The Foreign Wife

Prologue

The music pounded in her ears as the room suddenly began to spin. LeeAnn Young shot out a hand and managed to grab the bar table to steady herself.

“Woah,” she said.

“Are you okay?” Her co-worker's voice rang in her ears, sharp and shrill.

LeeAnn covered her ears.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “Too much to drink, I think.” She fumbled with her phone.

“I’m going to call a cab.”

Her co-workers nodded distractedly, chatting with each other. They barely noticed as LeeAnn walked unsteadily to the door and exited the club.

The cold air hit her upon stepping out. She saw on her ride-hailing application that the taxi was rounding the corner. She was feeling a little sick and could not wait to get home.

Holding her breath while the world spun around her, LeeAnn managed to type out a quick text message to her fiancé Ted telling him she was on her way home and that she would be there in half an hour.

A car pulled up alongside her and the front window rolled down. LeeAnn found herself looking into a pair of almond eyes. The taxi driver had a baseball cap pulled down low over his wavy hair and he was wearing driving gloves.

“LeeAnn?” He asked, flashing her a friendly smile.

“Uh yeah, that’s me,” LeeAnn nodded and opened the back passenger door.

She slid into the back seat, feeling grateful to be able to escape the cold and get a chance to rest her head.

As the taxi moved off, LeeAnn realized that she should really check the car plates and validate that this was her driver.

Just to be sure.

“Hey,” LeeAnn called out to him. “Are you—” she glanced at her phone briefly for the car plate number before reading it out loud. “235A?”

“That’s me, miss,” the driver turned back towards her and she caught a glimpse of those almond eyes once again.

Strange—he looked oddly familiar but she could not place him.

As he drove off into the night, LeeAnn’s head spun and she lost consciousness, slumping backwards onto her seat.

Chapter 1

Pierre Altair drove the car to their meeting point, got out and waited. He was impatient to get this done right, which in his opinion was discreetly and quickly. He tapped his foot impatiently and kept glancing from side to side, searching for signs of the other car.

A few minutes went by before a car rolled up slowly. The car stopped next to his, and a tall wiry man stepped out.

“You got her, Art?” Pierre asked him.

“What do you think, Pico?” Art Altair responded in a mocking tone.

Pierre let out a silent and exasperated sigh. He oversaw the operation, and resented Art’s presence on this important mission. He wished it was someone else he could have embarked on Operation X with. This was, however, an order from their revered King Nolan Altair who also happens to be his father, and as a son of Altair he simply could not disobey.

“Let us get going, cousin,” Pierre responded icily.

The two men turned off their car engines and were shrouded by silence. Their meeting point was at the edge of the woods, and the nearest residence was a house situated hundreds of miles away. Pierre had arranged for someone to remove their vehicles shortly after they would have taken their leave, and he was anxious for them to vacate the area before the clean-up crew arrived. He preferred anonymity in all of his transactions and never showed his face to anyone in this place unless he had no choice.

The men reached into their respective cars and scooped the lifeless women into their arms. Pierre, although small for his size as his nickname suggested, was surprisingly strong and walked briskly with the body of the woman in his arms as if she was as light as a feather. Art, tall and wiry, was in fact muscular underneath his clothes, and he too strode forward confidently as if he had done this many times before.

The men moved swiftly into the forest and disappeared into the dark woods, following a path that both have memorized, confidently marching forward with neither hesitation nor any thought for the branches that got in their way. They arrived in a small clearing ten minutes later and both came to a standstill, listening for intruders in the form of man or animal.

Satisfied that they were alone, Pierre maneuvered to a particular spot between two odd-looking trees and without a falter in his steps he walked forward and disappeared. Art followed in succession.

Both men disappeared into the void, vanishing from the forest in an instant.

Pierre never ceased to marvel at the magic of the portal which allowed him to travel to and from the new world where the women came from. Pierre knew that what felt like a few seconds of traveling through the portal would in fact have taken him a few minutes. He had tried to count time before and could never reconcile how time seemed to work when he entered the portal.

Pierre and Art exited the portal which remained invisible, except for a tiny ripple that caressed the air during the crossover. The few elite Typress soldiers who had been guarding the portal entrance had been instructed to remain hidden and to secure their positions until they returned, and now they stepped out from their hiding spots to surround the princes and their cargo protectively.

Pierre looked down at LeeAnn, limp and unconscious in his arms. It was hours after midnight and they were all shrouded in dim moonlight. He noted the gentle rise and fall of her chest with every breath, her face cold and beautiful in the moonlight. He felt no desire for this woman, but he knew someone in the brotherhood eventually would, once he had delivered her to the kingdom as his mission required. For a second he was afflicted with a flash of guilt as he imagined his own lover in place of LeeAnn, but he quickly pushed the thought away, knowing that he needed to focus on the task at hand.

“Any sign of movement?” Pierre asked a guard flanking him.

“No, my prince,” the soldier answered.

“Good,” Pierre nodded. “Let us head back.”

The group silently trekked through the woods with Pierre and Art moving easily through the floor of the forest while holding securely onto the women. Guided by a map that existed only in their heads, they navigated the woods tirelessly on foot for almost an hour before they reached their horses. Pierre and Art laid the women each in a steel box bolted to a horse cart, and then secured their own horse to each cart. They set off with haste with Pierre leading the pack, riding hard on the long path that took them alongside the base of the towering Mitrata Mountains.

Dawn was breaking when Pierre finally saw the familiar flickering lights of the Typress castle. As they neared, the front drawbridge began lowering while the portcullis rose, and horses’ hooves hit the stones violently just as they thundered across and leapt into the safety of the castle bailey. The sun had begun to rise when the women were carried into their rooms, and while still unconscious were fussed over by maidservants who strove to clean up and make presentable these brand new Foreign Wives of Typress.

⬲

Jochlan Altair crouched low, hidden by the tall grass. He had the element of surprise on their side and wanted to use it to his fullest advantage. He signaled to his men to advance on all sides and flank the village, at the same time locking eyes with two of his soldiers and gesturing for them to cover his next move.

As the Village of Waakili fell bit by bit to his advancing men, Jochlan moved forward, heading straight for the house of the village leader, Lord Carmasa. He knew that Lord Carmasa’s attention would be drawn to the fighting that had erupted and spread, and he wanted to capture the leader while the iron was hot and his attention was likely divided.

He quickly surveyed the area, his eyes landing on the fallen men who had been fatally injured by the sudden attack on the Waakili village. Although his men had the upper hand in weaponry, Jochlan knew that Waakili was situated at a vantage location hidden high up in the snowy mountains that accorded the village natives with privacy and sight. This meant that Jochlan had approached Waakili from a weaker position, one he had to make up for in speed and might, as well as a readiness to lose a fair number of his own men in order to advance to victory.

In addition, Waakili was famed for being home to some of Xasia’s best archers who had developed their own arrows made of steel and a rare wood base that could only be found in these northern mountains. These arrows were known to be coated with a special poison made from plants unique to the area. Waakili’s archers had indeed felled a good number of his men tonight, as well as did significant damage to the drones that Jochlan had brought with them.

Jochlan had known from the beginning that he would be returning to Typress with losses to count, and yet, something was not sitting well within him.

If I have prepared for this, then why am I still feeling such pain over it?

He shook his head to clear it. He would not falter now.

He stealthily entered Lord Camarsa’s main house, rapidly shooting down guards before they could react. With bullets and silencers, Typress had the most advanced weapons among all of the kingdoms in Xasia. Despite having exceptionally skilled archers using bows and arrows crafted by masters, Waakili did not stand a chance against these bullets from the other world. Within seconds, Jochlan had entered the main room and had killed all the guards in a burst of gunshot.

Jochlan trained his weapon on the village leader.

“Lord Camarsa, I am Jochlan of Altair, second son of the Typress king. Please call your men off. No more will have to die tonight.”

“Jochlan of Altair,” Lord Camarsa repeated and glared at him. He reached slowly for a horn hanging on the wall he was standing next to.

“Young prince, I am going to blow this horn,” he spoke carefully. “It will end the fighting.”

Camarsa leaned over and with surprising power blew into the instrument, which resulted in a series of short but bellowing sounds that spread through the entire village. Across the square, Waakili men stopped fighting and pulled back, with some holding their hands in the air. Jochlan’s men began to round up the Waakili soldiers across the village and herd them into the townlet square.

Jochlan gave Camarsa a terse nod and spoke.

“Thank you for your cooperation, my lord. By command of my king, you are now the subject of Typress, and you will receive our protection and our commitment to enhance the lives of you and your people. We will station our soldiers here from this day on, and I expect our troops to train together as one.”

Camarsa scoffed. “Waakili does not need Typress protection. Our lives were content before your king began waging his personal war, and now my village is collateral damage in this battle that has nothing to do with us.”

“Please, step outside with me,” Jochlan replied. He lowered his weapon as Camarsa stepped towards him and began walking alongside him towards the village square.

“We knew you were coming, and that we did not stand a chance against your weapons,” Camarsa told him.

“My lord, you are not the king’s enemy nor the final target of our mission. We have repeatedly offered our alliance which you had refused again and again. You must know that we had no choice but to attack.”

“No choice, indeed,” Camarsa responded with sarcasm in his tone. He studied Jochlan attentively. “I know the Kingdom of Oriana is your father’s eventual target.”

Jochlan ignored the comment.

“Oriana is not an easy target,” Camarsa continued, undeterred. “They are the most powerful kingdom in these mountains and are well-respected among Xasia kingdoms. Oriana rules with generosity, strength and compassion and they have many allies who will come to their aide. Why would Nolan attack them and create chaos among us all?”

Jochlan remained impassive and refused to be lured into the conversation, preferring to keep his own thoughts to himself. He found no joy in his current situation and could not stop thinking about the men he had just lost. He could not help but envision the loss and grief of the families of his fallen soldiers when he returned with news of the dead. He felt no desire to engage in further conversation with Camarsa, whose own village had suffered deep losses in equal measure from his attack. He was feeling a mixture of anger and grief and wished simply to return to Typress this very night.

“Lord Camarsa, my father requests your presence in Typress,” he replied in a clipped tone, refusing to answer the elder man’s question. “Please come with me after addressing your people. Assure them that no harm will come to you—for this you have my word. I shall honor our newfound friendship with Waakili, our new ally.”

Camarsa stared at him for a moment, long enough to make Jochlan feel the beginnings of discomfort.

“Jochlan of Altair,” Camarsa said in a deep voice. “It is clear as day that you are feeling uneasy despite winning this battle against my village. I can sense it from your aura. You feel for the men we have both lost, and I can see thick grief settling into your heart. You are not proud of what you have achieved tonight, Prince Jochlan, whereas many others would if they were in your shoes.”

Jochlan felt himself reeling back with shock, hit with the vulnerability that came with being read unwittingly like an open book.

How does he know?

He felt a sudden spike of fear that his grief and empathy, which he did not realize was visible on his face, would be perceived as weakness against him, and that such gossip might spread and eventually reach his father’s ears. He berated himself for not keeping his feelings under control, and masked over his anxiety with anger that he pulled from the depths. He took a threatening step towards Camarsa.

“My lord, you know nothing about me,” he responded in a tight voice. “I showed you grace tonight by stopping the battle and proposing an alliance when I could have razed your village to the ground. You repay my grace by misreading my intentions and spreading lies about my reputation, and now you have earned my animosity. I urge you to think twice about your next move.”

Camarsa burst into surprising laughter, shocking Jochlan.

“Jochlan, you may be a rising star in your kingdom but you are young and foolish while I am aided by age and wisdom. You have the makings of a good king, and I have just paid you the highest compliment a man could possibly receive! Yet, you took my compliments as an insult.” He tilted his chin and gave Jochlan a curious stare. “Why?”

Jochlan asked himself the same question and realized he did not have a ready answer for Camarsa, and so he chose silence as his response.

“You are different from Nolan and that is your strength. Do not forget this,” Camarsa told him softly. “There may be hope yet for you, and for all of us.”

Confusion rose within Jochlan as he contemplated what he had just heard. Camarsa was acting as if he was familiar with Jochlan, and yet they had only just met tonight. In fact, Camarsa knew nothing about Jochlan’s inner battles but spoke easily as if he did. He stared back at the elderly man, wondering if he should be continuing this conversation, for he found himself wanting to question what Camarsa knew but at the same time found himself wishing to get away from the village and return to Typress.

Camarsa seemed to have decided for him, and ended the moment abruptly by turning to his people with his arm raised.

“I will travel to Typress to meet with King Nolan,” Camarsa announced. “I shall return shortly. Prince Jochlan here has guaranteed my safety. Chacha will be village head in my absence.”

Camarsa’s son, Chacha, nodded and clasped his father’s forearm with a worried expression. Lord Camarsa gave his son a quick nod and stepped into a waiting carriage, waving with an air of confidence as it began to retreat from the village.

Jochlan pulled himself up onto his horse and swerved around to eye his men. He turned and addressed his second-in-command as well as the soldiers standing around.

“Half of you, come with me and head back to Typress. We ride back without rest. Move off, now!”

“Aye!” His men responded.

He turned and began to ride, his men following in line behind him as they moved down the winding mountain path.

“Another battle under my belt, Liberty. Are we proud yet?” Jochlan muttered to his horse under his breath as he leaned down close and patted her neck.

Liberty snorted and ignored him as she focused on making her way down the sloping path. He raised his head and scanned the faint outline of the Oriana castle high up in the mountains far beyond where they were. He knew that Oriana was where they were all meant to be, fighting for his father’s vision of a united Typress kingdom across all of Xasia. He had been taught since birth to make this vision his priority, and yet he could never make himself feel completely obsessed about this the way that some of his brothers and cousins can.

The familiar feeling that there was something not entirely right in his life crept into his mind once again and ate away slowly at him. The sense that he was missing something right in front of him remained as strong as ever, but it was foggy and unclear as if there was a mist around it that prevented him from receiving clarity.

He closed his eyes for a brief instance as the cool mountain air enshrouded him. He exhaled deeply.

“What am I fighting for?” Jochlan whispered to Liberty, but received only silence.