Chapter Text
She was young when she first came to him.
He had already seen a bit of the world, had led soldiers into battle, and had a few illegitimate bastards running around the castle grounds. If not for a few years difference, she would have made a better match for his eldest son, but it was a political alliance that needed strengthening, not matters of the heart. Nobody thought of love, in those days.
Her father was a nobleman with an impressive fortune and a manor somewhere at the foothills of the Carpathian mountains. One of her grandmothers was of Italian origin. The girl was the youngest of seven children, and a precious asset. Her family needed to buy protection from the Turks who raged at the borders of their land, and had offered her up as means of payment.
He had cared very little about her wealth and beauty when he had accepted the alliance. Indeed, she was uncommonly pretty, with hair the colour of dark wine and teeth that shone like quartz when she smiled. What had caught his attention was the fact that the girl could read.
It was unusual, in those days, for a woman to be learned, but her father had entertained interests in astronomy, alchemy and all sorts of sciences, and had passed his inclinations on to his youngest child. This made her an amusing curiosity to Dracula.
She travelled with her maids to Wallachia under the protection of his warriors, and he greeted her on horseback to join her for the last bit of the way. She didn't speak a single word the entire journey.
He found it peculiar when she averted her eyes as they crossed the bridge with the stakes that carried the heads of slain Turks and Saxons. It was a little surprising, since the same was practised in the land of her birth. The earth was red everywhere with the blood of fallen soldiers and civilians alike.
Perhaps a convent would have been a better place for a woman like her.
In the weeks before their wedding, they hardly ever saw each other. Their union was a negotiated necessity, a chess move, a diplomatic strategy, and neither one of them had much say in the matter.
The ceremony was performed after local traditions, and ended with him stalking into the night blind drunk. He hadn't touched her that day, or on any of the following. His desires got satisfied elsewhere, like they always did.
His young wife knew that he called her “the child” or “the nun” behind her back, and she stayed out of his way. The ongoing conflicts kept the warlord busy, and he was hardly ever home. She preferred it that way.
She was frightened of him.
***
One summer night, after several weeks away, he wandered into the rooms that had been given to her. He found her dressed in her shift, sorting through two chests filled with books. His eyes widened. Her dowry had consisted of gold and jewellery, but this is was something much more precious.
Books had always been rare in their corner of the world, but the wars had made them almost impossible to attain.
“So this is what you are hiding”, his voice was amused, but he startled her so much that she almost dropped the volume she was holding.
She stared at him, and he could almost hear her suddenly frantic heartbeat from across the room. Her hands clenched the leather binding.
“They are mine”, she stated, mustering all authority and courage she had ever possessed.
It was hard for him not to laugh. How fiercely she looked at him, the book in front of her chest like an armour!
For the first time, he studied her more closely.
“You really are afraid of me, aren't you?” he said, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
She cast her eyes down and her cheeks coloured. The long ropes of her hair hid her face. It was rather amusing to watch. A bit touching, too.
“Don't worry”, he finally said. “I am not taking them from you.”
“You wouldn't?” It was apparent that she did not believe him. That meant she was no fool.
He grinned at her. “No. But I wouldn't mind if you allowed me to take a look at them some day. I have a library here, but I believe you might have some treasures there.”
She gave him a long, searching look.
He bowed his head slightly, and walked up to her. Deliberately careful, he lifted the book out of her grip and opened its first page. Another tug on the corners of his mouth.
“Avicenna's Canon of Medicine. In Greek!”
„My father gave it to me.”
“I knew your father was eccentric, but this is surprising,” he said. “I do believe it is rather unusual for a women to be hoarding this kind of knowledge, wouldn't you agree? Dangerous, too perhaps?”
“Dangerous?” she raised a fine eyebrow. They were the same colour as her hair, standing in contrast to the pale skin of her face.
“Eve ate from the tree of knowledge, and look what that did. Got them cast out of paradise.”
“Dangerous, perhaps”, she conceded. “But perhaps it was worth it.”
He gave her a slow smile. She didn't know why her stomach suddenly felt tight as a sheet.
“Aren't you afraid they might accuse you of witchcraft? Or heresy?” he asked, and reached out to lift one of her red strands with his fingertips. “I saw people burned for having the wrong hair colour, let alone for doing the wrong kind of reading.”
She endured his touch.
“I have made it this far in life without raising much attention. I will continue it that way.”
“Are you so certain of all things?” His smile widened. She took the book from him. Why was her heart beating so fast?
“Besides,” she said. “I am a married woman now. That should raise less suspicion.”
“Ah. I had forgotten that marriage does not only buy protection, but also decency.”
“It affords you the same. Along with a number of strategic alliances and my dowry.”
“Well observed,” he remarked dryly, and watched as she folded the leather-bound book into a linen and placed it back into the chest. He noticed that she was shivering in her shift, despite the warm night. Her bare arms were the colour of milk.
“How long have you been here now?” he asked. He couldn't remember.
“Almost three months.”
“And how do you like Wallachia?”
“I have not seen much, other than the inside of your castle and a rather impressive collection of heads on spikes.”
“Thank you”, he grinned. “But haven't you been exploring? Someone with your curiosity surely would want to see things.”
“None of your men could be spared to accompany me, and I hardly think it wise to wander your land alone.”
He watched her for a moment.
“Well, come along then”, he said, and turned to leave.
She didn't move.
“Why? Where are we going?”
“If you are to be my wife, you have to learn to trust my lead.”
She only huffed at that answer, and found his grin unnerving. Why did he have to be handsome? Nothing required him to be, and yet here he was.
“Also, if you are to be my wife, then you should see your new land”, he reached out his hand. She took it, and felt the calluses his sword had left in his palm.
“It's the middle of the night. And I am not dressed.”
“That is when it's the most beautiful.”
He led her to the stables, wrapped in his cloak. The whole castle seemed asleep.
He lifted her onto his horse in front of him, directed them through the courtyard and out into the open fields.
“The forests of Wallachia are incomparable. There is nothing like it in the world,” he whispered in her ear as they entered the endless rows of trees. The horse seemed to know where they were going, and only needed the moon to illuminate the way.
Eventually, they reached a clearing, and he brought the animal to a halt to let her slip down.
He, however, stayed on his horse. When she realised that he wasn't going to dismount, fear flashed through her. Would he abandon her here, in the middle of nowhere? She would never find her way back on her own, and wolves were in these woods.
“Where are we?” she asked, her voice betraying the cool façade she as trying to keep.
He didn't answer, only looked at her. She pulled his heavy cloak tighter around her shoulders.
Dracula killed for pleasure, all the tales said so. She hadn't wanted to believe everything people said, but she had seen the heads on the spikes. How long until the flesh would rot off her own skull on the bridge next to them?
Finally, he spoke again.
“You have nothing to fear. This is a sacred spot.”
She gave him a nervous smile as he slid out of the saddle.
He was so much taller than her, her head only coming to his chest. How easy would it be for him to harm her? She closed her eyes.
He raised the back of his hand to her face and caressed her cheek. A shiver ran through her as he traced her lips with his thumb.
“It is dangerous times we live in”, he said, and wrapped his fingers around her throat. He felt her swallowing heavily. “But stay loyal to me, and I will let no harm come to you.”
“Are you so certain of all things?” she asked, parroting the words he had spoken earlier. He only smiled.
“There is one more thing we need to do, to seal our alliance.”
He laid her down in the soft grass, and parted her knees with his hands. She didn't move, but she shivered with fear. He watched her chest rise and fall with increasingly shallow breaths. He had seen all kinds of fear in his life, but this one was the most delicious.
He was slow, but knew he couldn't spare her the pain. She closed her eyes, and gasped when she felt his mouth on hers. She had not expected it to be like that, so strangely sweet.
“You taste like strawberries”, he whispered.
There was something about him, something in his eyes, something that he did. It was hypnotic. Whatever it was, she decided she could go on with it.
***
She gave birth to a son not long after that, and to a second one two years later. It was good to have his succession secured. It cemented his rule.
He spent most of his days on the battle field, and anything that brought stability was welcome to him. He feared the day his life would be cut short. He feared it more than anything, but knew it was inevitable. Warlords died in battle.
Never had he imagined that his existence would be prolonged, stretched beyond any human comprehension. But it happened.
In the middle of the night, he awoke in a field surrounded by corpses, in pain and shaking like a mad dog.
“You are going to be a lively one, aren't you!” a voice next to him remarked. “It will be over soon. And you are going to live deliciously.”
***
He stood above her bed, looking down at her sleeping form. He was calmer now, after he had fed on several people, including a priest and a gypsy girl. It had taken a while before he had found his senses again, but eventually he had remembered the way back to his castle.
The news of his “death” hadn't yet made it to her. They hadn't found his body.
He had climbed into her bedroom through the window, fifteen meters above the ground. To enter his own house, he didn't need an invitation.
She looked different, somehow. Her skin smelled different, even more enticing than he remembered. Warm with sleep. Her blood was singing in her veins. He could hear it. It was like music.
Her hair was spread out across her pillow, and he reached out to lift a strand away from her neck. She stirred under his touch.
“Elisabeta”, he whispered her name. Her eyelids fluttered and she rolled onto her back.
“You are home”, she breathed, more asleep than awake.
“Yes.” He dropped his clothes onto the floor and slid into bed beside her.
She turned towards him, and he ran her hand down her body, feeling the life rushing through her.
“You are cold”, she whispered against his skin. He hushed her softly.
But something was different.
Then, he felt it. Such a strange, gentle curve above her slender thighs. He grinned. It was good to be home.
He kissed her lips, taking his time. Then, he sunk his teeth into her neck.
It was all there. The Greek she knew how to read, the knowledge collected in her books, all her memories and her feelings. She had become a wise mistress in his absence. He drank it all, the blood of his wife and child, absorbing it all into his being.
Just before her heart stopped, he let go of her and looked into her wide and frantic eyes.
“You taste like strawberries”, he told her, and placed his mouth on her open artery again.
He left nothing behind, he took everything. He made sure she was dead.
When the maid found his wife's body alone in bed in the morning, she let out an icy scream. The servants buried her with a stake in her heart and left the castle the same day, disappearing into the countryside.
He didn't need them any longer. He knew he would live deliciously.