A narrow brick staircase led upwards from the base of the castle town all the way to the Duke's residence. A toilsome climb, my ushers allowing me little time to stop and rest, the old hasty man from the church leading them as they escorted me through busy streets where men thronged everywhere, clattering metal and lighting torches, shouting foreign instructions and rallying horses. I had studied enough history to know this was preparation for war… my father's war. Is that why the old man seemed to despise me more than otherwise? When I lagged, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me behind him, I stumbled with balance, trying to keep up.
This man led me into the palace: a great hall served of entrance, with tall walls and elongated windows, and marble beams framing a long red carpet that stretched from the entrance to the corridor. My forcibly rushed footsteps echoed through the emptiness of that opulent room. Next, we crossed a dark gallery with wooden walls, book-filled shelves and armchairs – a game room of sorts, for it seemed to be where most of the entertainment gathered – and finally, sideway passages led me into a hallway full of doors. My sullen usher picked one – just anyone, it seemed – and half-tossed me inside. With a heavy accent, he bid me wash and get changed to wait for the Duke. When I protested that I had no clean clothes, he beckoned a man, who tossed into the room a heavy trunk that cracked open upon impact.
Lucky for me, I needed no light, for there was none – the bright moon alone stole in through double arched windows and lent a glow to the room I was in – it followed the same motif as the outside: tall walls, red carpets, marble floors and beams… but mostly destitute of furniture. A narrow bed on a corner, the collapsed trunk in the center, a washing basin between the windows… the space of a dancing hall between them! And, on the opposite wall, a doorway to the washing room – a steaming bathtub waiting for me.
My bath wasn't long, it wasn't relaxing or invigorating, though the long journey would have me craving one. I experienced only fear and apprehension, I finished quickly. Then, staring at the moon outside, at the craggy country and the shadows lurking in the crevices, at the sea stretching so infinitely I couldn't dream of seeing home, there I waited, frozen, for I know not how long – long enough, I suppose, for fear to overwhelm me and then subsided, long enough for my heart beats to slow beyond normality, and for me to fall into a sort of trance, hypnotized by the shimmering moonlight reflected on the sea… when the time came, I heart the doorknob turn softly, quietly click. I knew it was him, I felt his presence – I felt the air shift… and still fear didn't come in waves again. There was no gush of adrenaline as whenever I thought of him… I was quiet. Almost peaceful – peaceful in my steady anguish. Was this me though? Was this anything like the person I was? The answer was no… my limbs were bound, my eyes were dry of tears though I knew I wanted to cry them. Hypnosis came not from the sea, I suddenly knew: how else would he lure the women into the woods and eat their hearts? I experienced awareness, and suddenly it felt like a tight blanket had been wrapped around me, holding me in place, holding down my limbs. My muscles tensed, my breathing picked up, my heart thumped… he was behind me.
" You are strong willed…" he spoke little above his breath – a soft, decided voice. "…I can see that."
Then a touch: a silky touch brushing delicately down my neck, framing my shoulders – boldly, I should say. Men didn't usually touch princesses, I had certainly never been touched so freely before… but then again, I was no longer a princess. I was his. Abruptly I turned, facing him, facing my fear of what a demon might look like… Of course, I had forgotten one thing as I pictured this moment: Vampires never age. Fredrick the bloody, the ruthless warrior from a hundred years ago, who tore men apart with his bare hands, was a beautiful gentleman. A slim, pale, tall man with perfect features, a pronounced jawline, big blue eyes and a long flowing black hair sleeked back over his head. I was caught off guard.
My overreaction earned me a short, modest smile: his sleek lips stretched with embarrassed amusement; then he bowed down, his blue eyes fixed into mine the during this courtesy familiar to my culture, but which I could still not retribute.
"I am Lord Fredrick Adamos Galanis; the duke of Greavontis Isle…" his face warmed up with a meek, benevolent expression. He put out his hand, inviting mine: "And you are…?"
Hypnotized. I raised my hand, my fingers hovering near his palm – drawn, pulled there by magnetism, against my will. I recoiled, resenting the spell. His eyebrows moved ever so slightly – they lowered and knitted together, as if grief-struck, but soon they eased back, transforming his face into peaceful kindness again as he smiled an awkward smile, sighed a sigh of almost disappointment:
"Ah! I see the offering wasn't a terribly willing one…"
His friendly hand retrieved the offer, and I experienced a rise in fear again.
"Forgive my foolishness for thinking otherwise. What girl would wish to be torn from her country and sailed across the sea to a new life she knows very little of?" He crossed his hands behind his back, dropped his head in meditation and circled me slowly. "Foolish, indeed. But alas!" he was behind me, his voice, his invisibility made me nervous… "…what is done is done! You are my wife now; and I shall not take that lightly! Not even through your resentment…"
A tear rolled down my cheek – I could not prevent it, not when I felt so cold, so alone, and so scared… my husband. Is that really what he thought of himself? Is that really what this was going to be? I was so confused it mortified me!
"You do need to tell me your name though, you know…" he chuckled humorously, standing before me and looking down into my eyes again.
"A-Anna…" I spoke, finding my voice – which had been hidden somewhere down my chest for the past 6 days.
His eyes shimmered with some sort of excitement, as one who makes progress with a scared animal he wishes to befriend. His lips stretched into an even more gracious, warm smile.
"Anna! It is a pleasure to meet you, my pretty little wife!" and he took a step ahead, breaking the distance between us and boldly holding my face in his palm. His thumb brushed across my cheek, capturing my fleeting tear. "I am your husband, and though the idea still sounds odd to your ears, you must do as I say from now on, okay? If nothing else, you owe me obedience: I am a ruler, it would be harmful for my image in this country to be challenged by any of my people, unfortunately that must include my lady. I know you are sad…" he spoke kindly, but his face showed no empathy to my pain: his eyes were content, patience, tranquil… "…but you must conquer this sadness when you are around me, and you must never try to leave. I hope you understand."
I didn't. I couldn't understand. His apparent kindness should make me happy, his handsome features were nothing like I imagined they'd be… it was easy to be near him, easy to be inside his palm as I was now, easy to stand beneath his shadow and accept I was his property… but things didn't make sense. They didn't add up, and that only made me more insecure.
"Still… I do not wish to be deceived." He reiterated after my dumb silence. "You must speak plainly to me, no lies: I have means of knowing if you're lying, but I wish not to resort to them. I want to trust you, Anna. So speak to me: what questions are troubling you?"
I escaped his eyes, slowly investigated the room – fearful still, shier than before – I gathered the courage to speak out the lump growing in my throat, hoping he might answer it:
"Husband… you say you are my husband…" my voice was quiet and shaky. He waited patiently as I gathered the courage to speak. "And yet… what kind of husband doesn't come to his wedding?"
He wasn't angry at the question. Instead, he resisted a smile, as if not to make fun of my anguish. Gathering his wits again, he began:
"I can see you are a little girl at heart – dreaming of a lavish ceremony, with dresses and flowers and an exchange of rings. I am sorry we do not think alike. Still I would have come to fetch you personally, to ease your needless anxieties over me and to make your voyage here less tedious…" I shuddered at the idea of having shared my tedious quarter with him through all those days. "…but war is at your father's steps. I had many preparations to attend, no time can be wasted. Any more questions?"
Silence reigned as he waited patiently. His touch so light, I had even forgotten it still held me.
"…Yes… where…. Where will I sleep?"
His smile stretched a bit whenever he saw a sign of my conquering my shyness.
"For now, here. In the morning, you can choose another chamber of your liking, and order the servants arrange it for you."
"Won't I sleep with you?" I blurted out without measuring how my words might be interpreted, then I blushed violently with embarrassment. "I-I mean…"
"What you mean is…" he interrupted, rescuing me from my angsty explanation "…won't I force you, as my wife, to share my bed?" another warm smile – meant to neutralize the awkwardness of the discussion "…I won't force you. I can see you are scared." And his fingers brushed my cheek.
Another tear. His kindness made me scared. My heart swirled cold.
"Will…" the question struggled with my tongue, fearful of the answer, but I decided I'd be brave. Hypnosis or not, I felt I could be sincere, after all. "will you eat it – my heart?"
His smile stretched, his composed chuckle evolved into a short laugh he couldn't control, his eyes all the while meek.
"Is that what they say about me? No… Anna, I will not eat your heart. I do not… eat… per se." he smiled unassumingly.
I struggled with a follow-up question. I did not resist it:
"…What… do you do?"
He sighed, his smile coming undone – a touchy subject, at last – and he began pacing around me, choosing the words carefully.
"I will need… your shoulders…" he behind me, his index finger brushing down my collarbone "…your neck. You will have to be so kind as to give them to me, I will not deceive you. As your lord and as your husband, it's only natural I should feed on you. You can never deny me."
There it was again: raw fear. His handsome face stopping before me, his warm voice and patient smile… they could not diffuse it now!
"If I do?" I inquired fearfully, shrinking between my shoulders.
He calmly smiled down at me, as if I was very naïve for asking, and just as calmly he elucidated:
"You can't. I simply wish, as a personal favor, that you would never try. That could make things very unpleasant."
I felt controlled. I felt cornered. I felt, indeed, the whole extent of my situation.
"Will it… will it hurt?"
"A little at first…" he pursed his lips, as if he was sorry to inform me "…but I will be gentle."
"Will it… kill me?"
He scoffed a laugh. "Anna, I would not take your life."
I nodded a shaky, disturbed nod, pretending any of that was normal, pretending his kindness brought me any relief. But I pretended very badly, and he could see I was actually in a worse state than the one he found me in. Wisely or uncaring, he chose to leave me alone to deal with the issues rising in my head:
"I have to return to those preparations I spoke of. Meanwhile, you should rest. And eat: I'll have dinner brought to you. I know you are sad, but it's very important you do not fail to nourish yourself."
I shuddered at the implication of that reference, and again he noticed it, but would not be bothered by my inner dramas any further:
"I leave for Dromora on the first light. But before that, I shall come for you. Until then, good night!"