.: TWENTY-ONE :.

...

Hermannstadt, Violet Tuesday 1770

Vlad groaned as his back hit the mattress of a creaking bed inside an even creakier room. The bed swayed dangerously as Leonie pounced on top of him like a cat – clawing her nails down his chest and stomach until she reached the waistband of his breeches. When he moved to help her she swatted his hands away; she tugged and tore at the placket with more urgency than he'd ever seen from her, freeing his cock in an instant and then immediately sinking down onto it with a pleasured sigh.

He snarled and bucked his hips as her hot flesh engulfed him. "…Slowly."

Leonie ignored his breathy request; she threw the tail of wispy blonde curls over her shoulder and began riding him like a cart on a bad road. "...I missed you," she purred from behind her green, velvet mask. It was all she was left wearing of her costume for Karneval; the crown of laurel leaves and gauze shift stitched with silk flowers abandoned on the floorboards by the door – dropped and discarded before he'd even had a chance to ask her who or what she was supposed to be. "…And, I know I should not say that… I know how you hate it... but, it's been weeks; I was worried..."

Vlad shut his eyes and beat his head back into the pillow; he reached down and grabbed her hips – trying to slow her frantic pace. "...You shouldn't have concerned yourself," he muttered, trying to concentrate.

"…But I thought... I thought that you had forgotten about me," Leonie whimpered as she snatched up his hands and slapped them against her breasts – holding them there as she rolled her hips. She threw her head back and moaned. "I thought that you had found another."

"…Forgive me," he demanded gruffly after a pause. "I've been… preoccupied."

It was nothing more than an empty excuse, but actually – annoyingly – it wasn't that far from the truth. He'd spent weeks holed up within the crumbling walls and candlelit bowels of Poenari – indulging in anything and everything that could keep him occupied. He'd practiced his swordplay, re-read his favourite books, and drank through a good deal of his dusty store of brandy as he pondered over his plans for rebuilding the castle – anything that could take his mind off of the unbearable feeling of being besieged from something that no weapon or fortification could ever withstand. Anything that could take his mind off of her.

The trouble was that she'd broken through his defenses long ago. And worse, he'd let her. He'd practically flung open the doors and invited her in.

Why the devil had he even invited her to Poenari in the first place? Before, he could easily forget about her if he picked up a sword or climbed the western tower to catch the last of the sunset – but now he found her scent lingering in every cobwebbed corner. He could hear her angrily playing the harpsichord - those damned eyes of hers cast down at the keys, lashes brushing the smattering of freckles across her cheeks. He could feel her warm skin and her trailing fingertips and everything they'd touched, including himself, and he was still picking small pieces of glass from the crevices of the flagstones where the bottle of brandy she'd sipped from had smashed (Grande Champagne Cognac from 1704 – a truly tragic loss).The only part of her she'd taken when she left had been the damned pearls.

He didn't like to admit to himself how many times over the years he'd slipped the gleaming strand from his casket of jewels and reclined in his bed, thinking of her – of that night. He'd war with himself over it - growling as he hid casket from view and still ended up fishing his fingers into it. He'd lift the pearls to his nose and inhale the distant smell of them – of her – and remember how she'd felt, how she'd tasted. A vintage – as she'd termed it – so rare and delicious. He used to chuckle to himself when he thought about how she'd shoved his shoulder and wriggled out from underneath him – casting a flushed and furious glance in his direction before fleeing. He'd chased her lingering scent all the way to the gardens of the Hofburg before turning back and retreating into the night.

It had been nothing but a harmless memory until she'd turned up in his kingdom – just as beautiful and twice as beguiling as before. And suddenly - just like the pearls and the casket - he found he couldn't help himself. It was just as well that she'd taken the pearls, because now the memory of that night only served to make him angry – make him ache. What had begun as a simple desire for a second helping of something rare and special had turned into something far more difficult to resist. Now he didn't just long to taste her – to touch her – again, but to possess her utterly.

Vlad turned his head to the side and sighed. Was this really what the great Vladislaus Dracula had been reduced to? A sentimental fool willingly entombing himself within a decaying castle, comforting himself with memories of the past – of what he'd once been – sneaking out to a creaking brothel every now and then to feed, to fuck – to remind himself of what he'd once had. The truth was that he'd pooled more than enough gold to restore Poenari for some time now, but he'd been holding off – holding himself back from doing it.

Why? What was stopping him?

He'd been a king once; he wanted to be one again, to have – to feel – that kind of power in his veins. But the world had changed so much since those days – and whereas he'd physically changed with it, he found that his mind hadn't quite caught up. The truth was that he was still clinging on to a long forgotten past and was unsure of his place in the future. Unsure of himself. Of his legacy.

Of course, he could have everything he wanted in a heartbeat – if he so chose. An army, a throne. A bloody coup would be easy. Too easy. Besides, the world had changed and was beginning to demand more than just a heavy hand from those in power. He needed to adapt – to evolve. But how?

Infuriatingly, Irina had been right. What right did he have to lecture her on hiding from herself when he was doing exactly the same thing?

Leonie suddenly stopped moving above him. "…Oh," she pouted as she wriggled her hips and looked down between their bodies. She sent him an awkward glance, "Did I do something wrong...?"

Vlad rolled his eyes as he patted her backside – silently asking her to move. "…No," he grumbled as he threw an arm behind his head. "I'm just tired."

Leonie raised an eyebrow as she lifted her leg over and then sprawled alongside him. "But... it's only midnight," she said. "Is that not much the same as noon to you?"

Vlad hesitated. She had a point. "Hm."

"… Maybe I could… do you want me to try something else, perhaps?" she asked, her blue eyes glancing down his body. She traced the muscles over his stomach, "You haven't tasted me yet," she suggested, quirking an eyebrow. "You must be hungry..."

Vlad stared up at the ceiling, following the cracks with his eyes. "…Thank you, but I've lost my appetite."

Leonie puzzled. She glanced down at his cock, "Would you like me to taste you?"

He let out a long sigh as he rolled onto his side – turning his back to her. "No."

"No? Next you will be telling me that you have a headache!" she complained.

Vlad rolled his eyes. "It's certainly getting there."

Visiting town tonight had been a mistake. He'd been so desperate to get away from Poenari – so desperate to distract himself and take the edge of his pent-up anger with some meaningless sex. Leonie had always been a satisfying distraction between the sheets; her fair hair and dimpled flesh had always been pleasing on the eyes, and her blood tasted of the small mountain village in the Carpathians where she was born - unchanged in a hundred years - and of the marzipan fruits that one of her other clients liked to bring her. But as soon as he'd strolled into the noisy parlour of the Capota de Trandafir and saw all the masks and revelry underway for Karneval, he'd instantly regretted his decision.

The bed shuddered as Leonie got up and stomped across the room. She shook her head as she snatched up her shift and began to dress.

At the sound of her feet on the floorboards, Vlad sat up. "…What are you doing?"

She scoffed. "You pay to fuck me and to feed from me," she replied as she pulled the shift over her head and dragged it down over her curves. "And since neither of those things seem to interest you tonight, I will go."

He sent her a stern look. "Leonie, I–"

She threw one back through the holes of her mask, "There is only one thing – one woman – interesting you tonight, and it is not me, and so I will go–"

Vlad frowned and shook his head. For fuck's sake, "You don't know what you're talking ab–"

"Do not try to deny it," she said as she released her hair from her collar. "You may be three hundred years wiser than me and understand the tongue spoken in every town from here to Paris… but in this language, Conta? I am the one who is fluent."

Vlad sighed as he leaned up within the tangle of sheets. "Do enlighten me."

Leonie shrugged at him. "Perhaps you did not notice, but everything changed the moment she arrived here. Everything. This changed. You changed," she told him, gesturing to him as he sat there pretending not to listen to her.

"I haven't," he argued quietly – mostly with himself. He tutted at himself, "I haven't changed in three hundred years Leonie, I'm not about to start."

She smiled as she folded her arms; he might have been over three hundred years old but he could still act like a sullen youth when he wanted to. "Prostii! You think you are different but in this? You are the same as any other man. I see it so many times it is almost boring," she explained. "A sudden change in appetite and touch – a rough hand becomes a soft one… a shift from casual to passionate. The empty eyes. The closed eyes. Swallowing down another woman's name before you spit it out. The signs - they are all there."

Vlad turned away and fixed his gaze on the buckled floorboards as she suddenly tucked her knee under and perched on the bed.

"You see! I am not stupid; I can tell when a man is imagining himself between the thighs of another," Leonie said.

He snorted.

"And I am not angry, it is nothing to me - I do not care, I am not starved of cock or coin; go fuck your Duchess."

Vlad glanced at her with some amusement. He suddenly remembered why he'd chosen Leonie in the first place; he'd always been intrigued by her indifference and her bruised feelings towards the world around her. He could taste it in her blood – sour and spicy; flavoured with every man who'd ever wounded her. And yet there was a hunger there that he could taste too. A hunger for more from life.

She raised an eyebrow. "All I ask is that you give me what you owe me – what you promised me long ago," she said. She waved a hand, "There is a reason why I give you a discount - why I keep your secret."

Vlad raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. "And here I was thinking that was all down to my charm."

She smiled coquettishly, but still pushed the subject. "I mean it, Conta. You promised me."

"Now's not the time, Leonie."

"Then when?"

Vlad growled as he got up, quickly seeing to his breeches and glancing around for his boots. It was time to leave - time to retreat back to Poenari. He wanted to yell at her on his way out the door, tell her that he'd decide when that time would come – if it ever did. And then he thought of Irina; how she'd called him cruel for stringing Leonie along and put a rein on his anger.

"When, Conta?" she demanded, standing up.

He found his boots at the foot of the bed and scooped them up.

"I have been more than patient; I have waited long enough."

Vlad turned. "Leonie, you have no idea what waiting even is," he snarled at her as he perched on the edge of the bed and shoved his feet into his boots one by one. "No idea at all."

Leonie stomped after him – her bare feet slapping the floorboards. "Oh, don't I?" she shouted as she stopped at the foot of the bed and stood over him. "I spend my whole life waiting! Waiting for men – waiting for them to beat me, to fuck me. I wait for jealous wives to call me a witch. I wait to be locked away. I wait for my beauty to fade; I wait to catch a bastard, or worse… I wait to run out of coin, to be thrown out on the street… to be left to rot like Sofie. I know what waiting is; I don't want to do it anymore."

Vlad wiped a hand across his jaw; across the blunt, black hair growing there. "Leonie–"

"Do you know what I do want? I want to watch the rest of the world rot around me," she told him as she placed her hands on her hips, "whilst I bloom forever like a sofran. I want more for myself than-" she huffed at her surroundings, "than this."

He looked up at her and raised a dark eyebrow. "...And you're perfectly content to watch everyone you care about rot away as well, I suppose."

Leonie shrugged her lips as she plonked down beside him. "I have no one to care for," she told him.

Vlad frowned; he sent her a sideways glance. He believed her, "But that won't make it any easier," he told her. "I don't think you understand what you're asking of me. There's a reason why I've never created another of my kind, Leonie. Aside from the loneliness, the transition from human to vampire can be… it can be challenging – at best. Think about the worst hunger you've ever experienced, then multiply it–"

Leonie shrugged, "I spent most of my childhood starving – you know this - an aching belly is as familiar to me as breathing."

Vlad sent her a piercing look. "Fine. Now imagine yourself with that aching belly but constantly surrounded by a feast of the most delicious food you've ever tasted – ever smelled," he explained. "Imagine plates spilling over with marzipan fruit and having to restrain yourself from gorging on them."

She couldn't even restrain herself from licking her lips at the thought of it.

He shook his head. "Without supervision you'd be vulnerable, volatile. It can take years to develop the kind of control required to survive–"

"I know how to survive – you know that I do," she insisted, her blue eyes wide – wide with guileless hope. "And as for the rest, you will teach me."

Vlad scoffed, then chuckled. He leaned back on his hands, "Another reason why I've never had the desire to procreate. All that responsibility quite gets in the way of... more pleasurable pursuits."

Leonie leaned on her side and grinned at him. "But I promise I will behave," she purred, cocking her head innocently - peering at him through that ridiculous mask. "I always do as I am told – I have been a good whore, have I not?"

Vlad flicked her chin fondly. "The best," he agreed.

"…So?" Leonie pressed. "I will be the best Vampire. A Queen of the night."

Vlad looked at her and considered it. She was probably the best candidate he'd ever come across in a long time – and she was willing. But still, he groaned as he stood up from the bed. He'd promised himself that he never would. He'd clung onto that promise; of all the terrible things he'd done, that had been the one good thing - the one saving grace. He'd treasured that last shred of humanity. If he lost that, he was frightened of who he might become.

"…I can't," he replied, holding his hands up. "It's a curse – I couldn't. I'm sorry."

Leonie stared after him as he padded around the room, lacing his breeches and searching around for his shirt. She let out a long sigh as she drew swirls on the sheets with her finger; she shrugged her lips, "Fine. If you are so willing to break your promise to me, Conta," she muttered, "then the next time someone offers me diamonds for your secrets… they will find me just as willing."

She barely had a moment to blink in the time it took him to close the space between them and seize her by the neck. He bared his fangs as he loomed over her and pinned her body to the lumpy mattress.

"…You dare to threaten me?" he growled.

Leonie scowled up at him – she barely moved; she didn't even attempt to claw at his hand. "…I," she wheezed, "have nothing to lose–"

Vlad tightened his grip and enjoyed the flash of fear in the watery eyes that peered back up at him through the green velvet mask. "I disagree."

"–But you do," she warned him. "…You do have something – someone – to lose."

Vlad held her furious gaze for a moment before he let go, retracted his fangs and then stepped away. She was right; with one word she could ensure he was driven out of Transylvania again. He'd lose Poenari. He'd lose Irina. He smashed his fist into the nearest wall; he was quickly becoming an example of how control could be easily lost – even after hundreds of years spent mastering it.

Leonie sat up at the sound of the flimsy plaster wall crumbling like a biscuit. Dust showered down from the ceiling between them. She smoothed hand down her neck as she glared at his back – at his shoulder muscles as they tensed and flexed. She'd never seen him so racked before - as cold, wild and destructive as the north wind. "I know you must be angry about the wedding... but being here - it won't change that."

"...Wedding?"

"Why waste your time here... with me? You know that time... is running out," she wheezed, wincing as she swallowed and tried to catch her breath. "If you want to be with your Duchess... then I suggest you stop coming here... make it happen sooner rather than later."

Vlad turned to face her. "…What do you mean 'running out of time'?" he demanded. "What wedding - what are you talking about?"

When Leonie noticed his bewildered expression, she blinked in surprise. "…You mean, you have not heard?"

"Heard what?"

She almost felt sorry for him. "Aoleu..."

"Tell me."

Leonie pushed the mask up onto her head; she frowned before she met his gaze. "Your Duchess is to be married to Prince Lupesci," she told him. "I thought you knew this, I thought that was why you-"

"That's a cruel joke, Leonie – even by your standards." Irina marrying into diluted Hungarian nobility? The notion was laughable.

Leonie was amazed, "It's not a – I thought you knew," she went on, incredulous at the ignorance of a man who'd lived for three hundred years and claimed to know everything about everything. When he didn't respond she threw her hands up, "Este adevărat! Her papa arranged the match before his death, and then the prince stepped into his empty boots. He is Governor now – this is old news, how do you not know all this?"

Vlad threw his hands into his hair; he raked his fingers through the dark waves. How indeed. "Irina's father - the Duke - he's dead?"

"Prostule! Perhaps you did not notice Conta, but this town? It still manages to breathe when you are not in it, you know," Leonie reminded him. "We do not hold our breath for you. I certainly don't."

And she was right, he was a fool; whilst he'd locked himself away within the walls of Poenari the world had been very busy turning itself on its head. "When? When did he die?"

Leonie shrugged. "He was sick; he did not live to see the new year," she explained. "There were even vapours being thrown around for a time that your Duchess poisoned him. But, of course Prince Lupesci - he quickly smothered those when he asked for her hand. Lucky for her; she was a skip away from being burnt in the Piata Mare, so I hear."

"Lucky," Vlad muttered, shaking his head; none of it made any sense. Why the devil would Irina agree to such a thing? She'd never in her right mind submit to such an inferior match; she was a willful, prideful colt who refused to stoop for anyone – why had she suddenly given in and taken the saddle, as it were? She'd sooner go back to Vienna. "…How do you know all this, Leonie?" he demanded, disputing the source of such ludicrous gossip.

She sent him a look. "My face fell off just as yours has when one of the girls first told me–"

Vlad brushed her words aside with a snort. He rolled his eyes; whispers between whores were about as reliable as a silk sword. "Oh. I see."

Leonie sneered at him, "You might think that we are nothing but a bunch of gossiping whores, but you forget – some of the most influential men in Transylvania choose to spend their nights here," she reminded him. "And sometimes they are as loose with their secrets as they are with their coin."

"…What have you heard?" Vlad pressed, stepping towards the bed.

"Well. One of the other girls – she is the mayor's favourite – and she tells me that he likes to talk. A lot. Likes to sound bigger than he looks – if you understand my meaning," Leonie explained with a wink. "Anyway, he bragged to her that she would soon have to start calling him Baron, as the future King was going to raise him and make him such."

Vlad stared at her. "…Future King?"

Leonie raised her fair eyebrows. "It seems Prince Lupesci wishes to be more than just Governor of Transylvania. He does not come here, but the men who do - they are always talking about his royal Hungarian lineage," she told him. "He and his council plan to push out the Austrians and rule by themselves. There is a reason why we cannot seem to keep a Governor for more than a year - why they keep dying so, so mysteriously..."

Vlad was aghast.

"These men, they call themselves The Carpathian Con–"

"The Carpathian Conclave," Vlad interrupted on a long, weary breath. Fuck. He couldn't decide whether he was bored of those idiots or furious with them.

Leonie hummed as she leaned back on the bed. "Ah, the coin drops – you've heard of them."

"…Unfortunately, yes," he replied, the sound of flames licking the bricks of Poenari rising in his mind as he recalled the last time he'd faced The Carpathian Conclave. "I had hoped they were extinct by now."

How dare they! How dare they presume to steal his throne – to plunge his country – his people – into a bloody war with the Austrians. Anyone who indulged the might of Habsburgs was either mad or had a deep desire for death – probably both.

An who the hell was this upstart prince at their head? He felt his blood boil at the thought of a damned Hungarian's treacherous hands touching Irina.

But what did she have to do with all this? She'd always bragged that she was destined to become a Queen someday – but her blood was Austrian; he doubted she'd throw her lot in with a Hungarian rabble and overthrow an Empress she adored and looked up to simply to feel the weight of a crown on her head.

And then he considered the very real possibility that she'd been maneuvered into a corner; that she was nothing more than a pawn in a man's stratagem to steal power.

He scoffed to himself; oh she'd just love that.

"I have to go," Vlad told Leonie as he quickly finished dressing himself. "I have to see her."

Leonie stood up and nodded. "I understand," she replied as she watched him shrug into his jacket and fiddle with the cuffs.

"I have to get to the bottom of this," he went on determinedly as he stomped towards the door. "I have to warn her. I have to stop it."

Before he could leave, however, Leonie snatched his wrist. "Go," she told him. "...But do not forget what you promised me."

Vlad stared at her.

"...Because, Conta," she warned, "I promise you that I will not forget."

Vlad turned back, gently cupped her neck and drew her towards him. He kissed her forehead, nodded once, and then left.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Bit of fresh scenery this week - I thought we needed to poke around Vlad's head a bit. Also, I kind of love Leonie; she was one of those side characters that was never supposed to speak much, and then I let her have a sentence and couldn't bloody stop her. I love it when that happens! It's honestly one of my favourite things about writing, you never know when a character is going to start making demands of their own and take the story in a totally different direction than you expected. ;-)

Hope you've all had a lovely week whatever you've been up to. We're definitely heading into the end zone now, although there's still a bit more to come. Huge thanks to Scarlet Empress and Remember for your lovely reviews and support - love you guys! x

Historical/Language Notes:

Grande Champagne Cognac: You learn something every day, so goes the saying, and that's never more true than when you're a writer constantly researching all kinds of random crap. So, Cognac is a type of Brandy (Armagnac is another) that's made in France. Cognac's are then divided up based on the "Cru"/region in which they're made - and that as you'd expect changes the flavour and quality of the cognac. Vlad's preferred cognac is Grande Champagne Cognac - the best (naturally) - which is made in the Charente region of South West France. Bottles of Louis XIII Grande Champagne Cognac (that's the brand, not the age!) cost upwards of £2000(!) - and that's cheap from what I've seen online.

Hofburg: The main Imperial Palace in the heart of Vienna.

"Prostii": Romanian, "Rubbish!"

Sofran: Romanian, the word for Snow Drops - that little white flower that blooms towards the very end of winter.

"Aoleu": Romanian, "Oh my"/"Crikey"

"Este adevărat": Romanian, "It's the truth!"

"Prostule": Romanian, "You idiot!"

Piata Mare: The main square outside the Governor's Palace in Sibiu.