The Vampire & Her Witch

”Who would dare to refuse an invitation from their Marquis?”

Owain said it lightly, as though it was only a natural thing, but all three women in the small dining room shivered as they heard the slight edge buried in his words. Mary and Anne had both served the Blackwells for most of their lives, and they’d encountered more than one knight or lord who said similar things when they wanted to invite a pretty serving woman back to their chambers at the end of the night.

For Jocelynn, the statement was even heavier, reminding her of just how ruthless Owain could be when asserting his dominance or control over others. Before Bors died, Owain had already been one of the greatest swordsmen of the current generation and the Lothian heir as well. There were very few people he couldn’t have his way with, either through physical intimidation and battery or through the pressure exuded by his position.

Now that he was about to become the Lothian Marquis, his words would soon become law in Lothian March, and even fewer people would be able to stand against him.

”That’s very thoughtful of you, my lord,” Jocelynn said, accepting his statement for what it was. Someone was sending her a message with tonight’s meal, and whether it was the cook or this mysterious merchant who owned the Gilded Horn, so long as she was able to secure a meeting with them, it would be fine, even if Owain had to use threats to make it happen.

Of course, the second part of securing that meeting would be finding a way to ensure that Owain didn’t join her while she met with the messenger, but she couldn’t cross that bridge until she reached it.

”I only wish to see you well,” Owain said, reaching out to gently clasp her hand. The firelight played across his features, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the warmth in his eyes that didn’t quite reach the calculation behind them. ”These have been dark days for both of us. My father’s death, your sister’s loss in that terrible demon attack, and now your cousin Eleanor...”

”I know the memorial arrangements must be weighing heavily on you,” he continued, accepting a goblet of wine from Mary with a perfunctory nod. ”When is the service to be held? I want to ensure I can attend, to pay my respects to your sister and to support you during such a difficult time,” he said, carefully avoiding using Ashlynn’s name, as if he couldn’t bear to speak of the woman he’d married in familiar terms.

She was ’Jocelynn’s sister’, not ’my late wife,’ and the distinction wasn’t lost on anyone present in the room.

Jocelynn watched Anne ladle the delicate carrot and leek soup into her bowl, the steam rising gently in the firelight. Jocelynn kept her expression carefully neutral, seeming to pay more attention to the soup than to Owain’s question, but her mind raced through the different ways she could respond to it.

She didn’t want him there. The thought was fierce and immediate. This memorial was her chance to finally say goodbye to Ashlynn properly, to mourn her sister honestly without the performance and lies that had consumed the past months. The people who would attend, the Blackwell servants who had loved Ashlynn since childhood, the knights who had served her family, Jocelynn herself, they deserved to grieve without the presence of Ashlynn’s murderer standing among them, pretending sorrow he didn’t feel.

But she couldn’t say that. She had to find another way.

”The memorial is to be held in two days’ time,” Jocelynn said carefully, her voice soft and measured. ”At the temple, in the morning. High Priest Aubin has been extraordinarily kind in making the arrangements.”

The timing wasn’t an accident, and without the help of Captain Albyn, she’d never have managed to time things so well. Thankfully, the former sailor had managed to win a certain amount of Owain’s favor by bringing the future Marquis word of Jocelynn’s capture at the hands of the Inquisition, and ever since then, he’d been privy to more of Owain’s plans.

”In two days’ time?” Owain said, frowning slightly and glaring at the serving women who seemed to be moving insufferably slowly as they arranged the rest of the meal on his and Jocelynn’s plates, lingering even when they knew full well that he wanted them to withdraw so he could be alone with Jocelynn. ”And in the morning, you said? Why not at sunset? Isn’t that more appropriate for the Church to send her off to the Heavenly Shores?”

It was a thin excuse, and Owain knew it, but it was easier than admitting that he already had plans that would require his attention that morning. The barons of the march had already begun to arrive, and in two days’ time, he would be leading those barons or their heirs on a hunt for the coronation feast. Owain was intent on having the head of a stag to display, befitting his rise to the throne. He’d be leaving with the barons at first light and might not return until very late in the day.

Jocelynn knew this, and she’d already given Albyn her blessing to accept Owain’s invitation to join the hunt. She hated losing his protection and the comfort that came from his presence, but the conversations he might overhear while spending the day hunting with the lords of the Lothian Court were far too valuable to Jocelynn as she tried to navigate the treacherous waters surrounding Owain to pass up this opportunity.

Besides, she intended to spend most of the day at the temple, and High Priest Aubin’s protection was one of the few things that might be better at keeping her safe than Albyn’s sword. After all, few people would dare to challenge the High Priest in his own temple. But even Aubin had his limits, and if Ashlynn’s widower came to attend her memorial, there was nothing the priest could do to bar him from the ceremony, particularly when that widower was about to become the Marquis of Lothian March.

”I know it’s tradition here to hold funerals at sunset,” Jocelynn said, choosing her words carefully. ”But in Blackwell, journeys begin near dawn with the morning tide. You know my sister was an early riser,” she said, retrieving a small handkerchief to blot tears from her eyes as she remembered sneaking out with her sister to watch the sun come up from the cliffs above the harbor as ships prepared to set sail.

”This is the best way to see her off,” Jocelynn said as she composed herself. ”And High Priest Aubin has given us the use of the Chapel of the Rising Sun for Ashlynn’s service,” she explained.

”I see,” Owain said, drumming his fingers on the table in irritation and glowering at Mary and Anne. He could move the time of the hunt, but not without suffering a bit of embarrassment from it. At best, he would appear careless to have forgotten about his late wife’s memorial. At worst, people would begin to say that the new Marquis took his orders from the new Marchioness, changing his plans because she’d made other arrangements, and that was something he couldn’t tolerate.

But the alternative was to appear callous to his late wife’s passing. By skipping her memorial to focus on the hunt, he would send a message that preparations for his coronation were more important than honoring the first woman he’d married.

Jocelynn should have known better than to put him in this kind of a situation, he thought as the sound of his fingers drumming on the table grew louder. But she’d been too caught up in her own suffering and grief after Percivus killed her cousin to remember to maintain appearances while they concluded the charade that Ashlynn had only died recently. It was careless, but now he would have to accept the consequences of it, for better or for worse.

”I wish you’d consulted me before selecting a time,” Owain said with a heavy sigh of relief as Anne and Mary finally withdrew from the dining room, allowing him to speak more openly at last. ”I have other matters to attend to that morning, and I won’t return until late in the day,” he confessed, making it sound like he was bearing a great burden.

”I know that the arrival of the barons will place many demands on your time, my lord,” Jocelynn said, doing her best to keep her voice as soft and sweet as it had been before she came to understand Owain and his cruelty. ”I’m sure the people will understand, and they’ll respect you for looking forward to the future of the march instead of shutting yourself away and nursing wounds of the heart,” she said, as though skipping his late wife’s memorial was somehow an act of courage.

”True,” Owain said, relaxing as it seemed like Jocelynn was finally able to drop her mask of performative grief now that the servants were finally gone. ”Speaking of the future, there is another matter I should mention so that you can make appropriate arrangements...”