The Vampire & Her Witch-Chapter 730: The Discarded Heir

Outside of Bors Lothian’s chambers, Owain leaned against the smooth stone wall, resting one hand on the hilt of his sword while the other fidgeted with the heavy signet ring on his index finger. Years of wear had dulled the finish on the once lustrous gold ring, but the stone signet was still as crisp and sharp as the day he’d received it from his father more than ten years ago.

"One day, you’ll bear the Lothian Coat of arms as the next Marquis," his father said when he asked Owain to select his personal sigil. "But before you are a lord, you are a man and a knight. The sigil you select is the one you will be known by, whether you fight in tournaments or on the field of battle against demons."

"Even after you become Marquis Lothian," Bors said sagely. "It will still be the symbol you use when you speak with your own voice and not on behalf of your people. So, what have you chosen?"

"Something strong," Owain said, unrolling a sketch he’d commissioned from one of the best artists in Lothian City. "A sword before the claw marks of a bear."

"Why the claw marks?" Bors asked, frowning slightly at the unconventional design. "Why not the head of a bear?"

"Because no one fears the bite of a bear, or its roar," Owain answered. "The teeth look scary but they aren’t what the bear kills with. A roar is loud but so what? Old men are loud too and no one fears them. But just the sight of a bear’s claw marks on a tree or barn, anywhere really, is enough to remind people of the strength that can tear them limb from limb. When people see my sigil, I don’t want them thinking about the beast, I want them to think about what it can do."

"And the sword is your declaration that you aren’t a mere beast? Rather, you’re more dangerous than a mere beast because you have brought a sword to war." Bors said, nodding in approval as he came to understand his son’s choice. "I’ll have it carved, and present it to you after you stand your vigil. I’m proud of you, Owain," Bors said warmly, resting a calloused hand on his son’s shoulder. "I’m sure that the march will be in good hands when it’s your turn to sit upon the throne."

Now, just a little over ten years later, Owain stood outside his father’s chambers, clearly set aside as his father broke every promise he’d ever made in order to groom Loman as his heir. More and more, Owain was convinced that his father’s promise to wait until the year ended to make up his mind had been a hollow delaying tactic, forcing his son to exhaust his efforts preparing for war while Loman prepared to ascend the throne.

"You’re growing sloppy, old man," Owain said under his breath while he glared at the heavy, ironbound wooden door to his father’s chambers. If his father really wanted him to believe that he still had a chance at inheriting the throne, he should never have interfered with Owain’s men.

Sending them away, forcefully commanding his son’s closest vassals to escort the pair of guild masters on their insipid inspection of the lands near the Vale of Mists was a blatant attempt to deprive Owain of the support he relied on.

"The joke is on you, Father," Owain murmured, smiling as he imagined the look on his father’s face when he realized that Owain already had someone who could take over most of Hugo’s work.

While it was true that Jocelynn couldn’t handle some of the more... questionable assignments he’d given his Steward, she could still be useful for several of the mundane tasks that Owain was certain his father thought he’d be incapable of handling on his own. When Owain had complained to her about his father stripping him of the man who managed his accounts just when he was supposed to be ensuring the barons each brought their autumn tithes to Lothian City, Jocelynn had demonstrated an uncanny knack for managing figures and ledgers. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

"Father wanted me to marry into one of the guilds after all," Jocelynn said, as she pressed her lush body against his while explaining the notations in the family’s ledger. "Once you know what each of the symbols mean, the sums aren’t difficult to determine. You can leave this with me and focus on training the captains," she said with an encouraging smile. "They will never match your skill with a blade, but every hour of your teaching is a treasure that can’t be bought. You shouldn’t waste any of your time on things like this."

"You’ll have to visit the storehouses and the granaries," Owain pointed out. "Those places aren’t meant for a lady as refined and as beautiful as you are. And because of my father’s blatant favoritism, I can’t even send Sir Rain to escort you."

"So give me one of the captains," Jocelynn offered. "There are six of them. You can rotate one to me every day while you train the others. If you wish," she added in a quieter voice, stretching up on her tip toes to whisper into his ear. "You can even make them compete for the privilege."

"Why would I do that?" Owain said, scowling at the beautiful woman in his arms. "You belong to me. Why would I let them fight over you?"

"Because I belong to you," Jocelynn said with a coy look, teasing him as she ran her delicate fingers along the outside of his firm, muscular thigh. "But they don’t know that. So you can enjoy watching them fight to win the favor of Count Blackwell’s second daughter, drawing it out for weeks if you wish as you toy with them, until the day comes when you can claim me publicly. Wouldn’t that be delicious? And it would remove yet another burden from your shoulders until Sir Rain and Sir Hugo return."

Owain had to admit that Jocelynn understood him well. Once she explained herself, he couldn’t move quickly enough to issue his orders. After all, if she was going to give him the gift of watching fools fall all over themselves to win her favor only to pluck the tastiest fruit for himself in the end, how could he delay in accepting it?

Unfortunately, he couldn’t dwell forever in his fantasies of seeing men who thought themselves mighty realizing how wide the gap between them truly was, nor could he indulge in his more lecherous dreams of what he would do when he was finally able to unwrap the real treasure who’d gone unnoticed while he was forced to marry her demonic sister.

As much as he wanted to linger in those tantalizing visions, the moment the door to his father’s bed chambers opened, he was brought immediately back to a cold, uncomfortable reality.

"Hello, little brother," Owain said as he looked Loman’s figure up and down, taking in the rich forest green tunic with its silver embroidery and the half cape he wore atop it. "I see you’ve given up all pretenses of being a priest these days," Owain said disdainfully. "Since that’s the case, shouldn’t you be fetching someone from the temple to tend to Father if he isn’t well?"

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