Bride of War: Battles of Eyenwar, Book 2

Prologue

The women sits in a rocking chair in front of the smoking remains of a fire. She doesn't move or speak, anger brewing underneath a calm exterior.

The rough surroundings are her first point of frustration. The cottage she has been banished to is nothing but one room of mud walls and a thatched roof. The bath is only a giant metal tub, which she must fill herself from a pump well fifteen feet from the building. Her arms have never needed to do such work in her whole life. She must cook for herself, and make her own money and clothes. So far the only dress she owns is the one she was wearing when she was ripped from the castle in Cantabrar and banished to this hole on the edge of a fishing village half the size of the castle she once lived in.

And to make matters worse, her father died in the battle that also killed her husband.

No, Jacqueline S'var was not happy. Her title and wealth had been ripped away in a single day, and not a soul had defended her. 

knock knock knock. Someone rapts at the door. Jacqueline contemplates ignoring it, assuming that it's nothing but a nosy neighbor wanting to know where the incompetent stranger came from. But the knocking resumes again, louder this time, more insistent. 

Sighing, she rises from her chair, not even bothering to smooth her hair or rub the dirt from her nose before pulling the thin, creaky door open. 

Instead of an arthritic village woman, as she was expecting, a tall imposing man dressed in fine clothes and sturdy boots stands in Jacqueline's door. His hair is combed back, and a silver earing in the Pyronoi style hangs from the left earlobe.  

"Lady S'var, might I Come in?" He requests in a respectful baritone.

The former Queen draws herself taller and steps aside, nodding her head graciously as if he entered a palace. 

She recognized him, he was her father's choice for the next general of the Skevetic forces. General S'var had sent the man to the military academy on Dymo, the second Pyronoi isle. 

"Returned just in time to discover we've lost a war, sir G'weal." She says spitefully.

He shakes his head, "We lost a battle, but I am not prepared to surrender to the usurper if you are not."

Sir G'weal is a handsome man, well into his early forties. A of charisma and dedication to tradition. Jacqueline wouldn't hesitated to align herself with him, if only she had some sort of assurances.

"Why would you need me? What is left of my family has shunned me in order to retain favor with the new King. I have no money, no power, and no connections."

The man shakes his head, "You may recall, my dear lady, that my mother was second cousin to your former husband, which gives me a legitimate claim to the throne. What better way to solidify that but with the former beautiful, beloved, native Queen on my arm? There are many of the nobility that have already expressed their support of such a plan."

Jacqueline leans closer to him, an opportunity to escape banishment would be a tantalizing prize in itself, but to be Queen again...

"What is your proposition?" She asks.

Sir G'weal smiles, and removes two engagement cuffs from his jacket. It is an old tradition, hardly ever used except for by the most religious of couples. 

"Lady Jacqueline S'var, will you marry me?"