The room was dark. Katja couldn’t make anything out. She moved her arms blindly in front of her face, one hand striking something hard. It was a bedpost, she realized, moving closer. A violent cough came from near the head of the bed. Katja came closer. Elisabeta was lying in the bed, her hair in damp ringlets around a face pale as death. The girl raised a thin hand, and Katja reached for it, wanting to comfort her, wanting to explain…

A sharp ray of light jolted Katja awake. She sat up, her mind whirling. The room around her was small, bright, and cold. She shivered. Elisabeta… The dream was still fresh in her mind, and recalling the image of Elisabeta’s face sent a wrenching wave of guilt through Katja’s body. She turned onto her side, facing away from the window and into the deep green bedcurtains.

The fabric contracted, revealing a small chambermaid. The girl’s face flushed with embarrassment, and she bowed low.

“Apologies, my lady. I did not mean to disturb you.”

Katja raised herself once again, shaking her head. “No, it’s quite all right.” The girl looked as if she were only just younger than Katja, and yet from the look on her face she seemed frightened that Katja would strike her.

“What is your name?” Katja asked gently.

“Svea, my lady,” the girl replied, not lifting her eyes. “Lord Varias has asked me to serve as your handmaid.”

“My…handmaid.”

A second pang of guilt struck Katja in the chest. Svea was what she herself had been to Elisabeta, and yet Svea was so humble. Katja turned away from Svea, who straightened from her bow.

“May I…may I fetch you anything, my lady? I’ve set out clean water in the pitcher.”

Katja said nothing. Her heart felt as if it were about to crack open. How could she have left Elisabeta like this? The girl was dying, and her handmaid, her only true friend, had left her to her sickbed. And what now? Katja’s earlier plan of escape felt foolish and hopeless. She had seen Lord Varias’ true cruelty last night, and that was only over a servant’s slight mistake. Katja tensed, imaging his fury if he discovered his hostage trying to flee.

“My lady?” Svea’s voice was softer now, but no less insistent.

Katja turned to face the girl. “I…no, I don’t need anything else.”

Svea nodded, but didn’t move. Katja stared for a moment.

“I’m to help you dress, my lady,” Svea said.

Katja’s confusion disappeared. “Of course.” Katja rose from the bed and followed Svea to a small table with a pitcher and cloth resting atop. The feeling was strange—she’d done this so many times before when Elisabeta was well, and yet now that she was on the other side, the habitual acts seemed alien to her.

“Lord Varias has asked that I assist you in finding clothing,” Svea said as Katja washed her face with the cloth.

“I can find something on my own,” Katja said. “I found dresses yesterday in there.” She gestured towards the large armoire in the corner of the chamber. Having had no idea what was appropriate, Katja had selected the least plain of the gowns in the drawers to wear last night, but despite its yards of material it had still made her feel naked.

“Those? But those are just old castoffs!” Svea clapped a hand to her mouth, face bright pink, and swept into a deep bow.

“Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean to offend.”

Katja shifted uncomfortably, wanting to reassure the girl. “No!” Svea pulled up her head, looking at Katja in confusion. Katja shook her head. Be careful. She can’t know you’re an impostor. “I mean, you cause no offense. I was the one who did not know.” She smiled at Svea, trying to appear calm.

Svea rose graciously, her face relaxed. “Thank you, my lady. What I meant to say was that those clothes are just the ones left behind by former maidservants. Old uniforms and the worn-out gowns given to them by Lady Varias when she tired of them.”

“Lady Varias? You mean Lord Varias was married?”

“No, my lady,” the girl said, shaking her chestnut-colored head. “His sister, Daciana, Lady Varias. She was killed years ago.”

“Oh,” Katja said, not knowing what else to say. The notion that anyone as cruel and as inhuman as Lord Varias could have a family was difficult to absorb.

Oblivious to the uncomfortable silence, Svea turned to the larger wardrobe beside the bed and flung open one of the polished wood doors.

“These you will find more appropriate, my lady,” Svea said, drawing out a dress in each hand for example. The first was a heavily beaded formal gown, likely for a ball, in a deep blue velvet, and Svea offered it to Katja with a deferent smile.

Katja swallowed and shook her head slightly. “It’s lovely, but…perhaps too formal.” Svea nodded and returned it to the wardrobe.

“I hope this is more to my lady’s liking?” the maid ventured, showing the second dress, this one a lighter, simpler day dress in purple silk. It was finer than anything Katja herself owned, but she took pains to observe it with the detached coolness of a noblewoman. Lifting her head slightly, she narrowed her eyes and gave a quick nod.

“This will do nicely.”

“Very well, my lady. I’ll unfasten it for you.”

Katja stood by, watching dumbly as Svea undid the closures with the nimble fingers of a well-trained handmaid. Sliding her arms through the rustling sleeves, Katja struggled not to think of Elisabeta. Doing so would make her come dangerously close to weeping once more, and she couldn’t afford to slip like that.

The dress secured in place, Svea stepped back with a bow.

“Finished, my lady.”

“Thank you, Svea,” Katja said. “You are dismissed.” The words felt strange coming from her own mouth.

“Breakfast is to be served shortly in the dining hall. Lord Varias has asked that you join him.” Svea gave a final bow and left the room. Katja stood in silence for a moment, not wanting to move forward. She felt like she knew exactly what awaited her downstairs—his cool cruelty, his hard smile—and yet at the same time felt unsure of her part. What was she to do? How would a true noblewoman react to this kind of treatment? The real Elisabeta, she knew, was too fragile to withstand. The real Elisabeta would break under Lord Varias’ control like a wine glass under his boot. But it would do Katja no good to let herself be crushed by him, whether in the name of authenticity or not. Lord Varias terrified and confused her, that was sure, but without the knowledge of how a lady would act, she would have to do the only thing she could: act as she, Katja, would.

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Katja entered the dining hall, trying to quell the nervous quickening of her pulse. She took her seat and glanced at the other end of the table. Lord Varias’ chair was empty. She raised her head, sweeping the room with her gaze. A maid came in through the kitchen door and set a loaf of bread on the table before scurrying back. The fireplace crackled with the pale orange of newborn flames.

Bang. The door behind her slammed against the stone wall, tangling in the curtains. Lord Varias strode across the room, his face wrought with discontent, his shirtsleeves pushed up to his elbows and his cravat loose around his neck. Without a single word to Katja, he pulled out his chair and sat, resting his head in one head and swearing under his breath. Katja sat stock-still, not wanting to disturb him. It seemed to her like even a single utterance would be enough to set him into a full, raving rage now. The maid returned, pouring hot tea from a silver pot into his teacup and came to Katja to do the same for her. As the maid left, Katja smiled and nodded her thanks, keeping her gaze intent on Lord Varias. It was unnerving to see him like this, so different from his usual coolness and composure. Here was a different image altogether: restless, frustrated, and yet with that familiar, unearthly glint in his blue eyes. Katja suppressed a shudder. Lord Varias reached for his cup and drank deeply.

“I trust you slept well.”

The words startled Katja as if he’d shouted them. Her voice quiet, she replied.

“Well…well enough, my lord.”

He looked up, eyes flashing, and Katja’s heart skipped forward several beats, but all he did was smile. The smile she recognized from before, still as confident and imposing as ever, but this time it flooded her with a wash of familiarity more than terror.

“Glad to hear of it,” he said, tearing a slice of bread from the loaf beside him. He straightened in his seat as he ate, his visage composing itself. After a few silent moments passed, his eyes on Katja all the while, he spoke again.

“You haven’t eaten anything.”

Katja swallowed. “I do not have such a great appetite, my lord.”

Lord Varias smirked. “Truly, after eating nothing at dinner last night, I find it more than a little difficult to believe you, Lady Elisabeta.” The name stung Katja’s ears, but she did not draw away. “Why would you even bother coming to a meal where you do not eat?”

He was mocking her, she could feel it. Color rose in her cheeks as she spoke. “I do what is expected of me.”

Lord Varias’ smile widened mirthlessly. “An obedient one you are, my lady.” He leaned forward. “Take a fig, there, from the dish next to you. All the way from Turkey.”

Mechanically, Katja reached for the silver platter and pulled back the small fruit. She bit it, the taste running over her tongue like ash. Truthfully, she had been hungry, but the stare Lord Varias had fixed her with had pushed all thoughts of food from her mind.

“There. That’s better, I hope?” His tone was devoid of concern. He only needs to assure himself that I won’t die of starvation before he can use me, Katja thought bitterly, finishing her fig. Lord Varias pulled another slice of bread from the loaf before rising and walking towards her end of the table.

“You will excuse my brief presence, but I have important work to see to.” He took several steps toward Katja so that he was standing just by her chair, forcing her to look up to see him. Up close, she saw slight fatigue in the handsome angles of his face, but his eyes were alive with icy light. Realizing she’d been staring straight at him, she looked away quickly, but he only bent closer. Reaching his hand to her face, he rubbed his thumb against the corner of her mouth. His touch was surprisingly warm, and Katja felt her eyes grow heavy as her cheek rested in his palm. But he soon pulled away, and she snapped from her daze, sitting straight once again.

“A stain from your fig,” he said, another smile curving his lips. He drew back from her. “You are welcome to rest outside in the gardens if you wish. Anywhere on the ground floor, really. But do not disturb me when I am working.” With that, he strode across the flagstones and out the doorway. Katja sat still a moment longer, the memory of his hand on her face still warm.

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Damn it all to hell.

Adrian swore as he drew back from the page of the book he’d been surveying. It wasn’t here. The blocky Latin words swam together as he closed his eyes, rubbing them slowly. He’d been sure that here, here on the thick vellum pages of De Familia Gensque Variarum was the information he needed, the truth he’d been searching for. The truth that that bastard Sergiu had claimed to possess. The truth about him.

He slammed the heavy leather covers together. He’d been so close. The book had mentioned that there was a prophecy, and Adrian’s pace had quickened, turning pages rapidly, scanning lines of words for information. But all that quick search had yielded was a brief, two sentence explanation: Although the prophecy was said to have been made before the year 800, both the date and contents of the prediction are unknown. The document itself was lost in a raid led by local monarchs in c. 1245.

So there he was, no closer to knowing the truth than when he’d started. He’d been through every book in the family’s ancient library, pored over the pages, even through volumes with only the slightest hint of relevance. And to yield what? The fact that that imposter of a nobleman Sergiu de Ragar might have exactly what he needed?

And he’ll use it to his advantage, Adrian thought bitterly. Adrian rarely dealt with humans if he could help it, preferring to stay on the outskirts of their society, and now he was being dragged to the center.

At least I have a bargaining weapon of my own, he thought with a slight smile, thinking of Elisabeta that morning in the dining hall. Her pale skin was set off in contrast to the deep violet of her dress, giving her innocent looks an aristocratic edge. And the flush in her cheeks when he’d touched her…Merciful God, Adrian thought, a heated sensation sweeping through his chest. How could she simultaneously be so tempting and so innocent?

He shook his head. Regardless of her beauty, Elisabeta was here for a reason. She was to be his wife. He could use her to gain access to Sergiu. And the prophecy. Adrian knew what he had to do now. Pulling a sheaf of paper from below the stack of books, he dipped his quill in its inkpot and scratched it across the surface.

My dear Lord Sergiu,

I was indeed dismayed at your absence at your own ball—I had attended only so that I might have spoken with you. To be perfectly blunt: I need the document of which we have spoken. But I would not admit my need so baldly to a shrewd bargainer like you without taking an upper hand for myself. It is for this reason that I have taken your niece and ward, Elisabeta, Lady de Ragar, and brought her to my castle to be my wife. I am well aware that your stake to the possessions and estate of the late Lord and Lady de Ragar are rooted in your guardianship of her and that they will be relinquished to her husband should she marry. I myself wish for no more than a single object from the many that you control because of her; however I am not averse to taking all from you in order to obtain that which I need.

Naturally, I should like to give you the opportunity to discuss this before anything is settled for certain. I shall give you a fortnight from the delivery of this letter to come to my castle. After that Elisabeta will be my wife and the claim to the de Ragar estate will be mine. The choice is yours.

Cordially,

Adrian, Lord Varias

Hastily dusting the paper with blotting powder, he folded it and dribbled sealing wax across the lip of the paper, stamping it with the insignia ring he always wore.

“Rosko,” he called into the hall, and the manservant appeared within moments.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Take this letter to the stables and instruct my rider to take it to the Manor de Ragar right away. It must get there by tomorrow morning. Is that clear?”

The servant nodded and took the letter. “I shall see to it at once, my lord.” Bowing, he exited the room with quick steps. Adrian turned towards the interior of the library, drawing a hand through his light hair. The work of his search had kept him awake through a full day into a full night until this morning. Despite the strong stamina he’d inherited from a line of strigoi vii, he felt the weight of exhaustion on his shoulders. Walking towards the window, he looked outside to the gardens, expecting a scene of relative tranquility. Instead, amongst the small flowering bushes and lustrous marble pillars that flanked the pebbled path that wound its way through the grounds, he caught sight of Elisabeta. She was resting on a bench, her fingers trailing idly through the water of the fountain. The sight of her stirred something inside of him, like a sudden acuteness of senses, the instinctive tendency for lust that was passed to him by his ancestors. His gaze swept hungrily from the narrow taper of her waist to the swath of creamy skin exposed by the generous neckline of her gown, and he felt an animal-like hunger claw at his belly. His eyes moved upward to her face, and the blaze of heat within him fell short. She was crying, small, swift tears falling from her eyes, her soft lower lip caught between her teeth, her arms now crossed around her chest. He had to go to her.

Hardly realizing what he was doing, Adrian swung open the French door that led from the library to the garden path. He took quick strides for her, a need to protect her, her innocence, overwhelming him like an instinct. Reaching the fountain, he approached her from behind. Hearing footsteps, she turned just as he spoke.

“Elisabeta.”

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A/N: Wow. I actually wrote another chapter. (gasp!) I’ve really gotten into this one again. Anyway, let me know what you think!

And a few notes to clear things up:

In the scenes in Katja’s POV, she calls Adrian Lord Varias, because that’s how she thinks of him.

In the scenes in Adrian’s POV, he calls Katja Elisabeta, because that’s who he thinks she is.

Adrian can go in the sunlight and not get burnt up like vampires usually do because I’ve based his vampire character on the original Romanian legend of the strigoi vii who have no reason to avoid sunlight.

Thanks for reading!