.: TWENTY-FIVE:.

...

"When you've lived for hundreds of years, it's easy to become bored and disillusioned with all the things that used to surprise and interest you," Vlad panted. "You outgrow almost every pleasure – just as a child outgrows their toys…"

He was lying flat on the ballroom floor on top of a bundle of his clothes - swathes of black velvet - his muscled arms tucked behind his head as he gazed wistfully up at the ceiling.

"…But that," he said as he glanced down at Irina – nestled up against his chest, "I could live for a thousand years and still never be bored of doing that."

Irina leaned up, her long hair hanging over her breasts. She tucked a few strands behind her ear and smirked down at him, "Bored, no. Exhausted? Yes," she said. She winced slightly when her fingers grazed the bite marks on her neck, "No wonder you sleep all day."

Vlad frowned as he reached out and cupped her neck, gently sweeping his thumb across the small, slightly raw-looking puncture wounds just below her jaw. "…Sore?" he asked.

She turned her head and kissed the knuckles. "Nothing that a bit of yarrow won't sort," she said with slight shrug. "Although, in future I'd rather you chose a more discreet artery."

"…In future?" Vlad replied, sitting up.

Irina placed a hand on his chest. "If you're lucky."

He leaned into her as he swept his hand slowly up her thigh, "Well, my preferred artery is actually right... here," he whispered against her lips as his thumb brushed along the femoral artery.

Irina sighed – feeling her body warm immediately beneath his touch. She closed her eyes as his hand moved higher, "Mm. That's certainly preferable."

"Mm," he replied as he teased her with his lips – brushing them against hers for an all too brief and maddening moment, and then pulling away.

She frowned suddenly, wrinkling her nose. "...This is perhaps a silly question, but am I going to-"

"No, iubita mea," he replied, "You'd have to drink my blood for that to happen."

"Oh," she whispered, feeling sheepish. "...How much?"

"Barely a drop," he said. He raised an eyebrow, "It's potent."

Irina shrugged her lips and thought about it; the physician inside her unable to help herself from pondering how it all worked. "...Fascinating," she said, as she rested her arms on across her bent knees. "I'd love to understand the biology behind it."

"...I'm not sure that it's supposed to be understood," he replied.

"...So," she said with a grin, "did you really come here to warn me, or was that all just an elaborate ruse?"

Vlad's eyebrows pinched; he swiped his hand across his jaw.

"…What?" Irina asked him. She scoffed and smiled, "It's alright if it was, I'm not angry."

He took her hand and brought it to his lips – holding it there for a moment as he searched for the words to explain. "Iubita mea," he whispered against her knuckles, "I need to tell you something."

"What?"

He looked down at her hand, playing with her fingers as he spoke, "I should have told you before – right away – but as usual, you distracted me–"

"So, tell me now," she insisted softly, tilting her head as she tried to force his eyes to meet her own. "Start at the beginning."

He looked up and then nodded. "Irina, when you and your father first arrived here, you came with very little understanding of this place, and of the war you were blindly walking into. A war that's been simmering here for centuries and now – unfortunately – seems to have reached the point of boiling over."

"War? What war?"

Vlad shrugged, "The war for sovereignty over this place," he replied. "The Hungarians, the Habsburgs, the peasants – even the serfs – they all believe that they – above all others – have the right to rule Transylvania."

Irina snorted and rolled her eyes; this wasn't news. "Why do you think I didn't want to come here in the first place?" she told him as she smoothed her hair. "Come on. Everyone – even the Empress – knows that the Hungarians would rather go it alone. That's hardly a secret, Vlad; that's why she sent my father in the first place. With his wealth of experience, she was hoping that he'd be able to - you know - smooth things over–"

"And look how well that went," Vlad remarked without missing a beat, his eyes following her hands as her fingers combed through her curls.

Irina pulled back – angered by his words. "I might remind you that he'd been here barely two months before he died – not to mention the fact that he was sick for most of that time," she snapped. "Real reform takes time; don't you dare try to lay the blame at his feet–"

Vlad reached out and wrapped an arm around her bent legs, "I'm not. I'm not," he told her, smoothing his hand up and down her thigh. "What I'm trying to tell you, Irina, is that the cards were stacked against him from the start. Against both of you. Your father – I'm sure - would have made a fine Governor if he'd ever had the chance to truly affect change here, but the Hungarian nobility were never going to allow him that opportunity, iubita mea – and I think you know that."

Irina shrugged. "…I suppose," she replied with a sad little nod.

"Look, here in Transylvania, Habsburg Governors – even the best ones – come and go with the seasons," Vlad went on. "…And some under very mysterious circumstances, it has to be said."

Irina blinked at him, "Mysterious? Why do you say that?"

Vlad raised a dark eyebrow. "Do you really think the previous Governor's death was caused by a hunting accident?"

Irina was alarmed. "…You think he was murdered?"

Suddenly she couldn't shake the horrible feeling that perhaps there was something more sinister at play in her own father's death. He'd been ill long before their arrival in Hermannstadt, of course, but his decline had been unpredictably swift. Too swift. And in those final days, mysterious symptoms seemed to appear that didn't seem to align with his underlying illness.

"…But, murdered by whom?" Irina asked.

Vlad lay back, leaning on his elbows. "There's a group of Hungarian nobles – they call themselves The Carpathian Conclave," he explained, rolling his blue eyes. "They've been around for almost as long as I have – although I hadn't heard the name uttered in over a century and so I foolishly assumed them to be extinct."

"Who – what are they?"

"They're descendants of the same group of nobles who burned Poenari to the ground," Vlad replied.

"Oh."

"In the beginning they came together simply to meddle in church cases where their lands were being threatened by cases of suspected vampires and witches that were causing unrest among the peasants and serfs. But now?" he tutted. "Now it seems that they've found a slightly more ambitious cause to throw their misguided views and money behind."

"And what cause would that be?" Irina asked.

Vlad looked her. "They want to overthrow Austrian rule."

Irina almost laughed. "You're not serious."

"They've a coup planned, Irina," he informed her without an ounce of humour. "And from what I'm told, it's not exactly in its infancy. Quite the contrary, in fact."

She inhaled slowly. "…And you think my future husband is at its helm."

"…It would appear so," Vlad replied with a slow and serious nod. "I do hope you're planning on reconsidering that match, by the way."

Irina tried to swallow the uncomfortable lump forming in the back of her throat – anger rising there like bile. "Vlad, do you think...? Surely you're not..." She took a breath. "Could he have murdered my father?"

Vlad hesitated. "I don't know. But he wants to become King, Irina. King of Transylvania," he told her, his lips twisting at the thought of a Hungarian sitting on his throne. "And by the sound of it, he'll do whatever it takes to achieve that aim. Your father was certainly an obstacle."

Irina threw a hand to her head. "…My God."

Was it even possible? It was hardly a secret that she'd never warmed to Prince Lupesci let alone trusted him, and while she knew full well that he'd been letting himself into her father's study in the weeks before his death – writing letters, signing papers – she'd never seen him venture upstairs in that time. She and Fiebe alone had nursed the Duke in his final weeks – no one else had been allowed into his room and most of the household staff had steered clear, concerned that he might be contagious. She wondered how the prince could have possibly pulled it off without being seen. She needed to know the truth.

"He's been using you, iubita mea," Vlad warned as he reached for her – sweeping the hair from her face and gently cupping her cheek. "He's been using the murders of those serfs and the attacks to stir up resentment among the peasants. Playing on all their old superstitions and fears, all the while drawing attention to the incompetence of the Habsburg regime – funneling the blame onto a sick Governor and his wild and wayward daughter." He waved his hand, "He's going to use that momentum to stage a coup. I don't know when or how, but–"

"You mean to tell me he plans to take on the Imperial army with little more than the local militia and a rabble of serfs?" Irina scoffed. "That's idiotic, even for him."

Vlad shrugged his lips. "Well, as powerful as the Conclave believe themselves to be, they need a willing army," he warned. "And fear is quite effective when it comes to mobilizing the masses, Irina. Believe me; I would know. It's possible he's secretly garnered support from Hungary."

"When?" she asked. "When is he planning to do this? How?"

Vlad shrugged, "I don't know."

Irina rested her chin on her shoulder for a moment. Her eyes suddenly flashed, "Perhaps we can find out."

Vlad watched as she stood up and padded naked across the ballroom to the doors – his confused gaze dropping hungrily to her curves and smooth, pale skin – illuminated by the moonlight. "…What are you doing?" he asked as he watched her scoop up her chemise and dressing gown.

She threw them on quickly. "Get dressed and come with me."

Intrigued, he immediately did as he was told – dressing in a flash and then joining her at the ballroom doors.

Outside Irina found the hallway just as dark and as quiet as it had been before, with the addition of Folie – as well as Scapino – snoozing just beside the door. Folie lifted her head and trotted over excitedly as soon as her mistress appeared, with Scapino following sleepily behind. She gave them both a soft pat each before crossing the hallway – heading for the door leading to her father's study.

Vlad smiled as the dogs came to greet him. "…You have two?" he whispered in surprise.

"…Scapino belonged to my father," Irina replied quietly over her shoulder as she reached out and grasped the door handle. She pulled down and pushed, but the door simply rattled in place. "Locked. Damn."

Vlad appeared beside her.

"Prince Lupesci has been using papa's study for past few weeks," she explained. "If we could just get inside then we might find-"

Vlad nodded, "Allow me," he said as he calmly steered her aside.

Irina watched as he gripped the door handle firmly in one hand and then planted the other on the door frame. He grimaced as he wrenched the handle and pushed; the door crunched, then swung inwards – the dogs bounding through the gap and into the room.

Vlad leaned against the door frame and smirked. "…Ladies first," he whispered, gesturing to the open door.

Irina briefly raised an eyebrow at the bent brass bolt within the door, then swept inside. "…Thank you."

She hurried over to her father's vast mahogany desk and the piles of paperwork covering it – piles of letters and documents that Prince Lupesci had been working on since sliding into the role of Governor. She rummaged through the papers like a squirrel rummaging through piles of leaves – desperately hoping to find a gleaming and glossy nut buried beneath them.

Vlad strolled inside the study. "…What are you looking for?" he asked as he fixed the door and then shut it.

Irina shook her head. "I don't know," she replied as she lifted up a map of Hermannstadt and the surrounding countryside and mountains, hoping there might be something lurking under it. "Something. Anything? Some proof of what he's planning to do? And when he's planning to do it? I have to do something – I have to warn the Empress–"

Vlad approached the desk. "Irina, the woman abandoned you," he reminded her. "You don't owe her anything."

Irina's hands paused over the paperwork. "It's not about her," she explained as she started sifting through a new pile. "This is about the serfs, and the innocent peasants who are going to die because some self-entitled arschgeige has to prove that he's better than everyone else! Just because his - who cares however many times - great grandfather wore a crown doesn't mean that he should–"

"What? What are you talking about?" Vlad interrupted.

Irina set her hands on the table. She sent him a confused look, "Vlad. Prince Lupesci is descended from that Hungarian King you told me about. The one who stripped you of your throne and locked you away..."

Vlad stared at her.

She carried on scanning through the paperwork, "He brags about it constantly – that his family were responsible for driving you out."

He wiped a hand across his mouth and then raked it through his hair. "I don't care," he told her as he suddenly rushed to the other side of the desk. He took her hands, "Irina, I don't care. He'll be dead soon enough if he's that crazy enough to take on the Imperial army."

Irina blinked at him; how could he not care? "But–"

Vlad grabbed her arms and pulled her towards him. "Irina, leave the mortals to their madness; come with me - come to Poenari with me tonight."

She looked at him, amazed by his ability to distance himself from everything that was going on. But then that had been his modus operandi for centuries - distancing himself from all humanity.

"Or Vienna, I don't care," he insisted. "We'll go wherever you want – just name the place. As long as you come with me and leave this chaos to run its course."

Irina stared back at him for a moment as she seriously considered doing what he'd suggested. But then, she thought of her father. "...I can't," she realised out loud.

Vlad hung his head and sighed. "Irina–"

She reached for his face – brushing her fingers through the fine dark hair growing along his jaw. She made him look at her. "I'm yours," she told him. "But this man might have killed my father – and now he's going to force innocent people – your people – into a war simply to bolster his own ego? No." She turned back to the desk, "I can't just walk away and allow to get away with that – I won't."

Vlad watched as she started on the draws – desperate to find something incriminating to help her cause. She rummaged furiously – pulling the whole drawer and plonking it on the surface of the desk.

"Iubita mea-"

"You said that you didn't know what your purpose was anymore," Irina told him as she flicked through the paperwork lining the bottom of the drawer. "That you could never travel too far without those mountains out there calling you home," she added, pointing to the window.

Vlad glanced out of the window into the darkness – casting his gaze over the rooftops and towards the horizon and the snow-capped spine of mountains that hadn't changed in centuries. They'd been the one constant – while the people and the buildings and the fashions had changed, those mountains had been his one conduit to the old life and the old ways, grounding him and reminding him of who he was.

Irina pulled out a piece of parchment and nodded. "…Well, this is your purpose, Vlad," she said. "This is your kingdom; those are your people. You can't keep turning you back on it all."

Vlad pulled away from the window and looked at her. "What do you expect me to do, Irina?" he asked, throwing his hands up. "Become governor myself? How would that work when I can only move at night?"

"You'd find a way," she suggested. "If you were brave enough to surround yourself with trustworthy people with the same beliefs and mindset as yours then... yes, I think you could rule this place. You know you could do it."

He stared at her.

"But if you won't do that then please, at the very least help me stop this. For me? You know it's the right thing to do," she pleaded, and – almost instantly – he had little choice but to agree.

Together they emptied the entire desk – read every scrap of paper – until finally, Irina's fingers fell upon on a bundle of papers with the prince's seal attached.

Vlad pointed to the heraldic wolf imprinted into the red wax at the foot of each letter. All the other documents on the desk had held either the Brunswick seal, or the Habsburg seal of office. These were different, "That's the Conclave's seal," he muttered, tapping the page on top.

Irina rolled her eyes. "It's the Lupesci family crest – Alexander wears it on his finger," she explained as she scanned the papers – her eyes narrowing as she stumbled over the swirling, swooping handwriting that seemed very un-Lupesci.

"Alexander?" Vlad repeated, jealous at her familiarity with the man.

Irina tutted, "He hunts wolves with a crossbow; I always thought it was to do with that… but now–"

"…What does it say?" Vlad asked.

She shook her head and huffed. "My very limited Hungarian isn't up to it."

"Give it here," Vlad said, taking the pages. His blue eyes travelled quickly from top to bottom, "It's from a woman – I can smell perfume all over it."

Irina scoffed. "That doesn't surprise me," she replied, remembering what Carmelia had told her when they first met – about how the Prince's desk was full of perfumed letters. "He's not starved for female attention. I think I'm the only woman in town who isn't under his spell."

Vlad shook his head. "…It's not that kind of letter," he told her. "It's cryptic; she's asking what she should do with 'her guest' should the plan fail. Here, she asks the recipient for permission to 'indulge her nature' – whatever that means."

Irina puzzled. "…Guest? A prisoner, perhaps?"

Vlad shrugged, "It's signed by someone called, A Vadásznő – The Huntress."

Irina suddenly heard Carmelia's silky voice in her head.

…He's quite the greedy hunter, you know, once he sets his eye on a quarry, he simply refuses to share a scrap with anyone else.

She snatched the parchment. Of course, "It's from Carmelia," she mumbled angrily. "Of course, she's a part of this."

Vlad was confused, "You know this woman?"

Irina looked at him, "You mean, you don't?"

"Should I?"

"…I would have thought so," Irina replied. "She's a vampire."

Vlad was outraged. "What?"

Irina couldn't believe it. "Wake up, Vlad; she's the one who attacked me that night – attacked you," she explained, slapping his shoulder with the paper – ghosting over the spot where the knife had sunk in, now miraculously healed. She sighed, "…No wonder Prince Lupesci never found the attacker – he was employing her the whole time! He wanted a vampire stalking the streets, scaring the peasants, causing panic... and he found one to do exactly that."

Vlad took the paper back and inhaled it skeptically. "…I don't recognise the scent. If I've met this woman, then I should recognise it…"

Irina's eyebrows bounced. "She's clever - if she's the huntress she claims to be then she'll know how to hide her tracks," she said as she picked another page. "Here, what does this one say?" she asked.

Vlad scanned the contents. He shrugged his lips, "It's a letter of thanks – from the Örök Bárója of Brassó – for recognition of his loyalty towards the crown."

"The Örök, what? What does that mean?"

"The Perpetual Baron of Braşov," Vlad translated. He groaned and muttered something in Romanian about Hungarians under his breath. "Perpetual Baron – it's an old Hungarian title that the King used to reward those closest to him with – those most loyal. Basically a title to be held in perpetuity. The men who held it were given administrative duties over counties – given lands, wealth, power, serfs – they were practically kings in their own right until the Habsburgs removed them and installed their own version."

Irina glanced down at the signature - the handwriting seemed familiar. "…So, who is this Perpetual Baron of Braşov? I wasn't aware there even was a Baron of Braşov."

"Leonie told me that some of the girls at the brothel overheard The Mayor bragging on several occasions that he was to be shortly made a baron," Vlad explained.

Irina raised an eyebrow. "…Leonie?"

"Behave," he replied with a smirk. "She's a friend. Nothing more."

Irina harrumphed. "An argument for another time," she muttered as she took the letter and tried to focus on one problem at a time.

"And I'll be more than happy to have it," Vlad replied with a smirk. He leaned over her and whispered in her ear, "As long as it's resolved in exactly the same manner as the last one."

Irina sent him a heated look before peering at the recipient's title at the top of the paper; it seemed all of the letters were addressed to the same person, "Te kiválóság–"

Vlad duly translated, "Your excellency–"

"–Székelyispán," Irina read, her finger tracing over the word. "…What does that mean?"

"Another old title," Vlad explained. "The Count of the Székelys – it was the title for the leader of all Hungarian Transylvanians. All Hungarian born Princes of Transylvania used to style themselves with the title... until – again – the Habsburgs did away with it. Couldn't have the Hungarians going around with an inflated sense of importance."

Irina scoffed. "Well, in my experience there are plenty of men wandering around Hermannstadt with an inflated sense of importance - too many," she replied. "But there's only one who would dare define himself as the leader of the Hungarian Transylvanians."

"Lupesci?" Vlad assumed.

"None other," Irina agreed.

"Now you understand why I had to warn you," Vlad replied. "This madness will swallow us all."

"But we can stop this. The seal – these letters – they're proof enough of his plans," Irina said, gathering them up in a bundle. "I can't believe the fool actually kept them – he's obviously arrogant enough to think he's going to succeed."

Vlad looked at her. "What do you want to do?"

"I have to get these letters to the Empress somehow – secretly – without Lupesci knowing about it," she replied, wondering how she could do that.

Vlad reached for her. "Then come with me tonight, Irina," he suggested. "We'll take them straight to her. I'll escort you there myself."

Irina shook her head. "I can't, Vlad," she replied. "If I run now – steal away in the middle of the night without word, leaving this study in a state then he's going to know why and he's either going to step up his plans or scramble under a rock like the snake that he is." Not to mention the fact that the Empress seemed to have washed her hands of her - there was no guarantee she'd even listen to what she had to say. Her son, Emperor Joseph, on the other hand...

"Hm."

"It's possible that he murdered my father – I can't give him the opportunity to get away with that. I won't. And I'm certainly not going to wait around either here or at Poenari or even Vienna for the Empress to send someone for him. I'm going to get to the bottom of it myself. I have to - for my father's sake, and for the serfs Prince Lupesci is planning to drag into this. People like Fiebe and her brother."

"Iubita mea, please think about what you're–"

"I want him to think that he's won," she told him, her brown eyes burning as she spoke. "And then I want to see the look in his eyes when he realises that he's lost."

"You want revenge."

"He's taken everything from me – and I'm going to do exactly the same to him."

Vlad couldn't help but admire her fire, but he feared deeply for her. "Irina, the wedding is tomorrow – today! It's today! In a matter of hours!" he reminded her, nodding at the clock on the bookcase displaying the early hour. "How far are you willing to go settle this score?"

Irina carefully placed the bundle of letters down on the desk and then took Vlad's hands. "Look, it's Ash Wednesday today – the first day of Lent. And because of that, they can't perform the ceremony until after dusk," she told him. "That will give me plenty of time to put my affairs in order here and then do what needs to be done."

Vlad sent her a stern, worried look. He sighed as he took her face into his hands and hesitated before he spoke, "Then let me make you what I am. Let me give you power and the strength to do this."

She touched his hands. "I thought you didn't believe in that?"

He frowned. "I don't. I said I couldn't, I know... but the thought of losing you-"

"I'll be fine," she told him. "Besides, I can't afford to sleep all day - not yet anyway. And especially not tomorrow."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "Please let me protect you," he insisted. "You can't do this alone."

"I don't need you to protect me, Vlad," she whispered firmly. "And I can do this. More than that, I want to. And I need to do it – before I can even think about walking away from it all and being with you."

Vlad nodded, and then kissed her forcefully – fearfully – pulling her body into his.

Irina looked into his eyes and smiled. Satisfied, she walked away to the other side of the desk and knelt down to stroke Folie and Scapino. "I need you to take my dogs with you to Poenari tonight – keep them safe," she said as she scratched their heads.

Vlad raised an eyebrow at the two hounds, curled up at the foot of the desk and panting up at him. "...I don't have any food to give them."

Irina stood up and made her way back to him. "I trust you. You'll work it out."

He sent her a look.

"I'll meet you all there at sunset once I've tied up all my affairs here," she said. She tutted, "Hopefully long before that. After sunset Carmelia could be a problem."

His lips curled. "Protect yourself with silver. But otherwise, leave her to me; I'd quite like to meet this vampire myself - whoever she is."

Irina nodded.

Vlad glanced at the map curling over the desk and sighed. "...Well, if I can't convince you to leave now with me and the dogs, then at least let me show you the short cut to Poenari that I mentioned – just in case you need it."


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Phew, the dogs are safe. That's all that matters. I'm not planning on pulling a John Wick stunt, just so we're clear. ;-) Thanks for reading everyone - and big love to my lovely reviewers, Scarlet Empress and Remember. xxx

Historical Notes:

Hungarian Nobility: ...Complicated stuff and I'm pretty sure I've got a lot of my very superficial research wrong on this, but I'll try and explain what I do know. So, before the Habsburgs took Hungary into their empire in the 16th century (after the Ottomans pretty much decimated the Hungarian army), the Kings of Hungary stretched from Croatia, across what we recognise today as Hungary, on to Transylvania. To keep control of this massive kingdom, the King would dole out titles to and administrative responsibilities for the various counties, districts and principalities to those he trusted most. Ispán, or Perpetual Count, was a title given to high nobles who ruled over districts within the Kingdom - they were responsible for military, finance and law within that district. The Count of the Székelys that Vlad mentions was also a real title given to the elected leader of Hungarian Transylvanians. As I think was mentioned before, Transylvania and old Wallachia were kind of vassal states of Hungary in the old days before the Habsburgs moved in, and so Princes of Transylvania who also happened to be Hungarian (because *wink wink* they were purposely picked by the King to be their eyes and ears in potentially wild Transylvania) were given this title as standard (even though it was technically a separate office). Our Vlad, despite being a Prince of Transylvania never went by it because he wasn't Hungarian.

...Don't quote me on any of that. I'm little more than a noob when it comes to Hungarian history. It's complicated stuff and I got in a right tangle reading up on it.