"They really are a marvelous invention," Ileana mused as she gazed toward the sky, grinning a little wider as another explosion of colour filled the air, "I read that the Chinese have had them for centuries."

"They were our providers for the evening," the Count stated simply from her left, chuckling as a nearby woman gasped as an intricate blue firework twirled out across the water.

She glanced sideways, only taking in his appearance for a split second so she wouldn't miss the show. He was clad in a dress suit, black as usual, and his lengthy dark hair was held back with an intricate pin of silver, on which a dragon was etched. He did look rather dashing this evening, and she was certainly proud to have him as her escort. The festivities has been going on since early in the morning, and despite the fact it was finally a sunny day, the Count would not go outside. He claimed to have a frightful headache, and spent the whole day in bed in his chambers, all the curtains drawn and beneath the covers. Although she was permitted to go explore the grounds, if she wished, she did not want to do it by herself, and was content to wait for him in the little cottage. She had even cooked him something to eat at lunch time, and as pleased as he was with it, he didn't seem to have an appetite. Apparently the headaches came during blissfully warm and sunny weather; sensitive eyes and skin, he had said, though Ileana was somewhat hesitant to believe him.

He had been sickly pale enough to look ill though, and once evening finally came he perked right up, and apologized profusely for keeping her indoors all day. Apparently there had been circus acts and markets set up all across his relative's yard to welcome the birth of the new son into the family, but Ileana figured she would not have had much fun without the Count there. They dressed quickly, he in his formal attire, and she in the exquisite dress he had given her. Before long, they were immersed deep within the party guests. The Count spoke with a few of them, though most seemed younger than Ileana. He steered clear of the elder members of the family, claiming there was some bad blood between them, and after he had given his congratulations to the happy couple, and let Ileana hold the newborn for a moment or so, the two left the groups of people in preference for each other's company.

This whole thing, apparently, was just a formality for the Count. He wanted to show his face so the family wouldn't send him pesky letters about never attending these sorts of events. Should they see him once a year, at least, then they would be placated. These Hungarians were from his mother's side, apparently, and had lost touch with whatever family he had left in Romania; they rarely visited. It was then that Ileana felt some sort of connection between her and the Count; she barely saw her family, aside from her uncle, and it was not a big deal by any means. Many argued that family should be the most important thing in their world, but Ileana hardly knew the difference between seeing them and not. It was a norm by now to be without them.

Currently, she and the Count were standing amongst the throngs of people who were outside to watch the Chinese firework display. It was getting close to midnight, though she hardly felt tired, and she had a feeling the slim glass of ... some sort of alcohol was helping keep her spirits up. The Count's hands gripped the thick stone railing of the small bridge that they stood on, which crossed over the moat that surrounded the Hungarian fortress.

"I've read all about them, you know," Ileana stated, nodding her head up toward the loud bursts of light and colour, "but I never thought I would get to see them in person."

"Yes, they are a wonder, aren't they," the Count sighed, sounding somewhat less impressed with them than she was. Arching an eyebrow, she glanced at him quickly, not wanting to miss a thing, "You seem bored."

"You are very observant."

"But how does this not amaze you?" she demanded, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a quick sip, "It's sheer genius!"

There was a pause as another particularly loud explosion went off, and Ileana was among the many to grin brilliantly at the green and yellow combination as they danced for their audience. The Count smirked down at her, though she hardly noticed. What she did notice, however, was the slight touch of his arm across her back as he slipped closer, his right hand now resting beside her on the railing.

"Let's just say... I've seen them before."

She shook her head, "That hardly seems like a reason to disapprove now. I think I shall still be enthralled every single time I see them, should I see them again."

"They do get old," he insisted, the point of his chin resting on the side of her head, "or perhaps I am too old for them."

"Nonsense!" she laughed, tilting her head back to look at him, "You can't be that old!"

"You would be surprised, my dear."

"Well, how old are you?"

She wasn't exactly sure why she was so comfortable with this, the way they were standing and simply engrossed in a totally pointless conversation. It seemed... appropriate, and right. Now, Ileana was certainly not a romantic. No, her head was firmly planted in her books and on the ground where it belonged, but she couldn't ignore the setting. The fireworks. Her gorgeous dress. The way she could occasionally feel a puff of exasperated air come from his nose when he laughed. This was different than anything they had ever done before, and she could literally feel her heart pounding heartily in her chest. Surely he could feel it too.

"I feel centuries old."

"That isn't what I asked, Count."

There was the puff of air again. She grinned, pleased that she could keep him mildly entertained, at least.

"Well, I'll be forty-two this winter," he finally replied, "which is quite a good deal older than you, so that makes me old."

"Oh."

"Does that bother you?" he asked softly, this time his mouth next to her ear. She could feel her skin prickle as he spoke, and she took another hasty sip of her drink, "No, not at all. Why should it?"

It was normal, was it not, for a man to be older than a woman? Most of the relationships she knew of consisted of a man at least five years older than his bride, and no one batted an eye when a man in his sixties was married off to some young girl from another family simply to make a political connection. No, there was absolutely nothing wrong with this. Studying her drink pointedly, her skin danced once more as he tucked her loose hair back behind her ear, and planted a chaste kiss on her temple. There was no way either of them could ignore what this was anymore. It wasn't simply one kiss from a month or so ago; this was something. What it was, Ileana hardly knew, but it was something more than a working relationship, and certainly a great deal more than a mere friendship.

Her lips parted slightly as she sucked in a bit of air, eyes darting to the side to see if anyone was watching. He had moved away from her temple to her ear, his lips grazing across it momentarily, and then ducked down to a sensitive spot on her neck. No one seemed interested in them in the slightest bit; they were all too enthralled with the ongoing show, which was becoming louder and more extravagant with each firework. Her cheeks flushed a dark red as he applied more pressure behind each kiss to her neck, and her stomach knotted when she felt his hand come up to rest on her hip. Everything, except the knotted stomach, felt weak, and it was as though he was the only thing that was keeping her from crumbling to her knees. No one had ever done this to her before; ever.

Then, as quickly as the moment had started, it was over. A drunken young man stumbled into the man standing next to Ileana, who subsequently knocked into her. The sudden jolt back to reality caused her to release her drink, which landed with a small splash in the lake.

"Oh, goodness," she muttered, somewhat embarrassed that she had done it, while a little annoyed that it was gone, "that was stupid."

"Don't think of it," the Count murmured, taking her hand in his and gently leading her away from the railing. "We will simply have to get you another one. Come along, Ileana."

She clutched at his hand firmly as they navigated through the crowds of people that had somehow managed to fill up the entire little bridge and not cause it to collapse. His hand was cold, as usual, though she couldn't imagine why. Every inch of her body was on fire, so much so that not even the chill in the night air was enough to cool her down. How could he does this to her? How could he have such an effect?

Once inside, the Count led her into the main party hall, then turned to face her, "I will get us something to drink. Wait here... the hall is far too crowded with my drunken relatives."

She smiled at him shyly when she noticed he lingered a moment to look her over once, and then quickly vanished into the crowd, no doubt trying to find the drink's table. Surely there was a servant nearby who could have provided them with something...

"You know, I never thought he'd actually bring one of his wives with him!" came a voice from behind her, causing Ileana to flinch rather violently in shock. She turned back, and eyed a drunken looking blond fellow with a thick Hungarian droll, "He always keeps them hidden away."

"I beg your pardon?" she snapped, eyebrows knitting together, "But did you say 'wives'. The Count has wives?"

The man sucked in his cheeks, as though he had said too much, "You aren't married?"

She shook her head, and he shrugged, "Ah. Well. Need not worry, my dear. They can't be as pretty as you if we have never seen them!"

"Them?" she repeated, her stomach knotting again, but not for the same reason as before, "Plural?"

"Three, from the last time I remember," he slurred, swaying a little as he stands, "and I suppose he'd like a fourth. He's very traditional, you know?"

She couldn't bring herself to listen anymore. She had been such a fool! Stepping around the fellow, who was still mumbling something about weddings, Ileana hurried back the way she came, her head still a little dizzy from the alcohol from before. However, once she was in the fresh air, things began to clear for her. Of course he was married! A man of his age would have been married a long time ago, and apparently three times wasn't enough for him. She had never seen these women before, but he must have gone off to see them whenever he left Castle Frankenstein for weeks at a time. Things were all starting to make sense now. How could a man so rich, so powerful, and of a royal breed be even remotely interested in her alone... No, she was a fool. Her feet moved faster as she raced down a spiraling staircase that led down to the back cottages. There were several of them on the property for the guests, though she still knew the way to her own.

What was she to do now? Leave? There was nowhere she could go here; she was in a completely different country, alone, and with no money to her name. Perhaps she would just have to sit in a stony silence until they went back home, and once there she would completely ignore every part of him. She was furious! Well, hurt and furious. As if she would ever take part in some harem of other women because one man was so... old-fashioned that he couldn't adapt to modern times and simply take one wife! She brushed away an angry tear, hating that she was wearing the dress he had given her.

Footsteps echoed on the stone walkway behind her, but she ignored them. The way she was feeling, no man would dare try to assault her in the dark.

"Ileana!"

Ugh. The sound of his voice made her blood boil, and she kept walking, her hands clenched at her side. The footsteps drew louder, and she could only deduce that he was running after her. A moment or so later, she felt a hand wrap around her wrist, easing her to a stop. It was funny; he didn't seem out of breath. Shaking her head, she wrenched her arm from him and took two steps back, her voice laced with fury, "You lied to me!"

He seemed taken back, and his face fell momentarily, "What?"

"You... You're married!" she snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at him, "And I know you never told me you weren't, so it isn't really a lie, but you never said otherwise, and that makes this just as bad!"

For a moment, he almost seemed amused, and with that extra slap in the face, Ileana turned on her heel and continued to stomp toward the cottage, furious that he wasn't denying it immediately. That drunk was right, and Ileana was a fool.

"Ileana," he called, his voice somewhat less concerned now as it was before as he followed her at a distance. "Who told you this?"

"Some... Some drunken relative of yours," she stated, noting the fault in her source, but ignoring it. "He said you already had three that were never brought out, and that you were looking for a fourth, which explains why I'm here!"

The small heels of her shoes clomped noisily as she tromped up the walkway to the cottage, the wind rustling in the nearby trees. She clutched the doorknob fiercely and tried to turn it, only to realize that it was locked, and that Dracula had the key. Sucking in her cheeks in frustration, she turned around, glaring at him as he stood on the walkway, watching her, "I need the key."

"No," he replied, somewhat gently, "Ileana, let me explain."

"I don't want to hear it!" she said curtly, "Just give me the key so I can go inside and lock myself in my room until we leave!"

He rolled his eyes, muttering something in Romanian, something that made her feel as if he was being a patronizing arse, and it did nothing to help with anything. Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him pointedly, waiting until he would eventually just give in, realize he was in the wrong, and let her in.

"I had three wives, yes," he started, taking a step toward her, "but my luck with them is limited, as they're all dead."

She swallowed thickly, "What?"

"It's a bit of a family joke, really," he mused somewhat darkly, "that I can't seem to hold onto a wife any longer than a few months, maybe a year."

At that moment, she wasn't particularly sure what to say. Half of her didn't want to believe him, what with all the secrecy in his life, and all the things she didn't know about him, but the expression on his face pulled at her heartstrings.

"Verona, my first wife, died in childbirth," he stated, ticking each one off with his fingers, "I was twenty. Aleera, my second wife, was killed in a riding accident, so I am told, while she was out with a hunting party. I was twenty-seven. Marishka, her sister and my third wife, committed suicide over the grief of losing Aleera two years later, and I stopped looking for someone to marry ever since."

A silence settled over the two of them, and Ileana wrung her hands together somewhat anxiously, unsure of a way to break it. The way he looked now, so torn over admitting their deaths... well, it made her want to draw him in and hold him, just so he would feel better. However, there was other thoughts that still tugged at her mind, her logic and reason, and she wasn't about to abandon them.

"But-"

"Surely the man you were talking to can't be trusted," he argued, coming a few steps closer to take her hands in his. "He was drunk... and no doubt riding on the family joke to humiliate me. I told you that there was bad blood between myself and some of them."

"That's... true," she managed to get out, remembering his tales of some of the conflicts that have been in place over the last few years, "I... suppose."

"And if I am finally looking for another wife," he murmured, their faces as par as she stood up on the stone step, "would that really be such a terrible thing?"

Ileana blinked, taken back by the statement, though she was hardly given a moment to ponder over it. He swept quickly, his large hand cupping her face, and pulled her into a worthwhile kiss.

He was a brilliant sod, wasn't he? Dracula couldn't help but feel somewhat proud over his quick thinking. Each one of their deaths fit, did it not? Verona, the bride who longed for children more than any of them, dying while giving birth to one... Poetic, down to the last detail. Aleera was the risk taker, and had she been allowed to go on hunting parties centuries ago, surely she would have somehow pushed her horse too hard and lost control. And then there was Marishka... Young, selfish... Suicide suited her. She had threatened it many times when he would not give her the attention she thought she deserved over the other two, but she had still yet to figure out a suitable way to actually make him concerned.

When she had told him that he had lied to her, he thought for a moment that he had been discovered. There were a few in his family that knew Dracula was not human, though they had been terrified into silence long ago. These men were now endowed with lengthy white beards and pot bellies, and they avoided him so long as he did the same. However, that story was still safe, for now, and it kept in infinitely amused that Ileana became so hot and bothered over the thought of him having other women in his life. Oh, if only she knew!

He kicked the door closed behind him, carrying her slim figure into the dark. Her arms wrapped snugly around his neck, and he casually tossed the set of keys he had been given somewhere behind him. She was not a horrible kisser, considering he was the first man she kissed. She was shy and unsure of herself, which was normally not attractive in a woman, but Ileana somehow made it work because she balanced it out with scientific genius. But everything else about her reeked of virgin. In a literal sense, of course, but also figuratively. Her skin had never been pierced, her blood had never been tasted... He could smell its sweetness through her skin, and she had absolutely no idea how much will power it took to only kiss her. He could have easily taken whatever he pleased, and made her forget it should that satisfy him, but he couldn't do that. Not now, not tonight. There was the image of the wounded husband that he had to play, and she fell right into it.

Navigating through the darkness was never a problem anymore, and even with his attention on Ileana, it was a breeze finding his bedroom upstairs. The sun had caught him off guard that morning, and he didn't have the energy in him after a day of traveling like a human to change the weather. So he had spent the day in bed, an actual human bed, for the first time in a very long time. Perhaps spending the night in it now would be slightly more interesting. He eased her back down onto the bed, crawling up her body as she inched back, trying, no doubt, to keep up with him. It was difficult sometimes to hold back, but she was delicate, and could be easily broken should be apply too much pressure. She was just a little girl, after all. An untouched, unbitten, and untasted little girl...

His lips found her neck once more, his favourite spot, and he felt her shudder beneath him. She enjoyed it just as much as he did, and things couldn't have been going more smoothly. And then it stopped. Ileana mumbled something against his lips, and he pulled back, and eyebrow quirked, "Are you all right?"

Her breathing was heavy, and he realized that it would look odd if his was not, so he added some in for extra effect. It was annoying to remember to be human sometimes. The girl nodded her head, but shuffled out from underneath him anyway, "Yes, yes I'm fine... It's just... I feel a little lightheaded, that's all."

"That will be the alcohol in the beverages," he sighed, slightly disappointed, though not in the way another man would have been. He had patience. Even in life he knew how to bide his time, and nothing had changed in death. "Perhaps we should stop?"

She bit her lip, and then nodded, "Yes... I think that would be best."