Chained (Chained Trilogy) by Elise Marion

she’d come to him with a bastard in her belly, he would have been forced to make an honest woman of her. Yet, there had never been a child, and so Caden remained unwed. He could have easily chosen one of the daughters or nieces of his father’s vassals to wed, but he was in no hurry. It wasn’t as if they were going anywhere.
    Caden swiftly tightened his belt at the waist before sheathing a silver-handled dirk with a ruby pommel at his side. “Come, milady,” he said, giving her his arm. “Allow me to escort you to the feast.”
    Esa smiled at him hopefully, as if she’d discerned the direction of his t houghts. “That would be fine, m’lord.”
    Something had to be done about Esa —and soon—but for now Caden was content to feast with her, ride with her, walk and talk with her, and bed her. She was good company, and he considered her a friend; he was not ready to lose that just yet.
    They strolled between rows of tents toward the banquet tables, colorful pavilions on either side as far as the eye could see. Lord Durville’s annual tourney was one of the largest held each year in Daleraia, second only to Lord Theodric’s annual birthday tourney. Several men would be knighted for their valor and skill today, a handful of women as well. But first, feasting and drinking.
    The banquet tables were assembled as they would be in any great hall, in two columns facing the high table. A makeshift dais had been erected, where the lords and ladies dined in their places of honor. An empty chair at his father’s right hand was reserved for Caden. He escorted Esa to her place among the other knights and kissed her hand, his lips lingering.
    “Until tonight, milady,” he murmured, giving her a sly wink before sauntering toward the high table. Several knights called out to him as he passed.
    “Well done today, milord!”
    “You fought well, Sir Caden!”
    “Well met, Sir!”
    Caden acknowledged them all, taking his time reaching the table. He’d missed the first course, but was just in time for the second. A page filled his goblet as he sat and Caden drank deeply, the distinct sweetness of white wine distilled in Vor’shy dancing upon his tongue.
    “Aren’t you a pretty sight?” teased his younger brother, A sher, from his right side. He was still wearing his mud and bloodstained gambeson, though he had left his armor in his tent. The skin of his knuckles was scraped raw, and his left cheekbone was swollen and bruised. He’d obviously taken a few hits in the melee.
    Caden scowled at Asher , who was a slightly slimmer, clean-shaven mirror image of himself: dark hair cropped close in the style of a Daleraian, clear blue eyes the color of the morning sky, and strong, proud features with a chiseled jaw. “You are the son of a high lord, one would think you’d know to dress for dinner.”
    Asher tilted his head back and drained his wine goblet in one swallow before holding his cup out toward a passing page. “I love the taste of roasted meat on my lips and the grime of warfare upon my skin. ’Tis the way of a man.”
    “’Tis the way of a man to have the taste of a tit on his lips and the feel of a warm honeypot around his cock,” jested Jarin, the youngest of the three sons of Lord Theodric Maignart. He leaned forward to be seen from Asher’s opposite side, his grin wide and wicked. “That, dear brother, is the way of a man, though I’d be surprised if you knew the feel of a woman smelling like a stable.”
    Unlike Asher, Jarin had at least washed his face and hands, changing into a clean surcoat before coming to table. Where Caden and Asher took after their father, Jarin’s looks had come from their mother, Lady Victoria. His titian hair was in wild curls around his face, and his eyes were like warm amber framed by tawny lashes. Caden chuckled as he drew his dagger and sliced into capon stewed with raisins, dates, and onions. He tasted it, frowned, drew a pinch of salt from the cellar between he and Asher, and