks a fine line between keeping his place in society amongst the Ruling Families, and his ancestral legacy of being a warlord. Though he'd rather stay camped in the Borderlands with his men, when his cousin, the Duque of Harkin is to be married, it’s the event of the season. One he can't miss. After all, the duque expects him to be the best man. But Vahn doesn't anticipate his best man duties to include fetching his cousin's bride when an enemy attempts to abduct her.
Lady Gwynevive Tyne isn't the wilting Miss society expects her to be. And when mercenaries attack her traveling party on the way to her intended husband's home, she does what any self-respecting girl should — tries to steal the enemy's ship to escape. But before she can get away with the reckless plan, a warrior turns up claiming to be sent by her fiancé. He dresses like a mercenary and his silvery, metal-gray eyes make her heart beat a little too fast.
For both Vahn and Gwyn, a forbidden attraction flames to life between them almost instantly. Both know there's no way they can be together. Yet neither of them can stay away from one another. An enemy is intent on preventing Gwyn's marriage, and at every turn, Vahn finds himself protecting Gwyn from danger. He needs to keep her safe and then hand her over to his cousin to wed. And when the time comes, they have to find some way to let each other go… Or risk starting a war that could tear apart the Ruling Families.
Lady Gwynevive Tyne isn't the wilting Miss society expects her to be. And when mercenaries attack her traveling party on the way to her intended husband's home, she does what any self-respecting girl should — tries to steal the enemy's ship to escape. But before she can get away with the reckless plan, a warrior turns up claiming to be sent by her fiancé. He dresses like a mercenary and his silvery, metal-gray eyes make her heart beat a little too fast.
For both Vahn and Gwyn, a forbidden attraction flames to life between them almost instantly. Both know there's no way they can be together. Yet neither of them can stay away from one another. An enemy is intent on preventing Gwyn's marriage, and at every turn, Vahn finds himself protecting Gwyn from danger. He needs to keep her safe and then hand her over to his cousin to wed. And when the time comes, they have to find some way to let each other go… Or risk starting a war that could tear apart the Ruling Families.
Excerpt
Chapter One
Kanaan, Harkin Province
"This is a wedding, not a siege. What's with all the weapons?" The security guard said and stepped in front of the main gates, blocking the path.
As if that'd stop me if I really wanted to get in .
Jiovahnie Dorrian, the Marques of Gryffin, paused and considered the adornments he'd strapped on this morning.
Thank shezus the security guy couldn't see the other half a dozen weapons hidden under his clothes. That would have made things interesting.
He held his hands out to the sides, away from his body. "This is my party gear. If I were going to a siege, I'd be carrying an rocket launcher on my shoulder."
The security guard's face washed out to the pale color of off-white sheets, and Vahn heard the familiar coughing laugh of his head Chevalier, Elizar D'acia, somewhere behind him.
A fiber of cynical amusement threaded through him, and he reached into his jacket. The guard fumbled over his rifle, bringing it up with a clumsy, jerky movement. Vahn stopped and caught the man's nervous gaze.
An instinctive, ruthless aggression slithered through him. He could take out the guard and solve this little issue in a flash. Long, hard years on the battlefield had made violence the easy answer to most problems. Coming to this wedding already had him on edge. He didn't need some hopped up sec-guy waving a rifle in his face and triggering him into bloodshed.
With exaggeratedly slow movements, he pulled out the thick, stiff piece of creamy card, embossed with the Duque of Harkin's crest, and held it out. Vahn's breath caught as the barrel of the rifle wavered when another security guard stepped forward and snatched the invitation. Who'd trained these guys, drunken apes?
Vahn cut an annoyed look over his shoulder at Elizar, who'd apparently had the good sense to hide his accessories. The guy looked positively harmless. Well, apart from the crooked, multi-broken nose, intimidating height, and death-glare permanently creased into the edges of his eyes.
"Lord Gryffin. I'm very sorry, my lord regent." The guard who'd taken the invitation snapped into a salute and then dropped into a rigid, low bow. Vahn rolled his eyes as the other sec-guy with the unsteady rifle dropped his weapon and took up a similar stance.
"Yeah, yeah." Vahn reached down and took the invitation back. "If you could just stand up and let us through, that'd be great."
The scramble to get the crystal pane door open might have been amusing some other time. Right now, it made him want to smash the two morons' skulls together. He could only pray, for the duque's sake, it'd knock some sense into them.
"My cousin obviously spends a lot of time training his security force." Vahn navigated the long, ornately decorated corridor into the main section of the duque's residence. They passed under floating chandeliers and went by priceless relics, dotted at intervals along the hall, and displayed with a near careless air—as if each one wasn't worth a small fortune.
"Your cousin isn't forced to hold his lands through warfare as you are." Elizar glanced at him, the gruesome knowledge of too many bloody battles conveyed in that flash of expression. The constant fight for survival made this political arena a trivial inconvenience, made the lords and ladies into petty children. Their problems were insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
The tinkling of light conversation and laughter cut off as he stepped into the large receiving room. Impeccably dressed men in expensive silk suits—all from fashionable tailors in the emperor's city of Leonidin—portrayed the very picture of nobility and looked like the fops they were. He mostly ignored the silent audience. Their discomfort was more than obvious when he passed by. The suffocating overkill of perfume wafted from the women. Priceless jewels glinted around necks, wrists, ankles, fingers. They'd put on baubles anywhere something could be dangled. How many of his villager's cottages could he fix if he nicked just a few of those gems? As if the spoiled bitches would even notice.
The bitches in question sent him sweet or demure smiles. Yet nothing could hide the glint of disgust and abhorrence in their gazes. Shezus, he wasn't the only warlord on Kanaan. But he was only one of a handful who also straddled a role of the Ruling Families, meaning he had obligations to them and Emperor Zhen.
He saw these people once a year at the Ruling Summit. This year, he'd been unlucky. His cousin, Dekel, the Duque of Harkin, just had to get married and invite every damned person of the slightest consequence to witness the event.
Most of these people lived a ridiculously pampered life, reaping the benefits of the lower classes who worked their lands for them. Their predilections to excess and abuse of power scraped his insides raw with disgust. Granted, he needed people to work his estate for him, but most profit he made went back to them. He didn't treat his people as slaves, leaving them with bare necessities and a pathetic living as many other lords did.
Vahn sighed as he reached the end of the corridor and punched his personal code into the small display by the door. While he waited for the security system to scan his hand, he glanced over his shoulder to where the occupants of the receiving room had resumed quiet conversations. Haydes forbid the warlord should overhear whatever they were saying.
He could have quite happily remained camped out in the Borderlands, waiting for that scum-mongrel, Vicounte Brien, to make his next move. Or stayed home and planned his own offensive against the braggart. But his mother would have never forgiven him for missing the "event of the decade."
"Event of the decade, my frosty ass." The door in front of him opened at last, allowing him and Elizar through into a deserted, more functional-looking hallway. The noise of the other guests faded as the door shut behind them and they walked deeper into the heart of the sprawling manor home. Never mind dumbass sec-guys and preening sissies, being shut in this maze of corridors like a tomb made a fine sheen of sweat creep across his lower back.
"You know it makes people nervous when you start muttering to yourself." Elizar clasped his hands behind his back and took up a more formal stance, acting as the other regents would expect of a head Chevalier. The show of deference seemed damn hilarious. Elizar was his equal, his closest friend. Their relationship had become something other lords wouldn't accept or understand.
"Knowing my luck, Brien will make a run on my lands while I'm wasting my time here at this joke of a wedding."
"Like I told you before, I heard in the arrivals port when we got here that Brien flew in yesterday."
Vahn shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't mean he can't send his men into action for him. When was the last time you actually saw Brien in the middle of a skirmish?"
The hall ended in a large arch, opening out into a spacious room where servants scurried back and forth in a stream of methodical chaos. He threaded his way through the activity and then pushed through the set of double doors leading to Dekel's private suit at the back of the room.
A handful of servants discreetly went about tasks while Dekel stood by a set of large bay windows. He was talking into a comm-unit attached to his ear and reading something from a data pad at the same time, not sparing a glance for the picture-perfect landscape beyond the glass pane.
Dekel saw them and waved, so Vahn walked over to the sideboard set with numerous crystal-cut bottles. He picked up a familiar one and glanced at the label. Tarasov vodka. Now he remembered why he'd dragged his ass all the way here. He poured himself a generous amount and then dropped into one of the fancy armchairs. As he plonked his boots onto the shiny coffee table, Elizar stood at attention just behind him, every inch an imposing chevalier.
Vahn had gotten about three sips into the vodka when Dekel disconnected his call and tossed the data pad carelessly onto his desk.
"Nice to see you dressed for the occasion." Dekel picked out a bottle of amber liquid. Tyonna whiskey, no doubt. He sloshed some into a tumbler and then came over to sit in the opposite chair.
"Don't worry." Vahn laughed at his cousin's skeptical expression. "Seriously, I'll suit up for the actual ceremony. Though, it's hard to conceal any type of weapon in that kind of getup."
Tension lines bracketed Dekel's mouth. "Hilarious. But I know even you're not gauche enough to bring weapons to my wedding."
Vahn took another sip of vodka to cover his grin. Like Haydes, he wouldn't bring any weapons. These days he was so frigging packed, he took a knife with him into the shower. That one time some idiot mercenary had tried to take him out in the bathroom had really stuck with him. It just seemed so wrong to kill a man when he was naked.
"So where is the bride-to-be? Don't you think I should meet my future cousin-by-marriage before the happy event?"
Dekel's smile turned brittle. "She hasn't arrived yet. She's traveling over land, through Counte Krysztof's holdings. And since I am yet to meet her myself, no, I don't think I need your approval before the union."
Vahn choked on his mouthful of vodka as a surprise strangled the breath right out of him. Shezus. "You haven't met the woman you're going to be chained to for the rest of your life? What if she's a gorgon?"
Getting married would be horrible enough, let alone to someone he'd never met before. How could Dekel want to go through with it?
"I've seen pictures, her looks are passable. Besides, I'm more interested in the dowry and lands she will bring to my holdings. Her father is Marques Nicholai, and he has given me the four hundred thousand hectons on my western border."
Vahn took a considering mouthful of vodka. No wonder Dekel had agreed to the match, this arrangement would make him the third biggest landholder on Kanaan.
Dekel's comms trilled, and he set down the whiskey to touch the connect button.
Vahn looked back at Elizar, but the chevalier had his eyes trained straight ahead and was doing a sterling performance of pretending he wasn't in the room.
Dekel swore and shot up from the chair, pacing away in long, angry strides. Vahn abandoned his drink and stood. His cousin's demeanor had "trouble" written all over it. Someone probably ordered the wrong champagne. What a tragedy.
With another string of inventive swearing, Dekel ripped the comms from his ear and threw it. The small device clipped a bookcase and hit the wall, smashing into a handful of pieces. It'd barely fallen to the floor before one of the servants scampered over to clean it up.
Vahn crossed his arms in detached interest. "Well, I can see you've got things to deal with, so I'll go find my rooms and then maybe head to a bar down in the municipality."
Dekel held one hand up, clearly trying to get his temper under control. It reminded Vahn of when they were kids. Dekel used to screw his face up and stamp his feet until one of his nannies gave him whatever he wanted. Some things never changed.
The duque took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. "That was one of my chevaliers. The soldiers escorting my bride have been attacked."
Vahn's insides iced over. This part of Kanaan had been peaceful for eons. An unprovoked attack like this was unheard of, the consequences near incompressible.
"By whom?"
Dekel shoved a shaking hand through his hair. "They wore the colors of Counte Warwyck. He owns a small slice of land to the west. Those lands also border the parcel Nicholai agreed to grant me in the marriage contract. I knew Warwyck was angry about the arrangement, and I heard that he wanted the land for himself. But I didn't think he'd do something like this."
With the ease of habitual strategic planning, Vahn's mind shifted lightning fast over the possible outcomes of this scenario. "It does seem like a pretty idiotic move. He'd have to realize his actions would more than likely result in war with both you and Nicholai."
"Yes, but is it within my rights to retaliate, or do I leave it for Nicholai to deal with?"
Frustration burned up the small spark of sympathy he'd felt for Dekel's situation. Vahn had grown up nourished on conflict and educated by violence. The fact that Dekel didn't even know what to do pissed him off. In his opinion, it was long past time his cousin learned some facts of life. On his own.
"Well, good luck with that. I'm off to find some bar wenches to keep me entertained. Let me know if the wedding is still on, and I'll make sure I'm on time. And yes, wearing a suit." He signaled to Elizar, who put an end to the statue imitation and made his way toward the door.
"Wait!"
Vahn paused by a sculpture of two naked women embracing and turned to look at his cousin.
"You have experience with this sort of thing."
Vahn grinned. Now that was frigging hilarious. "This sort of thing?"
Dekel's chin tilted up until his expression bordered on condescending. "You expect me to explain your own choice of lifestyle to you?"
Vahn laughed and crossed his arms, widening his feet into a more relaxed position. If he hadn't decided to see the funny side, he would have had to smash Dekel one in the face for that comment. Choice? What choice?
"I wouldn't dream of making you over-exert yourself. So, what's your point?"
Tension lines created deep fissures in Dekel's forehead. "I want you to take care of this for me. Discreetly."
A bitter shot of suspicion and skepticism hit him like a dose of astringent black coffee. Shezus, did he really trust people so little now that he'd immediately suspect foul in his cousin's request for help?
Dekel had never done anything that would constitute a betrayal. But the almost-patronizing look his cousin had bestowed upon him a moment ago said it all. Over the years, the duque had immersed himself into Leonidin society, and his attitude had become more conceited, while his head disappeared farther up his ass. Did his cousin really think he went to battle and risked his life for the sheer fun of it?
"Take care of how? You want me to kill Warwyck's men? Make a run on his border?" He moved back toward the middle of the room and braced a boot against a low, black lacquered coffee table. "Hey, maybe if I'm successful enough you could just take his lands from him. Then you won't need to get married to increase your holdings. How much land has Warwyck got these days, thirty thousand hectons?"
"This is no time for jesting, Jiovahnie. I'm being serious."
Vahn clenched his fist over the use of Jiovahnie. He hated his full name and Dekel frigging knew it. And who said he hadn't been serious? "Fine, my lord regent, what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to go and retrieve my bride." Dekel's frown indicated the answer should have been obvious, even to a scum-brained barbarian.
Vahn straightened, dropping his boot from the table. "You got it, one bride coming up. Though, I take no responsibility for whatever condition she might be in by the time she gets here."
"If her dress is so much as torn, if she has one speck of dirt on her, Warwyck will pay." Though the words sounded tough, Dekel's unsure expression didn't back them up. The duque could talk tough, but Vahn doubted his cousin would ever follow through with decisive action.
"And I'm sure you'll have me take retribution on your behalf. Wouldn't want that shiny reputation stained, now, would we?" Vahn motioned to Elizar. "I'll be back before it gets dark."
Elizar fell into step beside him as they left Dekel to his brooding and took a back stairwell down to the duque's private garage. "Why did you agree to do this? It's not your problem. Dekel could have easily sent his own men."
"He's family; that makes it my fight. Besides, when have I ever backed down from the prospect of a good scrap?"
"You're missing a few synapses, you know that?" Elizar shook his head with familiar exasperation.
"And if I'd decided not to go, you would have been nagging me like my grandmother, wanting to know why. True?"
They reached the access hatch to the garage. The door opened with a silent, automatic slide. Inside, an array of vehicles sat in quiet, shiny splendor.
"Will we take one of the Airzips?" Elizar pointed to the two different models, one an expensive, stately looking contraption that probably wouldn't go over a hundred revs and the other a classic sports model like the ones air-racers used. But beyond them, way down the back, looking too clean and sparkling to have ever seen the outside, were a couple of atmo-shredders. The small fighter ships were light and packed some serious heat. He owned some older models, but they didn't hold a bar to these babies. Typical of his cousin, they were the latest and greatest model available.
"I think it's about time someone broke-in Dekel's toys." He elbowed Elizar to gain his attention and then pointed toward the back of the garage.
Elizar whistled low as they passed the other vehicles and came to a stop in front of the ship. "Why has your cousin got atmo-shredders when he's never fought a day for anything in his life?"
He shrugged and climbed up onto the wing. "Why does my cousin have enough craft for a small armada? Who knows? At least in this thing, we'll be there and back in no time. Warwyck's men don't stand a chance."
Chapter One
Kanaan, Harkin Province
"This is a wedding, not a siege. What's with all the weapons?" The security guard said and stepped in front of the main gates, blocking the path.
As if that'd stop me if I really wanted to get in .
Jiovahnie Dorrian, the Marques of Gryffin, paused and considered the adornments he'd strapped on this morning.
Thank shezus the security guy couldn't see the other half a dozen weapons hidden under his clothes. That would have made things interesting.
He held his hands out to the sides, away from his body. "This is my party gear. If I were going to a siege, I'd be carrying an rocket launcher on my shoulder."
The security guard's face washed out to the pale color of off-white sheets, and Vahn heard the familiar coughing laugh of his head Chevalier, Elizar D'acia, somewhere behind him.
A fiber of cynical amusement threaded through him, and he reached into his jacket. The guard fumbled over his rifle, bringing it up with a clumsy, jerky movement. Vahn stopped and caught the man's nervous gaze.
An instinctive, ruthless aggression slithered through him. He could take out the guard and solve this little issue in a flash. Long, hard years on the battlefield had made violence the easy answer to most problems. Coming to this wedding already had him on edge. He didn't need some hopped up sec-guy waving a rifle in his face and triggering him into bloodshed.
With exaggeratedly slow movements, he pulled out the thick, stiff piece of creamy card, embossed with the Duque of Harkin's crest, and held it out. Vahn's breath caught as the barrel of the rifle wavered when another security guard stepped forward and snatched the invitation. Who'd trained these guys, drunken apes?
Vahn cut an annoyed look over his shoulder at Elizar, who'd apparently had the good sense to hide his accessories. The guy looked positively harmless. Well, apart from the crooked, multi-broken nose, intimidating height, and death-glare permanently creased into the edges of his eyes.
"Lord Gryffin. I'm very sorry, my lord regent." The guard who'd taken the invitation snapped into a salute and then dropped into a rigid, low bow. Vahn rolled his eyes as the other sec-guy with the unsteady rifle dropped his weapon and took up a similar stance.
"Yeah, yeah." Vahn reached down and took the invitation back. "If you could just stand up and let us through, that'd be great."
The scramble to get the crystal pane door open might have been amusing some other time. Right now, it made him want to smash the two morons' skulls together. He could only pray, for the duque's sake, it'd knock some sense into them.
"My cousin obviously spends a lot of time training his security force." Vahn navigated the long, ornately decorated corridor into the main section of the duque's residence. They passed under floating chandeliers and went by priceless relics, dotted at intervals along the hall, and displayed with a near careless air—as if each one wasn't worth a small fortune.
"Your cousin isn't forced to hold his lands through warfare as you are." Elizar glanced at him, the gruesome knowledge of too many bloody battles conveyed in that flash of expression. The constant fight for survival made this political arena a trivial inconvenience, made the lords and ladies into petty children. Their problems were insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
The tinkling of light conversation and laughter cut off as he stepped into the large receiving room. Impeccably dressed men in expensive silk suits—all from fashionable tailors in the emperor's city of Leonidin—portrayed the very picture of nobility and looked like the fops they were. He mostly ignored the silent audience. Their discomfort was more than obvious when he passed by. The suffocating overkill of perfume wafted from the women. Priceless jewels glinted around necks, wrists, ankles, fingers. They'd put on baubles anywhere something could be dangled. How many of his villager's cottages could he fix if he nicked just a few of those gems? As if the spoiled bitches would even notice.
The bitches in question sent him sweet or demure smiles. Yet nothing could hide the glint of disgust and abhorrence in their gazes. Shezus, he wasn't the only warlord on Kanaan. But he was only one of a handful who also straddled a role of the Ruling Families, meaning he had obligations to them and Emperor Zhen.
He saw these people once a year at the Ruling Summit. This year, he'd been unlucky. His cousin, Dekel, the Duque of Harkin, just had to get married and invite every damned person of the slightest consequence to witness the event.
Most of these people lived a ridiculously pampered life, reaping the benefits of the lower classes who worked their lands for them. Their predilections to excess and abuse of power scraped his insides raw with disgust. Granted, he needed people to work his estate for him, but most profit he made went back to them. He didn't treat his people as slaves, leaving them with bare necessities and a pathetic living as many other lords did.
Vahn sighed as he reached the end of the corridor and punched his personal code into the small display by the door. While he waited for the security system to scan his hand, he glanced over his shoulder to where the occupants of the receiving room had resumed quiet conversations. Haydes forbid the warlord should overhear whatever they were saying.
He could have quite happily remained camped out in the Borderlands, waiting for that scum-mongrel, Vicounte Brien, to make his next move. Or stayed home and planned his own offensive against the braggart. But his mother would have never forgiven him for missing the "event of the decade."
"Event of the decade, my frosty ass." The door in front of him opened at last, allowing him and Elizar through into a deserted, more functional-looking hallway. The noise of the other guests faded as the door shut behind them and they walked deeper into the heart of the sprawling manor home. Never mind dumbass sec-guys and preening sissies, being shut in this maze of corridors like a tomb made a fine sheen of sweat creep across his lower back.
"You know it makes people nervous when you start muttering to yourself." Elizar clasped his hands behind his back and took up a more formal stance, acting as the other regents would expect of a head Chevalier. The show of deference seemed damn hilarious. Elizar was his equal, his closest friend. Their relationship had become something other lords wouldn't accept or understand.
"Knowing my luck, Brien will make a run on my lands while I'm wasting my time here at this joke of a wedding."
"Like I told you before, I heard in the arrivals port when we got here that Brien flew in yesterday."
Vahn shrugged one shoulder. "Doesn't mean he can't send his men into action for him. When was the last time you actually saw Brien in the middle of a skirmish?"
The hall ended in a large arch, opening out into a spacious room where servants scurried back and forth in a stream of methodical chaos. He threaded his way through the activity and then pushed through the set of double doors leading to Dekel's private suit at the back of the room.
A handful of servants discreetly went about tasks while Dekel stood by a set of large bay windows. He was talking into a comm-unit attached to his ear and reading something from a data pad at the same time, not sparing a glance for the picture-perfect landscape beyond the glass pane.
Dekel saw them and waved, so Vahn walked over to the sideboard set with numerous crystal-cut bottles. He picked up a familiar one and glanced at the label. Tarasov vodka. Now he remembered why he'd dragged his ass all the way here. He poured himself a generous amount and then dropped into one of the fancy armchairs. As he plonked his boots onto the shiny coffee table, Elizar stood at attention just behind him, every inch an imposing chevalier.
Vahn had gotten about three sips into the vodka when Dekel disconnected his call and tossed the data pad carelessly onto his desk.
"Nice to see you dressed for the occasion." Dekel picked out a bottle of amber liquid. Tyonna whiskey, no doubt. He sloshed some into a tumbler and then came over to sit in the opposite chair.
"Don't worry." Vahn laughed at his cousin's skeptical expression. "Seriously, I'll suit up for the actual ceremony. Though, it's hard to conceal any type of weapon in that kind of getup."
Tension lines bracketed Dekel's mouth. "Hilarious. But I know even you're not gauche enough to bring weapons to my wedding."
Vahn took another sip of vodka to cover his grin. Like Haydes, he wouldn't bring any weapons. These days he was so frigging packed, he took a knife with him into the shower. That one time some idiot mercenary had tried to take him out in the bathroom had really stuck with him. It just seemed so wrong to kill a man when he was naked.
"So where is the bride-to-be? Don't you think I should meet my future cousin-by-marriage before the happy event?"
Dekel's smile turned brittle. "She hasn't arrived yet. She's traveling over land, through Counte Krysztof's holdings. And since I am yet to meet her myself, no, I don't think I need your approval before the union."
Vahn choked on his mouthful of vodka as a surprise strangled the breath right out of him. Shezus. "You haven't met the woman you're going to be chained to for the rest of your life? What if she's a gorgon?"
Getting married would be horrible enough, let alone to someone he'd never met before. How could Dekel want to go through with it?
"I've seen pictures, her looks are passable. Besides, I'm more interested in the dowry and lands she will bring to my holdings. Her father is Marques Nicholai, and he has given me the four hundred thousand hectons on my western border."
Vahn took a considering mouthful of vodka. No wonder Dekel had agreed to the match, this arrangement would make him the third biggest landholder on Kanaan.
Dekel's comms trilled, and he set down the whiskey to touch the connect button.
Vahn looked back at Elizar, but the chevalier had his eyes trained straight ahead and was doing a sterling performance of pretending he wasn't in the room.
Dekel swore and shot up from the chair, pacing away in long, angry strides. Vahn abandoned his drink and stood. His cousin's demeanor had "trouble" written all over it. Someone probably ordered the wrong champagne. What a tragedy.
With another string of inventive swearing, Dekel ripped the comms from his ear and threw it. The small device clipped a bookcase and hit the wall, smashing into a handful of pieces. It'd barely fallen to the floor before one of the servants scampered over to clean it up.
Vahn crossed his arms in detached interest. "Well, I can see you've got things to deal with, so I'll go find my rooms and then maybe head to a bar down in the municipality."
Dekel held one hand up, clearly trying to get his temper under control. It reminded Vahn of when they were kids. Dekel used to screw his face up and stamp his feet until one of his nannies gave him whatever he wanted. Some things never changed.
The duque took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. "That was one of my chevaliers. The soldiers escorting my bride have been attacked."
Vahn's insides iced over. This part of Kanaan had been peaceful for eons. An unprovoked attack like this was unheard of, the consequences near incompressible.
"By whom?"
Dekel shoved a shaking hand through his hair. "They wore the colors of Counte Warwyck. He owns a small slice of land to the west. Those lands also border the parcel Nicholai agreed to grant me in the marriage contract. I knew Warwyck was angry about the arrangement, and I heard that he wanted the land for himself. But I didn't think he'd do something like this."
With the ease of habitual strategic planning, Vahn's mind shifted lightning fast over the possible outcomes of this scenario. "It does seem like a pretty idiotic move. He'd have to realize his actions would more than likely result in war with both you and Nicholai."
"Yes, but is it within my rights to retaliate, or do I leave it for Nicholai to deal with?"
Frustration burned up the small spark of sympathy he'd felt for Dekel's situation. Vahn had grown up nourished on conflict and educated by violence. The fact that Dekel didn't even know what to do pissed him off. In his opinion, it was long past time his cousin learned some facts of life. On his own.
"Well, good luck with that. I'm off to find some bar wenches to keep me entertained. Let me know if the wedding is still on, and I'll make sure I'm on time. And yes, wearing a suit." He signaled to Elizar, who put an end to the statue imitation and made his way toward the door.
"Wait!"
Vahn paused by a sculpture of two naked women embracing and turned to look at his cousin.
"You have experience with this sort of thing."
Vahn grinned. Now that was frigging hilarious. "This sort of thing?"
Dekel's chin tilted up until his expression bordered on condescending. "You expect me to explain your own choice of lifestyle to you?"
Vahn laughed and crossed his arms, widening his feet into a more relaxed position. If he hadn't decided to see the funny side, he would have had to smash Dekel one in the face for that comment. Choice? What choice?
"I wouldn't dream of making you over-exert yourself. So, what's your point?"
Tension lines created deep fissures in Dekel's forehead. "I want you to take care of this for me. Discreetly."
A bitter shot of suspicion and skepticism hit him like a dose of astringent black coffee. Shezus, did he really trust people so little now that he'd immediately suspect foul in his cousin's request for help?
Dekel had never done anything that would constitute a betrayal. But the almost-patronizing look his cousin had bestowed upon him a moment ago said it all. Over the years, the duque had immersed himself into Leonidin society, and his attitude had become more conceited, while his head disappeared farther up his ass. Did his cousin really think he went to battle and risked his life for the sheer fun of it?
"Take care of how? You want me to kill Warwyck's men? Make a run on his border?" He moved back toward the middle of the room and braced a boot against a low, black lacquered coffee table. "Hey, maybe if I'm successful enough you could just take his lands from him. Then you won't need to get married to increase your holdings. How much land has Warwyck got these days, thirty thousand hectons?"
"This is no time for jesting, Jiovahnie. I'm being serious."
Vahn clenched his fist over the use of Jiovahnie. He hated his full name and Dekel frigging knew it. And who said he hadn't been serious? "Fine, my lord regent, what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to go and retrieve my bride." Dekel's frown indicated the answer should have been obvious, even to a scum-brained barbarian.
Vahn straightened, dropping his boot from the table. "You got it, one bride coming up. Though, I take no responsibility for whatever condition she might be in by the time she gets here."
"If her dress is so much as torn, if she has one speck of dirt on her, Warwyck will pay." Though the words sounded tough, Dekel's unsure expression didn't back them up. The duque could talk tough, but Vahn doubted his cousin would ever follow through with decisive action.
"And I'm sure you'll have me take retribution on your behalf. Wouldn't want that shiny reputation stained, now, would we?" Vahn motioned to Elizar. "I'll be back before it gets dark."
Elizar fell into step beside him as they left Dekel to his brooding and took a back stairwell down to the duque's private garage. "Why did you agree to do this? It's not your problem. Dekel could have easily sent his own men."
"He's family; that makes it my fight. Besides, when have I ever backed down from the prospect of a good scrap?"
"You're missing a few synapses, you know that?" Elizar shook his head with familiar exasperation.
"And if I'd decided not to go, you would have been nagging me like my grandmother, wanting to know why. True?"
They reached the access hatch to the garage. The door opened with a silent, automatic slide. Inside, an array of vehicles sat in quiet, shiny splendor.
"Will we take one of the Airzips?" Elizar pointed to the two different models, one an expensive, stately looking contraption that probably wouldn't go over a hundred revs and the other a classic sports model like the ones air-racers used. But beyond them, way down the back, looking too clean and sparkling to have ever seen the outside, were a couple of atmo-shredders. The small fighter ships were light and packed some serious heat. He owned some older models, but they didn't hold a bar to these babies. Typical of his cousin, they were the latest and greatest model available.
"I think it's about time someone broke-in Dekel's toys." He elbowed Elizar to gain his attention and then pointed toward the back of the garage.
Elizar whistled low as they passed the other vehicles and came to a stop in front of the ship. "Why has your cousin got atmo-shredders when he's never fought a day for anything in his life?"
He shrugged and climbed up onto the wing. "Why does my cousin have enough craft for a small armada? Who knows? At least in this thing, we'll be there and back in no time. Warwyck's men don't stand a chance."
