Warrior Read Online Free

St. Ives—a future king! Fight
    it.” Her voice began to tremble and
    break so she halted and cleared her
    throat. “Do it for Father. Think of
    how proud he’d be. You saved me,
    protected me. Stephen, open your
    eyes.
    Focus
    on
    me.
    Stephen.
    Stephen!”
    Chapter 1

    Lytheria,
    Five years later…

    “You don’t think Father’s going
    to… die , do you, Jassy?”
    The ominous question came from
    one of the royals who sat upon the
    large, canopied bed at the center of
    the room. Mathilda St. Ives, the
    youngest of the Lytherian princesses,
    nicknamed the “Flower of the East”
    for her innocent, yet captivating
    beauty, stared up at her older sister
    with wide golden eyes. Zenoba,
    Queen of Lytheria, had died only a
    few years after Mathilda’s birth, so
    from the time she could speak, she
    had looked to Jaisyn as a maternal
    figure, despite Jaisyn being only five
    years her senior. She’d had the best
    governesses but still Mathilda came to
    Jaisyn, as did Isolde. The older by two
    years and by far the more dominant
    personality,
    Isolde
    sat
    next
    to
    Mathilda. Unlike her younger sister,
    she wasn’t as naïve or clinging. Of the
    siblings, Isolde favored their mother
    most. Her skin was a milky hue and
    instead of the golden hair and eyes
    common to most Lytherians, Isolde
    had loosely curled red hair that fell in
    waves down her back, and vivid green
    eyes flecked with a hint of gold.
    Although she had no nickname,
    Isolde’s beauty had lured many a
    prince to Lytheria, only to be turned
    away by Wilhelm, who refused to
    marry his daughters before he deemed
    them ready. Considering Jaisyn’s age
    of twenty-one, there were those who
    believed that day would never come.
    “Not for a long time, Matty,” Jaisyn
    replied, turning from the looking-glass
    to face Mathilda. As she stared at her
    sister’s concerned face, Jaisyn ran a
    wide-toothed, wooden comb through
    her hair. “Father is strong. He’ll stay
    with us as long as Lyria permits.”
    King Wilhelm was sick again. Two
    years ago, he’d caught a raging fever
    that had held him for months and
    since then, he’d had relapses. With
    each, he became weaker, but he
    fought it. Jaisyn knew this time was
    worse than the rest but wasn’t
    prepared to tell her sisters that. Death
    was nothing pleasant and knowing it
    would happen beforehand didn’t
    make it any easier. She knew that
    from experience. As her lids closed, a
    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