Part 4
She dreamed of him that night—the Dark Prince.
It was her fault truly. After all, her father had assured her that he would never willingly hand her off. His princess, he had told her, was far more precious than all the clients he had gained, than their grand penthouse, or even the treasures that hung on the walls and lined their safe. In fact, Harold had been so concerned about his daughter that night that he had again, for the first time in years, tucked her into bed and switched off her nightlight.
"Goodnight, daddy," she whispered in the darkness.
"Goodnight, princess," he said in return, the voice in the darkness so assuring that she burrowed her head in her pillow and closed her eyes.
Yet a half an hour since her father left, Blair found herself sitting up in the middle of the night and tiptoeing to the Tome 2010 that sat shut on her desk. She powered up the computer and logged on to the Archives, typed the name quickly. She took a deep breath, then moved her cursor to hover above the button.
Search.
And then, she moved the mouse over the button to the right—Come out, come out, wherever you are, it read—to open the random result page.
And her eyes widened in horror as the jpeg image appeared on the screen. It was the famed portrait from the dead Brooklynite—the painting that had turned into an instant urban classic because of the subject and the painter's infamous demise.
He was a dark beast, the caption read. And he was—with the shadows and the crown that seemed more like dagger sticking out of his black, black head.
"Help us bring down the Dark Prince. Let the Basses pay for their crimes," she read aloud from the page. "If you want to learn more about our group, sign up here." Blair bit her lip, then quickly typed in her email address, then hit enter.
And then the words appeared on the page—You will hear from us.
Blair climbed into bed, then curled under her blanket. She sighed, then decided she needed some milk. She padded barefoot out of her room, then made her way down the steps. Blair frowned at the light in the kitchen. Dorota was always careful about switching off the lights before she went to bed. She walked slowly and stopped by the dining room doorway.
Her father sat alone at the table, with ledgers in front of him. "Daddy," she said softly, walking over to him. Harold looked up at her with his glasses sitting atop his nose. She smiled, then glanced down at the numbers that his father had written down. Bank books lay open on the table, held down by a calculator. "I'm sorry, daddy," she said.
But she was not at fault, she knew. Neither was her father.
But here they both were, sleepless and worried and racked by guilt.
All because of the evil beast that was the Dark Prince.
Harold shook his head. "Don't you worry about it, Blair." And then, Harold closed the books to hide the numbers, set aside the bank books and turned off the calculator. "Couldn't sleep?" Blair shook her head. Harold nodded, then stood up and walked over to the refrigerator. "You're too old for a bedtime story," he said. He pulled out a carton of milk, then poured the contents into two glasses. He popped them inside the microwave over, then returned shortly to deliver one of the glasses to his daughter. "But not too old to share a glass of milk with your father."
Blair smiled, then accepted the milk.
"So," Harold began, and Blair recognized the effort to draw her mind away from the problem at hand, "I heard what happened with Nate."
Blair flushed. "We have other problems now, daddy. Bigger problems."
With their entire finances and her father's career threatened to go down the drain, her problem seemed to petty in comparison.
"No problem is bigger than my daughter's," Harold reminded her.
So Blair nodded. "Should I have accepted it?"
"Think back to tonight. When Nate asked you the question, did your heart skip? Did you hear bells ringing in your ears?" Blair smiled, because once upon a time, her father told her a story of a princess who was walking home from church after confession, then turned around to see a prince following closely behind her, passing by her on a black horse. When the princess looked behind her, at the moment she met his eyes, the church bells rang. She remembered it well. "Did you see your reflection in his eyes?"
And she paused, counted her heartbeat so she could think. And then she answered, "Not for a moment."
And her father nodded sagely, then told her, "Then you did the right thing, sweetheart."
"Harold," she heard her mother call out. Blair turned to the doorway of the kitchen, then saw her mother standing there.
She heard her father whisper in her ear, "My heart still skips a beat."
But Blair was closer, and she could see Eleanor Waldorf's eyes red-rimmed and worried. The lines on her forehead never more apparent until then.
"Blair," her mother acknowledged. "Why aren't you in bed yet? You have school tomorrow."
"She's going up," Harold assured her mother. "Go on, princess. Sleep tight. There is nothing to be worry about."
And even as he said it, Blair could see the anxiety in her mother's gaze. Blair turned to her father, then embraced him. "Don't worry, daddy. It will all work out." She cleared her throat, then strode out of the dining room and up the stairs.
She entered her room, then settled back in bed. Blair looked up and out the window, then glared at the nightlight still lit up high.
That monster was still awake.
Monsters never slept, of course. All the evil they had done probably haunted them when they tried.
Hating was exhausting, she found. She eventually drifted off to one of her favorite dreams. She tore pieces of the loaf of bread she clutched in her arms, then threw food to the ducks. The park was snowy, and she huddled under her cloak.
Any moment now, Nate Archibald would ride in, her knight in shining armor, and he would bring her a thick blanket to wrap around her. It was a gentleman's excuse of course. Nate always took the opportunity to hold her in his arms when he spread the blanket over her.
She heard the neigh, then heard the crunch of ice.
Blair pasted a large smile of her face and turned around to welcome him.
Her eyes grew large in horror. Instead of the white stallion she had expected, had gotten used to, there was a huge black beast of the horse that galloped through the snow, stomping and sending ice flying at its sides. The horse ran faster, and Blair heard the grunts coming from the rider. The horse blew smoke out of its flared nostrils.
She held her breath. The black horse stopped in front of her, almost to her face.
"Look up here," she heard the drawl.
And it was the Dark Prince. She knew it was the Dark Prince come out of The Palace to terrorize her. Slowly, her chin lifted to she could look.
Fear bubbled inside her chest. She saw his hands, smooth and long fingered as he clutched at the reins. The hands were too elegant to be the claws in the Brooklyn depiction.
Her eyes moved to his face. But all she could see was red, pure and bright. It was a scarf, falling from the sky, covering her sight. And then it wrapped around her head.
Blair Waldorf woke up screaming. She gasped, then clutched at her blankets as she tried to catch her breath.
She ran to the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror. She felt the tears climb to her throat. Blair grasped her neck with one hand, then took deep, calming breaths. Finally, when she regained her composure, she smiled at her reflection.
Blair turned on the shower. She stepped outside, fresh and bright, then selected the perfect outfit for the day. Blair rifled through the dresses hanging in her closet, then plucked one that was perfect for the occasion. She folded the dress and placed it inside her large yellow bag.
Blair put on her school uniform, then ran down the stairs to eat breakfast, making sure to laugh at her father's jokes and kiss her mother on the cheek. Dorota walked with her to the street.
"Call a taxi, Dorota," she told her maid.
"You no walk to the school today, Miss Blair?" Dorota asked.
So she answered, lifting her foot to display, "I'm wearing new shoes. I should take a taxi."
The doorman helped her maid flag a cab. When one stopped in front of them, Blair hugged Dorota. "Thank you, Dorota," she said to her maid. "Look after mom and dad while I'm gone."
Dorota nodded. "Miss Blair, you only gone for few hours. I come ready with a nice pie for you when you get home."
"I'd love that," Blair said with a smile. She got into the taxi, then waved goodbye to Dorota. Blair turned to the driver, then said, "To The Palace."
She sat back in the seat for the longest ride of her life. The Palace was close, but with the way her heart beat she was afraid she would be an old woman by the time she arrived. Her Messenger chirped in her hands. When she glanced down, she saw the pigeon avatar flying on the screen with a rolled paper tied to its leg. Blair clicked on it, and the paper unfurled to show her the message.
'W8ng 4u d g8. N'
'Running l8,' she texted back. 'Wil luk 4u l8r.'
"We're here, miss."
Blair started, then looked at the driver. The cab driver nodded towards the building at her side. Blair peered out the window and saw the grand entrance to The Palace. She craned her neck to look up, and true enough, she could not see the top as it vanished up in the clouds.
"Tallest building in Manhattan," the driver said.
"We're here," she said in realization. Part of her wanted to grip the door of the taxi and yell at the driver to take her to Constance. But then she remembered her parents' faces as they worried over their lives.
Tallest building or not. Billions or not. Power or not.
The Basses had no right to put that burden on her father's shoulders.
Blair handed the driver her fare, then climbed out of the cab. The Palace guards immediately opened the doors for her. She thanked them, then proceeded to the front desk. To the young woman, she said, "I'm here to see the Dark Prince."
The young woman smiled, then said, "There is no Dark Prince in our guest list, miss."
Blair pursed her lips. "Chuck Bass," she said again. Obviously, the employees would rather not acknowledge the judgmental label that Manhattan had bestowed on the owner's son.
The young woman—Emma—looked her up and down. "He sent for you?"
"Yes," Blair answered, gritting her teeth.
Emma pressed a blue button from under the desk. One of the guards walked up to her, then gestured for her to follow him. Blair walked behind the guard until she was led to a room. The guard opened the room, then she saw several women already waiting inside. She walked inside. The other women greeted her.
Two Japanese stewardesses patted the chair between them graciously. Blair settled in the seat.
A girl with straight blonde hair walked over to her. "Hello." The blonde extended her hand, and Blair shook it. "I'm Alicia. I'm an interior designer."
"My name is Blair Waldorf," she answered, finding a tinge of haughtiness in her voice when saying her name. It was natural. She was a Waldorf.
A few pairs of eyes turned to her. Blair noted that twin girls wearing hotel uniforms were at a corner, looking at her curiously. It was Alicia who voiced the question, "And what is a Waldorf doing here in the waiting room?"
She was in the waiting room to hell.
"This is a waiting room," she observed. There were drinks on one side, and it looked like an open bar. Current magazine issues sat on a coffee table. "Looks like a business class lounge at the airport." A wide screen television was set up high on the wall.
"This is where everyone waits for Chuck Bass to pick them," Alicia related.
At that, Blair shot up to her feet. "Excuse me?"
"It's the waiting room to the Dark Prince's bed," the interior designer whispered in her ear. Alicia pointed to a mirror at the end of the room. "And that's how he chooses."
Blair gave her a look of disgust. She stalked towards the mirror, then said into it, "You are abominable! This is disgraceful." Blair thrust up her chin, then marched out of the waiting room.
The pattering sound of Prada accompanied her march out and across the lobby of The Palace. She heard the ringing sound from the front desk, then Emma's flustered voice. Blair clutched her bag to her side and stood outside The Palace, waving for a taxi. When there was none, and her heart was still beating loudly at the offense, Blair stalked down the street.
"Miss Waldorf!" she heard a man call out. "Miss Waldorf."
Blair huffed, then trudged on.
"Miss Waldorf, wait."
The light at the crossing turned green, and the cars started. She stopped to wait. A shadow fell over her. She turned and saw the large Palace guard standing beside her, blocking out the sun.
"Miss Waldorf, my apologies. You are to go directly to the top floor."
"If you think I am going back there after what I saw—"
The guard sighed. "They were not invited, Miss Waldorf. You were."
"I was blackmailed," she corrected him, her voice scathing.
At that, the guard did not comment. He offered his arm. "Then there's a reason you're here," he said. Blair glared at the arm first, then held on to it.
The guard entered his security code in the elevator when they got in. Blair looked up at the LCD display as the numbers quickly changed as it registered the express. She grew nauseated at the speed at which they climbed. When she thought she would throw up, the elevator stopped. The doors opened.
Into an empty room.
"Another waiting room?" she asked.
The doorman nodded at the door. He gestured to the door knocker, then stepped back inside the elevator. Once the doors closed, Blair found her nervousness grow.
Even the guards were afraid of him.
Monster, her brain screamed.
She reached out with a trembling hand then rapped on the door.
For such modern living, the door gave an eerie creaking noise when it swung open. Blair found herself staring at the back of a head. A curt, "Follow me," was all she heard.
He moved, and she found herself staring at the shoulders. There were no overly bunched muscles, or spikes protruding. She made a face as she tried to discern if there were horns peeking out of his thick dark hair.
"You're rude," she commented, when Blair verified that he had no claws. Like her dream, the hands at his sides seemed elegant and maintained.
His voice was cold when he responded, "You just called me abominable, before even meeting me." He stopped by another doorway. "Get in there. I'll get us a drink."
Blair stopped, then peered inside. It did not seem like a torture chamber of any kind. In fact, it looked like a living room of sorts. "You're offended," she realized as she stepped inside. Blair walked inside the room, then settled in the comfortable armchair. All around her, the walls were mirrored and she saw herself in her school uniform looking out of place in the lush surroundings.
"I'm human," he pointed out.
Outside, the Dark Prince turned around.
Blair's eyes widened when she saw the side of his head. And then, he walked towards her, nearer and nearer.
And finally, she saw his face.
His eyes, she realized, were brown.
RRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG.
RRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG.
RRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG.
"Bells?" she whispered.
The Dark Prince dropped the glasses. "Get out of there!" he yelled. He sprung towards the door. Blair gasped when the door shut down before he could come in. She turned around and saw the clear glass windows that overlooked the city be covered by a wall that fell from the ceiling. Blair ran towards the door and tried to pull it open.
"What the hell was that?" she screamed when the ringing ceased.
Silence. Complete and utter silence.
And then finally, she heard his voice on the other side. "I told you to get out," he hissed.
"Sorry I'm not a cheetah!" she yelled back.
"Don't panic," he said in forced calm. "It's the security system."
"Well get them to release it."
He sighed. "It's time-sensitive," he explained.
Blair frowned. "You mean we won't get it to open?"
"It's either twenty-four or forty eight hours depending on the threat detected."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's insane. My parents have no idea I'm here!" she yelled at the door, her voice filled with hatred while her eyes filled with tears. She looked at herself in the mirrored wall. She sniffled. "This is all your fault. I hate you so much."
On the other side, there was silence.
"Dark Prince!"
Nothing.
"Chuck Bass," she called.
He did not answer.
Blair looked around her at the empty room. At least twenty four hours. She would be all alone in the strange room. On one hand, if he turned into a monster he could not reach her. On the other—
She licked her lips, then grabbed her bag. She rooted inside for her Messenger. There were no signal bars. She waved it around hoping for a miracle. It was still dead.
"Chuck Bass, you're the reason I'm here! You can't do this." Guilt. If he was really human, then that should work. "You summoned me. I wouldn't be here if there was no ultimatum." She remembered the waiting room downstairs. "You have plenty of women waiting for you."
Finally, she heard, "Maybe I wanted to meet you." Her eyebrows arched. Blair sat down on the floor, then rested her head back against the door. She scoffed. "Maybe I wanted company."
"Why me?"
"Because I wanted you," he said matter-of-factly. "So why not you?"
She tightened her jaw. Brat. "Let's be clear," she said. "I came here so my dad won't lose his practice. That's it."
"Plenty of time to talk about that. We'll be stuck like this for a while," Chuck told her.
Blair rolled her eyes. She yawned at the little sleep she got that night. "Well, if there's plenty of time—" She stood up, then walked over to the couch. "I'm going to take a nap," she called out.
"I want you to keep me company," he insisted. "No sleeping."
It may have been the sheer exhaustion, or it may have been the impossibility of the situation. Blair attributed it to the sheer height instead. She had settled into the couch, then drifted into a dream land. The next thing she saw was red, blood red, all red. All around her it was cold, like snow was falling.
The red scarf peeled from her face, and then she opened her eyes.
There, the Dark Prince sat atop his giant black beast. And then, he leaned down until the moonbeam hit his face.
In her dream, she opened her eyes and sucked into her lungs the cold icy air. "Dark Prince," she said to him, "you have brown eyes."
tbc