YVENNE, THE TWO-IDENTITY MISTRESS bit her lip as a sharp pain lanced through her body. She stared down at the cut marking her left wrist. Blood rose to the surface of her skin in a straight line. Then in mere heartbeats, it began to pool over her flesh.
Yvenne lifted her eyes back to the boy before her. She was met with eager pale eyes, and a flash of white fangs that tickled his tongue in his open mouth. The boy was a frightful sight at that moment but she walked closer nevertheless. She lifted her open wrists to his mouth.
His face wore a look of pain as he averted his lips from her skin. The blood had now begun to drip down to the chamber's floor. She could see the battle in his eyes as he struggled to tame his bloodlust. Yvenne opened her mouth to ease him.
"Drink, please. You look like a recent corpse save the smell."
The boy turned to her and she gave a small nod to his hesitant eyes. She pushed her wrists over his lips and a few drops of blood dribbled in. She knew the instant his need took over. His eyes went from deadly to demonic in the space of a single breath.
He opened his mouth and his fangs sank cleanly into the veins of her wrists. Yvenne felt euphoria at his first draw of blood. She watched him drink and his color returned—somewhat. She could easily pull away for he was chained, but she held still and let him drink on. The boy's lips clamped around her wrist mimicked the suckling of a baby, and even though Yvenne didn't want to admit it, she was aware the tingling low under her skirts.
Her pine eyes remained steady on his features as he drank on. The boy looked like death, but also like an angel. Yvenne had never doubted the magical or the presence of Otherworlders, but staring at the boy feed on her blood was another level of faith. It was clear as the White lake that the boy was a vampire.
Many questions spiralled in her mind as to why a young adult was chained under their house but she settled with watching him feed. The boy was beautiful; the kind of beauty that came only from the celestials. She presumed he had a Faerie heritage. His hair was silver, the palest kind of blonde. It was as if the soft waves were doused in bleach.
Her fingers itched to touch them, to figure out if it was as soft as it looked falling into his eyes, but she refrained.
Yvenne had never pegged Geralt as a man who chained lads. He had his flaws but her husband was just a patriarchal idiot with a lot of money. Her brilliant mind knew what she beheld was larger than Geralt. It was larger than the whole House of Cranmer. The Crown, she concluded. Only the Crown could afford such risk of keeping a vampire chained. She wondered if Arlon had something to do with the boy's capture. However, she prayed not. The intimacy of the whole affair hinted at an Empire secret.
Yvenne was not oblivious to the recent happenings in the golden capital, Calipsos. She had heard rumors of the presence of an Iceland mage on syverian soil. She had seen the parchments placed all over the city walls, mentioning a reward of coin to the man who discovered the wizard's whereabouts. She beheld the night patrols, doubled in number as they roamed the city's gates. The Blue Cloaks were out for blood. It was these occurences that pushed her to seek out what lay underground the residence.
Her husband barked at house servants who'd dared wander near the stone steps leading down the manor. Yvenne had always wondered why Geralt did so. He spent a great deal of time down there, and everyone knew the flight alone could kill him, but the Lord was relentless in his efforts. Yvenne knew something was amiss. The moment she found him asleep for his noon rest, she'd taken up a lamp and proceeded down to see for herself. However, she hadn't expected to walk in on a Bloodchild.
She assumed the officers didn't know of the vampire boy chained under their Keep unless they would have stormed the residence like the whorehouses and pubs before. They didn't know of the moon-eyed boy. At least not yet. But if Arlon knew about the boy and the Blue Cloaks did not, that meant Latchlon was naive too.
Yvenne smiled at this thought. Arlon knew. He knew about the vampire. Maybe even saved the boy himself. She also knew he hadn't told Latchlon. The man was the Blue Cloak Commander and would've turned Calipsos upside down to get the boy.
Yvenne knew it was only a matter of time before Arlon told the secret. The secret he and his trusted confidant, her husband had obviously been keeping for years. Latchlon was still his brother and a defender of the Crown. For all she knew, Latchlon might already know about the boy.
Yvenne began to feel woozy and pulled herself from her musings. The lad still suckled on her wrists. His lips on her pulse were quite frankly, erotic, but she lifted her free hand and touched lightly on his jaw.
"Enough for now, dear," she crooned.
His lips closed around her wrist and he pulled slowly away. His fangs pulled out and he swiped at the broken skin with his tongue. Yvenne watched in wonder as the flesh knit together. In mere seconds, the skin was smooth once more, as if nothing had happened.
She lowered both her hands to the side and looked over his face. His features were still pale but lush than before. His eyes were still colorless but vibrant now. He shifted in his feet and she blinked at his stature. The boy was divine. He was tall, perhaps taller than Latchlon, and the Commander was taller than his brother, Arlon, who still stood above her. At his straight stance, the boy was impressive. Her head levelled to his chest.
He only wore a white loincloth, so Yvenne was granted an open view of skin snowy soft it couldn't be anything but magic. His muscles were hardened. The effortless play of tones beneath his skin. If Yvenne was a woman who loved a ripped figure, she would be gawping at him, but she was not.
Yvenne admired strength but she preferred flesh. One of the reasons she picked Arlon, but also another reason why she couldn't seem to get the Queen out of her mind.
There were a great many reasons why she should. Her name alone was the first.
Lorraine Manderley-Pierran, Queen of all the Summerlands and Lady Regent of Syveria. Since their awkward meeting in her loft, Yvenne had always found herself lost in thoughts of Lorraine. It was her leaf-green eyes, her willowy pose and her commanding gait.
Yvenne prayed never to cross paths again with the Queen, if only to decede the wayward thoughts. She was combating with nightly fantasies that was provocative enough already. Meeting Lorraine again would only compound the entire situation. Not to mention the fact that she was also fucking her husband.
Yvenne shook her head to clear her thoughts, focusing once more on the young man before her. A vampire she'd just fed with her own blood. Human blood. It was absurd to think it but it was true. The boy had her essence now flowing through his body as a nourishment. It was bizzare, but what magic wasn't.
"Trouble?" the boy rumbled to her.
Yvenne met his words with a smile. His voice was deep, the scratchy deep of transition. He was growing into a man. A fine specimen at that.
"Yes, dear but nothing to worry about."
He gave a small nod and the chains rattled on his arms. Yvenne moved to help but he stopped her.
"Please, no," he growled, angling away his body from her hands.
"But you're hurting?" she voiced. "No one should chain you like a beast."
He said nothing and she dropped her hands. After a while, he met her eyes again. She'd thought she imagined when his ears perked up, like a fox's. But it did again and she knew she hadn't.
"You should leave, my lady," he said to her. His eyes held on hers as he continued. "I hear the sound of approaching horses but they are still some distance away."
"You presume I shouldn't be here?" Yvenne questioned. She was stunned at the fact that he heard an army a mile away from an under cellar. The boy's powers were silencing.
"I know you shouldn't be here," he replied. Yvenne squinted at him so he continued. "...your fine silken robes give away your estate. You are a Lady, presumably of a great house. I doubt you want the officers to find you with a prisoner, especially not one of my desires."
Yvenne still hesitated.
"Please, leave my lady. I'll be fine."
Yvenne lifted her fingers to his face. She caressed his jaw lightly before pulling away. She was already liking the young man. His humble way and interesting eyes. Yvenne knew the soldiers he heard approaching were the Blue Cloaks. Arlon had told his brother afterall. She was only grateful she got to meet the boy. Who knew what was going to happen to him. The entire city of Calipsos knew the officers hated Icelanders.
"Before you leave I require one thing, my lady," the young man voiced. Yvenne nodded for him to continue.
"Tell me your name?"
She looked deeply into his translucent eyes as she replied.
"I'm Yvenne. Yvenne Hearst."
She noted she didn't give him her alias, Rebelle, and she prayed it wasn't a mistake on her part. But she doubted she had to worry. She also knew she wouldn't change a word she'd said.
"Marsil," he toned a beat later.
Yvenne noted the name was rather lovely and fit him. She understood the summerland tongue, and Marsil translated as Moon Eyes.
Yvenne lowered her hand from his face. She gave him a small smile and turned away. She walked across to her lamp and picked it off the holdfast.
"Thank you, Lady Hearst," she heard him say. She gave him a final glance before she headed back up the stairs.
Yvenne was striding across the hallway to her bedchamber when she heard the halt of pounding horse hooves just outside the manor gates. She hurriedly covered the distance to her bedroom and ran to the windows. She peeled apart the curtains and spotted the houseguards with some new officers. Their blue capes ruffled with a south wind from the lake, and sure enough, there was the Lord Commander, Latchlon Pierran.
He lifted his eyes to the window and Yvenne quickly shut the drapes. She clutched the cream curtains tight in a fist as she prayed to the Dawn Father to keep her new friend safe.
Marsil, the young vampire.