WARNING: Just a heads up, some graphic violence coming up towards the end.


.: THIRTY :.

...

Irina hovered alongside her new husband as the guests for the wedding breakfast steadily streamed into the ballroom of the Governor's Palace – all smiling, all offering brief words of congratulations as they passed by. The eager smiles and vigorous handshakes were all for Prince Lupesci, Irina noted; while the wives and young ladies sneered at her as they passed (all still clearly under the impression that she'd seduced the town's most eligible bachelor from right under their noses) the local nobles barely glanced her way – all of them hoping for a promotion of rank or a piece of the new Lupesci regime. While Alexander put on a dazzling performance as the new Governor (and secretly soon to be King of Transylvania) – smirking and rolling in their flattery like a pig in filth – Irina fidgeted impatiently beside him, turning the freshly-placed gold wedding band around her ring finger and glancing at the door.

It seemed strange to think that barely a few months ago she'd been standing in the very same ballroom – in almost exactly same position near the faded medieval mural – newly arrived from Vienna and without a clue as to the months of turmoil that were ahead of her. She'd known nothing of Hungarian Princes, Conclaves and Vampires back then; she'd been blissfully unaware of the two men eyeing her from opposite sides of the room – one hoping to ruin her, the other hoping to resurrect a piece of herself she'd long tried to forget. And even though she might have chosen another path for herself if she'd had the chance to go back, she was resolute in her decision to reach the end of this one – whatever the cost. Resolute to have her revenge and never look back.

She brushed her fingers across the black pearls strung around her neck as she fumed and fizzled quietly like a fuse – creeping closer and closer to blowing the roof off and bringing the bricks of her husband's carefully constructed world down around him.

As she glanced around the ballroom – looking from the tall windows overlooking the Piata Mare, to the overwhelmingly Hungarian crowd of guests – she plotted her final move, watching as all the pieces began to fall into place. She smirked softly to herself when her eyes fell on Doctor Tarsus and Herr Carmitru deep in conversation nearby, and felt a flutter beneath her ribs as she watched the servants buzz about the room handing out glasses to guests and filling them generously with wine ready for the toast; she hoped that her Dog's Mercury-infused bottle of Bikavér hadn't become muddled with the rest.

Finally, once all the guests had arrived, Prince Lupesci took an empty glass from a passing servant and beat it with his signet ring. The crisp sound chimed out through the crowded room – cutting through the drone of conversation until all the guests were silent and looking his way.

"Köszönöm," he said, lifting his voice until it echoed off the panelled walls. "Köszönöm to you all for being here to celebrate with us this evening. And while I'm aware that many of you find the idea of a wedding on Ash Wednesday a little unorthodox – understand that your presence here tonight will not go unnoticed."

Irina offered a small smile to the servant who suddenly appeared in front of her and offered her an empty glass.

"And of course, Köszönöm to his eminence Archbishop Sigismund for so willingly performing the ceremony," the prince went on, gesturing to the archbishop who was standing in the corner – away from everyone else. "And for joining us tonight; I know you've ashes and alms to distribute and a mass to perform later."

The Archbishop nodded but appeared thoroughly uncomfortable. When a passing servant offered him a glass, he shook his head and waved it away.

Prince Lupesci looked down – peering into the empty glass he was holding as he considered his next words. "…What you've all come to witness – here, tonight," he began, looking up and around the room, "is not just the beginning of a marriage – of a joint venture in family and legacy – but also the beginning of a new legacy for us, for Hermannstadt – or as it's soon to be formally known, Nagyszeben – but also for Transylvania as a whole."

A hushed murmur arose around the room at the idea of Hermannstadt reverting to its old Hungarian name.

"You see, because while the Empress has appointed me as Governor, I can tell you all right now – as I'm amongst loyal friends – that I have absolutely no intention of bowing to Austria," he announced, glancing furtively at Irina.

Irina chose not to rise to his feint and instead simply sent him a pathetic look, bolstered by the sight of the footman who was walking towards her brandishing the poisoned bottle Bikavér. Her heart thudded.

"My intention my friends is this: to peacefully free ourselves of Austrian rule, and to govern Transylvania independently as its own sovereign state – as the great Kingdom that it once was and will be again!" Prince Lupesci cheered. "…With help, of course, from my loyal council," he added, offering a hand to the members of the Carpathian Conclave faithfully flanking him like a pack of wolves – from Doctor Tarsus to the brown-nosing Baron of Braşov.

The responding applause was slow and staggered – the guests confused, but curious.

Irina chewed on her cheeks as she offered a slow and sarcastic clap. They were very pretty lies but lies none the less – and she wondered whether the guests would have clapped at all if they'd known that Alexander had no intention of doing anything peacefully. What would they say if they knew that he instead planned to wage war with Austria – to strike off the shackles between Hermannstadt and Vienna with a sword, rather than politely asking for the key?

"I have great plans for us all – that is a vow I make to you tonight," Prince Lupesci went on confidently – gesturing with his empty glass. He turned to Irina, "Alongside those I have made to my new wife."

Irina bridled as he took a step towards her.

"A true beauty – I think you'll agree – and a worthy Queen," he said, reaching out to stroke her cheek, "A woman of impeccable breeding, who – as an Austrian by birth – I have no doubt will do all she can to ease our transition from servant to master."

Irina stood as still as a post as the prince leaned in and kissed her – seizing her lips in a soft caress and wrapping an arm around her bodice. She gripped her empty glass so tightly that she was surprised she didn't snap the stem.

The guests cooed and clapped as the last of the wine was poured out.

Prince Lupesci grinned at her as he pulled away, whispering, "The game is mine, Irina – as are you."

Irina offered him a sneering smile, watching as the footman began filling the council's glasses from the poisoned bottle – the wine trickling like blood into each glass. "Well, then," she sighed, "I suppose there's nothing left for me to do Alexander but toast to your victory."

"For now – the night is still young," he replied as his hand slipped from her bodice – his fingertips trailing across the silk.

Irina tutted. "…You know, I quite agree."

The prince nodded proudly and then turned his attention back to his guests, "Why is my glass still empty?" he shouted, holding it up.

Irina's heart thundered in her chest as she watched the footman appear in front of them with the bottle – a scrap of cheese cloth tied around the neck to strain the wine, just as she'd ordered.

Prince Lupesci frowned at the approaching bottle. "What's this?" he asked, flicking the cloth draped around the neck of the bottle like a petticoat.

"…It's Bull's Blood, your highness," the footman explained, bowing his head. He extended the bottle, tipping it over the glass. "A rich, full-bodied Hungarian wine."

Prince Lupesci stopped him. "No, I couldn't. It wouldn't be right," he said, dropping his hand over his glass.

Irina held her breath.

"Tonight, I will honour my new wife by drinking Austrian wine," he announced, offering Irina a wide smile.

Irina's stomach dropped as the footman hurried away with the bottle and with her plan, while another stepped in with a fresh bottle of Austrian white wine and filled their glasses to the brim. Still, at least Doctor Tarsus, Herr Carmitru and the other men from the council were about to toast to their own demises.

Prince Lupesci lifted his glass. "To the new Kingdom of Transylvania. Egészségedre!" he toasted loudly before throwing a gulp of wine back.

The guests and the council followed, all lifting their glasses and taking a generous swig.

Irina side glanced them over the rim of her glass – watching as Herr Carmitru licked the dregs of wine from his lips and Doctor Tarsus, as he swirled the wine in his glass and took a generous swig. The Dogs Mercury had been percolating in the bottle all day – she doubted it would take long for the poison to take effect.

Prince Lupesci raised his glass a second time, "And of course to my new wife, Princess Irina Lupesci, the Duchess of Brunswick," he said, turning to face her once more.

Irina glared at him; he may not have soused himself with the poison as planned, but she was still determined to put poison to his own plans. Besides, she still had a loaded pistol in her pocket. It was supposed to only be a backup – a last resort in case Carmelia turned up to cause trouble – but now it might be her only escape.

"May our marriage be long in years," he toasted, "And our heirs be many in number. Egészségedre!"

Irina smiled and lifted her glass. "Prost," she replied calmly before draining most of the glass.

The guests did the same, a deathly silence falling over the ballroom as they all toasted the bride and then took a sip.

Prince Lupesci nodded, "And now–"

Irina suddenly stepped out from her husband's shadow, "Actually, I'd like to make a toast myself…"

The eyes of the whole room fell upon the woman in red satin as she stepped away from her husband and from the council and strolled into the centre of the ballroom. She ascended like a soprano before her final curtain call – full of air in her lungs and ready to roar.

"I know it's highly unconventional for the bride to speak at her wedding – or at all in fact," she began, shrugging her shoulders slightly. "But then, you all know me to be a rather unconventional woman by nature. Aside from my title as Duchess of Brunswick – and now Princess Lupesci," she added, gesturing to her new husband – who narrowed his eyes, "You've all very kindly seen fit to grant me some other – some rather more informal titles." She strolled slowly, her gaze sifting accusingly from one noble to another. "…Witch. Whore. Murderess, to name but a few. And for that I'd just like to say–"

When the ballroom door suddenly creaked loudly and swung inwards, the whole room turned and watched as Carmelia slipped inside.

Irina grinned. "Ah! And from one unconventional woman to another – Baroness Carmitru!" she announced excitedly. "You're just in time for my toast – do grab a glass and join us. Can someone pour Melia some wine?" she asked, waving over one of the servants serving the wine.

Carmelia raised a blonde eyebrow as she swept across the ballroom to join her husband, politely turning down the offer of a full glass from a hovering footman.

"…Oh, you're not drinking?" Irina observed out loud.

Melia waved a hand and tutted. "…I'm observing Lent, your Highness," she lied. She waggled her finger, "Shame on you for trying to make me break it!"

Irina narrowed her eyes. "Oh, of course. Forgive me for trying to lead you astray," she replied, gesturing with her glass. "…Now, where was I?"

Prince Lupesci stepped in. "Irina," he warned, gently hooking her by the crook of her arm, "There's really no reason for you to–"

She gently teased herself free, "Oh but there is!" she replied, swirling away. "I want to toast my new husband."

The prince sent her a stormy look – thunder rumbling beneath his carefully polished veneer.

"I want to… sing his praises!" she went on, gesturing wildly as she stepped backwards – away from him. "I want everyone here to know exactly the kind of man that he is. I think it's about time you earned some informal titles of your own, your highness."

He chased her slowly – prowling towards her. "Irina, I'm warning you–"

The prince stopped abruptly at the sound of a glass smashing across the floor.

The sound of the shatter drew glances from around the room; everyone turned their eyes to Doctor Tarsus, who – red-faced and rigid – suddenly spluttered and clutched his stomach – leaning heavily on his wife for support.

Irina shrugged her lips and searched for the archbishop in the crowd of guests, "Archbishop Sigismund, it seems Doctor Tarsus has been taken ill," she said. "Perhaps we should prescribe some of his own suggested medicine and offer him a bible? Couple of psalms should do the trick, I imagine."

The archbishop blinked, then hurried over to the doctor – who was doubled over and groaning in pain. His boots crunching over the broken glass.

Irina chuckled, "All these interruptions! Now, where was I?"

"Irina," the prince threatened.

She spun towards his voice, "Ah yes, my husband, everyone. He'd like us to believe that he's a good man – that he's infallible – the town's brave protector," she said, clenching her muscles to illustrate. "After all, he defends us from bears and wolves… and vampires."

The guests looked puzzled, their attention wavering between Irina's speech and Doctor Tarsus' demise.

"Irina, enough!" the prince barked.

Irina pointed at him. "After all, isn't he the one who promised to hunt down that monster who was responsible for attacking all those poor and defenceless serf girls?" she said. "Isn't he the one who vowed to bring that so-called monster to justice?"

The prince glowered at her.

"So then, where is this monster, hm?" she went on, just as a couple of other council members began cramping in pain. "Well, I'll tell you – no! Better yet, I'll show you."

When Doctor Tarsus collapsed across the floor with a heavy thud – blood spilling from his lips – the guests gasped.

"Someone fetch a doctor!" Helena screamed, waving down a footman – who immediately rushed out of the ballroom.

Irina chuckled, "Oh dear! Aren't the psalms working?" she replied as she finally dove her hand deep into her pocket and drew out her pistol – training the barrel on Carmelia.

The guests reeled, backing up against the panelled walls with audible panic.

Carmelia blinked at the pistol. "You've gone insane," she snorted, folding her arms.

Irina ignored her. "Here is your monster!" she announced.

Prince Lupesci staggered – almost in a daze – as his council slowly began to expire around him – even Herr Carmitru, who was crawling on the floor – reaching feebly for his wife's skirts as the poison did its worst.

Carmelia snatched up her skirts and kicked his hand away.

"Here is your Vampire," Irina went on, unflinching as pointed the pistol at the newly created Baroness.

Carmelia laughed.

The other guests were unamused; suspended somewhere between fear and fascination, they watched the spectacle from the sides of the ballroom in silence.

Irina blinked at them. "What? You mean, you don't believe me?" she asked them, before pulling back the hammer and aiming the pistol right at Carmelia's heart.

Carmelia scoffed. "…What are you going to do Sparrow? Shoot me?" she remarked smoothly, without a flicker of fear.

"I've done it before," Irina countered.

"And look how far that got you," Carmelia said with a shrug. "Besides, you know it won't work – bullets are useless against a vampire. Especially one as old as I am."

Irina smirked as she pulled the trigger and fired the gun.

The bullet flew from its chamber, whistled through the air, tore through Carmelia's expensive pink, satin bodice, and buried itself deep inside her heart.

There was a quiet moment after the loud bang of the gun discharging where the guests forgot the chaos and their fear for a moment and simply stared at Carmelia – glaring at her as she stood there with a bloodied hole in her chest and a serene look on her face.

She sighed. "See? Useless," she replied, looking down at her bloodied chest. She tutted, "Have you no shame, Sparrow? This is Italian silk!"

"…And that," Irina said as she threw the empty pistol to the floor, "was a silver bullet."

Carmelia's expression changed immediately – her blue eyes widening in horror for the briefest of seconds before she suddenly exploded in a dark, hanging cloud of ash, leaving nothing but a bundle of soiled Italian silk – dusty with ash and crowned with a sparkling lump of diamond jewellery.

The guests all looked on in horrified silence.

Now that Irina had their full attention, and she made immediate use of it. "She was prowling under our noses the whole time – both her and husband have tortured and killed possibly hundreds of our serfs – as well as my own father!" she told them, pointing an angry finger at Herr Carmitru as he languished on the floor beside Carmelia's ashes. "And the reason my beloved husband failed to bring her – bring them to justice?"

Prince Lupesci scowled as the guests turned their disturbed expressions on him.

Irina looked at him. "Why, because they've been in his employ the whole time," she revealed with a victorious smirk. "He wanted her to kill, to cause panic amongst us, and for what? While he claims he wants a peaceful divorce from Vienna, what he really wants – what he daren't tell you – is that he's planning to drag us all into a war for it. For himself! He wants to force you and your families into a ridiculous, unwinnable war with the Habsburgs simply so he can fulfil his own delusions of royalty. So that he can crown himself King of Transylvania – which, by the way, will never happen as I've already sent evidence to Vienna of his treachery."

Prince Lupesci stood alone – the council lying in a lifeless, bloodied heap at his boots, his undead assassin now quite literally dead – with nothing left of her but an ashen pile of silk and jewels.

Irina raised her glass to him, "Prost," she toasted, and then smashed it at her feet.

He staggered forward with a murderous look in his usually tepid eyes.

Prince Lupesci staggered towards her with a murderous look in his usually tepid eyes.

Irina removed her wedding ring and threw it at his boots. "It's over, Alexander," she told him. "All of it."

He snarled and looked as though he was about to reach out throttle her when suddenly, the tide of guests turned in Irina's favour – surging towards him, surrounding him.

"Is this true, Lupesci?" one man shouted.

"War with Austria? Are you out of your damn mind, Lupesci?"

Solo over, Irina decided that it was time to take her bow and vanish behind the curtain. She slipped away in the ensuing chaos, running from the ballroom as Prince Lupesci defended himself from an angry swarm of guests. She swiftly made her way through the kitchens and out into the stables, where her old Mecklenburg Mare was saddled and waiting for her – the precious few belongings she'd decided to take with her to Poenari loaded into the saddle bags. She threw on a black velvet cloak and riding gloves, and then clambered up into the saddle without noticing the black stallion on the far side of the stables that had been similarly saddled – the sight of a crossbow poking out from the saddle bags.

She was surprised how dark it was when the horse bolted from the stable door and began galloping at full speed across the cobbles of the courtyard. The sky was a deep blanket of blue as she thundered down the quiet streets bound for the town gates and beyond – a full cast of stars sparkling overhead, whilst the full moon illuminated her path to freedom.

She breathed a long sigh of relief when she passed through the town gate and made it out into the open fields and countryside, bound for the thick pine forests sprawling from Hermannstadt to Poenari – Vlad's directions to the secret entrance fresh in her mind.

Her plan had worked! It had worked! She'd done it – and now she had the rest of her life and afterlife free to spend exactly how she wanted – and no one would dare tell her otherwise.

However, as she dashed across the river towards the forest – the ice cold, mountain water splashing up onto her legs – she heard the sudden, shrieking bray of another horse from the other side of the river and realised – with a sinking stomach – that someone was following her.

Once her horse had climbed the riverbank, Irina turned in her saddle and looked back – gazing beyond the flapping tails of her velvet cloak to see Prince Lupesci hot on her heels.

He was driving his black stallion hard – digging the heels of his boots in and viciously whipping the reins – intent on chasing her down.

Irina panicked; she kicked her heels into the ribs of her horse as she approached the thick line of pine trunks edging the forest. She was sure she'd be able to lose him within the dark tangle of trees and thicket but was silently terrified; Alexander was an expert equestrian – or at least liked to think so. He was used to riding down fleeing wolves and bolting deer on a hunt, and – more often than not – he chased down his target and got the kill.

Still, she kept her eyes forward and thought of Vlad patiently waiting for her up ahead in Poenari. If she could make it as close as possible, then he could protect her. With that sudden thought, she ripped off the bandage around her hand and made a fist – digging her nails deep into the wound on her palm and drawing fresh blood. She smeared the blood down the neck of her horse; hopefully Vlad would smell it and come and find her.

She urged the coaxed the horse on through the forest – weaving and zigzagging between the trees, tugging the reins this way and that, making sudden, sharp turns – trying anything she could to throw Prince Lupesci off and lose him in the dense, dark forest maze. But when a crossbow bolt came flying out of nowhere and plunged deep into her shoulder blade, Irina screamed in agony and the horse suddenly reared, throwing her off.

She tumbled to the ground – landing on a bed of cold and soggy leaves and pine needles; the horse ran off into the darkness, the sound of its hooves fading into the distance.

Irina whimpered as she crawled forward through the undergrowth. The pain in her shoulder was intense – blinding – pain unlike she'd ever experienced, and she could feel warm blood trickling down her back and arm. She reached a hand back and blindly felt around for the bolt, groaning from the bottom of her belly as she wrapped her fingers around the cold metal bolt and tried to tug it out. It was lodged deep, and she almost threw up from the pain when she attempted to tug it free from the bone and muscle of her shoulder blade.

It was impossible; she couldn't get the angle and the pain was just too much. Her hand came away empty and painted dark with blood.

When she heard an approaching horse, Irina scrambled backwards – dragging her heavy skirts towards a nearby tree trunk – every small movement leaving her in agony. She slumped down against the trunk as the horse shuffled to a halt nearby, closing her eyes and holding her breath as she listened to boots crunching into the undergrowth and then wading slowly through it towards her.

She clutched her pearls and tried to block out the smell of the mud and the creeping sounds of the forest, and when she wished herself away somewhere else – anywhere else – she found herself back in Vienna, back in Der Blauer Karpfen. She could feel the warmth of the candles on her cheeks, and hear the music and the rustle of silks around her as people danced, and she could smell the champagne and the haze of tobacco and fading roses.

And, she saw Vlad – saw him standing amongst the crowd like a shadow, his blue eyes holding her gaze. Looking at her as if she were the only woman in the room.

She promised herself – there, crouching and cowering in the mud – that she'd make it back there one day; that they'd celebrate another Violet Tuesday there together. That if she survived the night, then a lifetime of Violet Tuesdays would be waiting for her come the dawn.

But then, the vision faded and the pain in her shoulder came stabbing back. When she opened her eyes, she saw Prince Lupesci's boots crunching through the pine needles towards her.

He roughly scooped her up and slammed her back against the tree. "Have you any idea of what you've done?" he spat at her.

Irina couldn't help the breathy sob of pain that whispered from her lips, but when she looked up into the eyes that she feared most and saw both terror and despair staring back at her, she laughed. "…You've lost," she told him.

The prince drew his hand back and viciously backhanded her – hitting her so hard that her hair unravelled.

Irina composed herself, then snarled at him. "Keep going!" she shouted. "It won't change a God damn thing!"

He bared his teeth. "Do you really think you've done anything more than rant a pack of lies at a handful of nobles? They already think you nothing more than an unhinged whore and liar!" he growled, slamming her hard against the tree trunk.

Irina winced in pain, then grinned through it. "Oh, but I've done a lot more than that."

Prince Lupesci seethed, tightening his grip on her clothes.

"The Empress will know of everything you've done," she explained, eyeing him defiantly. "Everything. I've sent her proof of your treachery – proof of everything you've planned, everything you've done."

He looked away, the cogs in his mind turning. "…The maid," he realised.

Irina smirked. "She'll be far beyond your reach by now," she told him.

The prince seized her by the throat – his fingers biting into the pale skin above her pearls.

"…You're done," Irina told him with intense satisfaction – it glowed in her eyes, in the darkness. "…You're nothing. And it doesn't matter what you do to me here, tonight; the Empress will send her soldiers to hunt you down and – mark my words – they are by far the superior hunter compared to the likes of you. They will find you, and you'll soon be skipping at the end of a rope."

The prince snarled at her like a cornered wolf.

"…That is if my King of Spades doesn't hunt you down first," she whispered, threatening him.

Realising that he'd lost at his own game, Prince Lupesci suddenly erupted in anger and flipped the gaming table. He threw Irina down to the ground, and before she could scramble away had pounced on top of her – wrapping both hands around her throat and squeezing tight.

Irina stared up through the canopy of pine leaves as she wriggled and kicked her feet beneath him, gasping for air. She felt the string of pearls break and slide off from her neck into the mud as the prince slowly strangled her to death – forcing the breath from her lungs and the life from her eyes.

She focused on the smell of the pine trees and the one or two stars she could see peeping through the canopy, before they – as well as everything else – blurred away into darkness.


When Vlad found her, she was still warm. There was still a flush in her cheeks and the scent of wine on her breath as he fell to his knees and cradled her limp body against his. He sobbed for her – for them both – as he buried his nose in her thick brown hair – decorated with pine needles – mourning not only for her, but for himself – for the man he was becoming, now lost forever.

And then, he saw it; the corner of a letter peeking out from beneath Irina's bodice. He carefully teased it out, his face crumbling when it emerged soaked heavily in her blood.

When he noticed his own name written in Irina's elegant swooping handwriting across the front, he immediately flipped the letter, broke the wax seal and ripped it open – still cradling her body against his.

Vlad's cold eyes quickly scanned the brief letter from top to bottom – an unrepentant anger filling him with each word – and when he was done, he balled the letter tightly within his fist.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: ...I'm cruel, I know. Don't worry, there's a much happier epilogue to come. ;-) Thanks so much to everyone who's still reading and reviewing (Scarlet Empress and Remember - as always, thank you thank you thank you for the lovely reviews!) - it means the world. x