I did not think it was possible… to sunk further into that strange depression that got a hold of me as soon as my fate was announced by my father. But it was. That first night under his roof had in store for me a hell much worse than the moist quarters in his ship.
Fredrick's scent – a bittersweet perfume – was trapped in my arranged chamber where I had been left; the feeling of his touch still impressed my skin, and my memory of his face – of every muscle comprising it, every twitch of every kind smile and every pull on the eyebrows was etched in my memory with obsessive detail… it all haunted me, like a feverish dream that repeated itself to exhaustion. He was easy on the eyes, easy on the ears, it was easy to let him in, and to that my body responded as it would a foreign object – inflammation... redness, tears and pain! I wished I never had to see him again, I regretted conversing so civilly when he was there – he asked for sincerity, well I should have shown it to him: I should have wept with all the despair impairing me, I should have begged him not to touch me, not to 'feed on me' as he put it – beg him to return me to my land, if he was so kind as he purposed to be…
…or begged him to kill me. Yes… at the peak of my despair, my heart bent in that direction, the original plan, the fate everyone around me in Dromora thought I would fulfill. The wedding sham was but a silly formality for the king to save face as he gave away his only daughter – but to actually discover I was to fulfill the role of a wife to a demon, after having nearly made peace with the clutches of death, seemed too much for me to handle in my current state. What exactly was he, how exactly would he feed, what kind of life he had in store for me if he intended to keep me that way? His caring words and smiles were no solace, as he himself announced me his property, his prisoner: Defiance would not be allowed, my comforts were akin to that of a pet, a trapped bird in his golden cage, kept to sing for him… to amuse him… how far would I have to go?
Those were the thoughts and questions that lulled my night, to the point of madness. I at length opened the double doors, looked outside, longing to escape… but the imposing hallway seemed an even more intimidating alternative: more effort, more unknown to be braved… I could take it no more.
Sleep was never found that day, and I'm ashamed to say exhaustion drove me to lengths I'd not normally go, had I been in the right state of mind. A shattered mirror in the washing room would do: I pulled a shard, razor-sharp and long, and tucked it under the folds of my dress – the dress I dressed myself on to wait for him, as instructed. In the center of the room I stood, watching through the window the dark sky outside borrow a purple hue as dawn approached.
And indeed, just as she said he would, with dawn he returned – not as quietly as before he stole in: This once I heard his steps; I turned to greet him, scared of feeling it again: that strange magnetic pull he exerted on me when first I saw him. His face was clearer with the morning light – grey circles could be seen under his eyes, and his demeanor in general seemed less cheerful than before. His smile wasn't there, though a friendly light still surrounded his blue eyes as they marked me – they studied me from a second, head to toe, disquiet, inquisitive… He made me so nervous, it showed on my face, but he would not address it, though he looked away as if it annoyed him. He paced slowly, hands on his back, towards a painting on the wall – one I hadn't even noticed was there, so absorbed I was in my own thoughts: it displayed a crag by a deep ravine. And yet he stared at it as if there was anything interesting there to peruse.
"The maid…" he sighed. "…she tells me you haven't eaten."
I flinched.
"I thougth I told you you must nourish yourself." He turned to face me again, his eyes hard and firm, like a parent's. I didn't know what to make of that expression.
"I should not be surprised! I suppose I read you right the first time, Anna: You're strong willed." He resumed his pacing about, slowly coming closer as he did "It's only natural a future queen would be taught pride and resilience… but I'm afraid those are not excellent attributes when she's put under an arranged marriage…" his mouth curled up ever so slightly at the sentence, as if he was truly annoyed, but was too gentlemanly to show "Must I remind you I'd not have taken the offer, tempting as it might be, if I'd known it would shatter on its way here."
I watched him as he spoke, scared to look away. And as he inched closer, I couldn't help but drag my feet backwards, the picture of the glass shard in my dress growing in my mind as I grew certain I'd need it soon.
"But the truth is the deal is done. You are now mine, and I don't know what else to do with you but to order you eat and remain healthy, otherwise you're of no use for me. Forgive my bluntness!" he spoke from a place of frustration, a feeling which emboldened his words beyond the politeness he'd been showing so far "And as a ruler… as the Duke, and as your king, I will not have it any other way but my own." He lifted his chin as he looked down on me, a sense of wounded pride hardening his eyes and tensing the muscles on his jaw. "In my absence, you will eat, and you will hydrate yourself. You will sleep and you will get acclimated to this country and your future life. The locals will not speak to you, nor should they: you are mine, and you are not here to be their friend. The servants do not speak your language, but a translator will be provided: a man from your very kingdom. I have instructed him to attend to you and obey you, but I expect you to grow needless of him by the advent of my return…"
He pursed his lips at the end of those instructions, and I watched his face for sings of his next subject.
"Do you have any questions for me, my wife?" he asked abruptly. That title… how it disturbed still! "Well, do you?!" He inquired, growing impatient at last.
I merely shook my head.
"Do you not wish to know how long I shall be away?"
I stared.
"How else do you expect to meet my demands? Were you even…" a sigh – a long, annoyed sigh, and he pursed his lips again, looking away, towards the window, gathering serenity and managing to display me a meek, half-assed smile again. "I'm so sorry. This must be truly hard on you – I'll try to understand that. I only wish to show you that…" he mused "it will be easier if you cooperate, that is all. Do you understand me, Anna?"
He spoke my name with his soft, moist voice… as if there was already a warmth in his heart for it. It didn't help though… it only scared me further: his expectations, the hard time I had in placing him.
"I hope you do…" he sighed defeated upon my silence, and did not try to hide the disappointment it represented. "I hope in time, you will. Meanwhile, I cannot do anything else but to be your tyrant: you will do as I tell you, or I will have my staff force you." He sentenced serenely "As for your fasting, it's a pity, really, but it shall not deter me, if that was your initial plan: I leave for your father's lands with my army, and I intend to return in a month's time. Your people will not be harmed, no danger will befall your father, so you needn't spare a thought on that. To better protect them, I will borrow a drink from your blood, and you will give it to me willingly: your passion for them will only make me stronger, and you should rejoice in that. Now come…"
And he stretched out a hand. But kind as he might be, his words could not reach me – I was almost embarrassed by how little his rationale moved me, but it was still the truth. I had become so terrified, so selfishly resentful through that night, and through his latest speech, that all I did was shudder and recoil once he feigned to reach for me. His face changed, traces of his patient smile disappeared as a frown marked his handsome features. One more step ahead for him, another backwards for me, and thus war had been declared between the two of us:
"I have ways of bringing you to me – I can tell you have felt them distinctly, and they disturbed you. I wish not to use of trickery with you, just as I hope you will grow to never deceive me in your life… so again I command you, for in this matter I give you no choice: give me your blood, Anna."
"No!" I spoke in terror, stepping back - and how surprised he looked, how aghast and speechless for a moment, then angry in the next:
"Anna, you are my wife…" his voice crept, nearing a shout. "I shall not cast a spell on you. You will like me for me… nay, you will respect me at the very least!"
"Please…"
"To beg is nearly what I'm about to do… but a man in my position mustn't steep that low: I can make you give it to me…" he lowered his head, leveling himself to me as if his thoughtful plea could be more efficient that way "… I can make you want it even… but then it wouldn't be you. It would be I, speaking through you…" he frowned, aware of how strange it all sounded "does it make sense? Please… understand it!"
I was quiet, and he approached delicately, palms held up, as one who swears not to hurt me… But understand I didn't. I turned, I tried to run. He passed his arm around my chest and pulled me back towards him and I screeched.
"I will not hypnotize my own wife!!" he screamed, pulling me from my feet, pressing me to his torso, moving, handling me… I panicked. My hands scurried my dress, looking for the shard. As soon as it was in my hand, he held my fist in his, squeezed it – I screamed as the glass cut my palm.
"Clearly you haven't heard enough if you think you can wound me with this!" he pulled my offending wrist upwards, to his view, then pulled the glass from my bleeding hand and tossed it aside.
I cried as he pulled my hair back, positioned his head over my shoulder and brushed his nose against my neck…. A moment of quiet as he breathed there – a moment of frozen fear as he held me in his grip, preparing, salivating, his lips stretching open, his fangs standing out… I snapped and crouched, escaping his grip and immediately turning around, my bloody palm stretched ahead, me panting, my hair wild, my eyes wide with shock. He stared, waiting.
"Here!" I gasped, taking short, hesitant steps ahead towards him, my hand to his face. "Here's your blood. Take it!" my voice cracked, hysterical, fearful still. "Come on…!" I urged.
He chuckled like I was being absurd – like I tried his patience and ran him dry of it. Then, a sound escaped his open mouth where a pair of sharp fangs hung: a sound like a long, hungry exhale, but it came from everywhere around me, a threat to urgent basic instinct inside me that responded with the hairs in my body standing up and my blood running cold! I looked in to his eyes then, they were no longer meek, no longer friendly – they were only predatorial, amused even: a hunter who had found his game.
In a leap he was upon me. He pushed my arm aside as if it was a laughing matter, pulled me in his arms and spun me around so fast I thought I might fall, but fall I didn't: with his arm around my waist he held me from behind, his free hand pulling my jaw to the side, exposing my neck… With no hesitation, his teeth tore inside; I screamed with the pain.