Chapter 15
Lady Rohesia sat atop the steps leading to the theatre's stage. Her long grey dress's thick layers draped gracefully across the wooden steps. Her calm voice drifted through the air as she read aloud from a book.
The red-haired lord sighted the succubus standing in the corner at the back of the stage. The creature's scantily clad form was partially veiled by the stage's red velvet curtain. The demoness watched the woman with passive interest. Her leathery black bat-like wings folded around her body while she leaned against the wall.
Walter sat down in one of the center balcony's lavish velvet chairs; his dark eyes focused upon the woman. He did not wish to interrupt her. Her audience – consisting only of Pumpkin and the temptress – was so engrossed in the story that they did not notice him. He set his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin in his hand. A tiny smile creased the corners of his lips. Despite the theatre's opulence, he could not recall a time when actors had brought its stage to life.
Pumpkin sat upon the woman's lap. The creature's spherical head was tilted upward. Its' hollow black eyes, which gave the appearance of wearing a perpetual grin, looked up at her in child-like awe.
"When they heard her word, four hundred knights more did on their armor, for the queen was eager to do her enemies a hurt. Soon they came in sore straits. When she saw them well armed, she said to them, 'Stand still a while and wait. I will go out to my foes with my crown on. Hearken while I unbraid Hagen of Trony, Gunther's man, with what he hath done to me. I know him for too proud a knight to deny it. After that, I care not what befalleth him.'"
The imp hopped off her lap and bolted to the stage. As she continued reading, it mimed its interpretation of the characters' actions.
"…But Hagen, the bold man, answered angrily, 'Well, I know that it is against me they carry their bright weapons in their hands. But, for all that, I will yet ride back to Burgundy."
Pumpkin placed its arms on its hips and its frown deepened. It lifted its spherical frog-head hand straight into the air as if holding a mighty sword, attempting to synch its actions with her words. The familiar extended its candied hand and tapped its feet, imitating holding the reigns of a horse. Instead of clopping sounds, its feet made boisterous squeaks.
She laughed, seemingly uncertain of whether the imp was acting out a comedy or a tragedy. "So, you like this story, do you?" When Pumpkin nodded in response, she continued. "It is one of my favorites. Though, I do grieve Queen Kriemhild's ill fate."
The creature cocked its head. With a gentle smile, she rose and stepped onto the stage. After hesitating a moment, she flipped to the end of the book, her voice filling with sorrow as she read the queen's final line.
"…I come off ill in the reckoning. I will keep Siegfried's sword at the least. My true love wore it when I saw him last. My bitterest heart's dole was for him..."
Intense feeling permeated her words. The woman's loving sorrow captured him completely; refusing to let him deny the emotions she wrought within him. His dark eyes glistened whilst his mind reeled from his inability to escape her power. Never had anything beckoned such raw emotion from his tainted soul. Though she was unaware of his presence, he wondered how she succeeded in creating the illusion that she grieved for him.
The succubus emerged from her silent perch, eager to ruin the heartfelt moment the woman had so skillfully crafted. The creature pranced lightly across the stage; her bare, clawed feet hardly touching the floorboards. Her lithe form stopped within a few feet of the human visitor. Despite their distance, the young lady took a cautious step back, her eyes locking upon the demoness with suspicious interest. The winged creature flicked her hand in dismissal, her long, black fingernails reflecting ominously in the torchlight.
"Who cares if her love is dead?" The temptress spat, "Could she not find another man? She is queen, after all!"
The lady's eyes widened at the demoness' words. With a patient sigh, she replied. "The queen's desire to avenge his death is driven by her love and grief. Without that, there would be no story to tell. I believe her tragic fate illustrates the follies of revenge."
"He was a fool, anyway!" The succubus cackled.
The lady sighed. "Siegfried believed he was invulnerable after covering himself with dragon's blood. He did not expect Hagen would discover his weakness."
"Ironically, his weakness was woman!" The temptress cackled again, her pitiless expression somewhat unnerving the human standing before her. "Had he not loved Queen Kriemhild and told her his secret, none of this would have happened. I hope everyone dies at the end. Tis' always more exciting!"
"Sadly, most of the characters do."
"Excellent!" The temptress' eyes glinted with excitement. "Read it to me then, for I wish to hear everything in its gruesome detail."
After drawing a heavy breath, the woman acquiesced.
"…She purposed to slay the knight. She lifted it high with both hands, and smote off his head…"
The lady raised her other hand and slashed it in a sideways cutting motion. In accordance with her words, Pumpkin lifted its stumpy limbs in the air in surrender before toppling over upon the stage's wooden floorboards.
"King Etzel saw it, and sorrowed. 'Alack!' cried the king, 'The best warrior that ever rode to battle, or bore a shield, hath fallen by the hand of a woman! Albeit I was his foeman, I must grieve.'"
Pumpkin leapt to its feet and bowed its head. Its hollow eyes seemed to soften somewhat. Nevertheless, the imp's smiling face gave the gesture an eerie – rather than regretful – impression. While trying not to laugh at the ridiculous display, the lady continued reading.
"Then said Master Hildebrand, 'His death shall not profit her. I care not what come of it. Though I came in scathe by him myself, I will avenge the death of the bold knight of Trony.'"
To Walter's astonishment, the succubus silently mimicked drawing a sword from a sheath. Her wings unfurled alongside the gesture, whilst her ruby lips formed a mischievous grin. Though the demoness guarded the theater, he had not expected her to join the performance. Boldened by the succubus' unexpected interest, the lady snapped the book shut and spoke the closing lines, her mournful voice momentarily causing the theatre's lonely atmosphere to recede.
"Hildebrand sprang fiercely at Kriemhild, and slew her with his sword. She suffered sore by his anger. Her loud cry helped her not."
The succubus darted forward and made a slashing motion with her hands. At first, she kept her distance from the human – though it ultimately proved unsatisfactory. Without awaiting the lady's approval, she slinked around the woman's backside and drew her index finger across her vulnerable throat. The temptress' talon-like claw lightly skimmed the supple flesh in a cutting motion. Though the demoness did not pierce the lady's skin, the gesture elicited a surprised gasp. Then, with a proud laugh, the demoness shoved her onto the stage's wooden floorboards.
Despite her dress' cumbersome layers, the lady retaliated with surprising swiftness. Anger swept across her face as she lunged at the siren and backhanded her across the face. The unexpected attack sent the blond-haired temptress staggering back in surprise. With a loud scream, she unfurled her wings; eager to punish the woman for her audacious reprisal. As the demoness lifted her arm back, the imp threw itself between her and the raging demoness. Pumpkin's empty eyes and unsettling hollow smile made the temptress hesitate.
Though the lady's reprimand somewhat impressed the red-haired lord, the concubine's disobedience was unacceptable. As he rose from his seat, the demoness hissed through gritted teeth. "I am certain my master will end you as soon as he tires of your existence! If he doesn't make you his personal whore, perhaps he will turn you and enslave you to my will? I would like that much better, indeed."
"So be it then." She replied coldly, her eyes narrowing upon the temptress with growing disdain. "Lord Bernhard has never harmed me."
The concubine's lips formed a cruel smile. "The only thing my master wants more than blood is power. Power is his true companion; not love – and certainly not a human."
"Like life, power is ephemeral." She replied. "One can spend their entire existence pursuing it and never have enough. I pray he will not follow that path."
"Tis' pathetic you do not know how naive you sound, human." The creature laughed, its eyes alighting with joy at the maiden's downtrodden expression. "He will never relinquish power, not even for you."
"I would never ask him to!" She held up a hand. Her eyes burned with fury; the creature's injury undoubtedly reaching its mark. "Go to hell, you sarding cunt!" Without a backward glance, she descended from the stage and hurried to the doors. The familiar trailed close behind, its boisterous squeaking steps contrasting her soft ones.
The lady's bereaved departure inclined him to seek her out, for he did not understand what troubled her so. He was about to translocate when the seductress took notice of his presence upon the balcony.
"Oh master, you have chosen quite a naïve one this time!" She cackled. "When are you going to turn her? I could use some company!"
"Hold your tongue, wench!" He tossed her backward against the stage's back wall with his thoughts. The demoness hit the wall with such force that her spine and limbs bent to odd, unnatural degrees. With a shuddering gasp, she fell upon the floorboards in a twisted heap.
Despite the pain he had inflicted, the creature's lips formed a perverse smile. "You've always liked it rough…"
Walter scowled at the vile wretch; his dark eyes tinting a shade of red. With a low huff, he translocated out of sight.
After a time, he finally found Lady Rohesia in one of the laboratory's many libraries. Piles of books were stacked in neat piles around her chair. Above her, the enormous gyroscope hanging from the library's vaulted ceiling spun endlessly on its three axes. Centuries of use tarnished the object's original copper material dark green. The library's numerous wall lanterns were lit; casting a dim orange glow across the books and manuals lining its dilapidated wooden shelves. Pumpkin sat upon the floor by her feet tinkering with an old brass armillary sphere.
The lady had placed her chair directly in the center of the 16-point compass rose painted upon the floor. She was so lost in thought that she did not notice him translocate behind her. Walter watched her silently for a moment, wondering what had captured her interest. Despite her efforts to continue reading, he noticed her gaze drift to the spinning gyroscope in fascination.
Walter approached her chair and placed a gloved hand on her shoulder. Upon feeling his touch, she leapt up. The book on her lap fell to the floor with a loud thump. As she hastily kneeled to retrieve it, her eyes widened.
Before she could speak, the red-haired lord bowed his head. "Forgive me for startling you, milady." Though she returned his words with a smile, the sadness in her gaze was revealing. "I saw your little performance in the theatre. Tis' a shame that humans forbid women from the stage; you would make a fine soliloquist. I know that epic well."
"I did not know you liked plays?" She clutched the book against her chest, her eyes drifting to the floor when his penetrating gaze refused to leave her. The subtlety of her withdraw seemed due to preoccupation, rather than submission.
"Very much so." Walter replied, his lips lifting into a satisfied smile. "I have seen hundreds of them throughout my existence. If you require weapons for props, do not hesitate to take some from my displays. Try to avoid using them on my succubus - although she is tiresome, I still require her service."
"I will be sure to keep that in mind." With a soft sigh, her lips parted. Reluctant silence constrained her voice.
The earnestness in her eyes heightened Walter's interest. Unwilling to let it lie, he stepped toward her, attempting to penetrate her careful shield. "I know you are keeping something from me. I do not like secrets."
The lady's lips formed a frown. With an impatient huff, she set the book down on her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Her voice hinged with impatience. "For one who dislikes secrets, you seem to enjoy keeping them more than anyone."
"Some things are not meant for you to know." Walter replied smoothly; attempting to ignore her terseness.
"Why not?" She glared at his smirking expression; the vehemence bubbling beneath her calm exterior at last beginning to surface.
"Because I deem it so." He flicked his cloak back in annoyance.
"Of course, because you deem it so, Walter."
The lady so seldomly addressed him by his first name that he paused upon hearing it. All at once, his smirk fell away into a scowl. Even though she merely spoke his name, her harshness stung him. His gloved hands balled into fists; his mood immediately souring from her retaliation. He was unused to anyone challenging him, let alone Lady Rohesia. Even when his game nearly caused Lord Armster to meet his end, she had managed to maintain a respectful formality. Yet, her decision to address him by his first name struck a chord he had not expected. Despite his displeasure, he wondered if he had, perhaps, allowed her too many indulgences. He could not deny he looked forward to her visits, even though a part of him felt he should not. Her unpredictability broke the frustrating monotony he had grown accustomed to.
Unimpressed by her challenge, he narrowed the gap between them further. His voice lowered to a hiss. "Do not test me."
"Or what?" She spat. "Will you turn me into an undead harlot for your amusement?"
He drew back, his pupils flashing bright red at her suggestion. Their game intrigued him far too much to choose such a predictable resolution. As if addressing a spoilt child, he snapped. "I have exercised more patience with you than any other. If anyone else were to speak to me in that manner, I would tear out their throats with nary a thought. Do not forget."
"Is power the only thing that matters to you?" She accused, her voice rising when his smirking expression remained unchanged.
"My matters are none of your concern-"
"Tell me why you allow me to return here time and again? What am I to you?" As if he were a leper, she backed away from him. Smoldering rage burned in her eyes.
Walter stepped toward her, refusing to allow her to distance herself from him unless he wished it. Without hesitating, he forced his lips into a smirk. Despite his effort, his cruelty toward her no longer fulfilled him. "You are to me what a mouse is to a cat: something to toy with until you are no longer entertaining. Tis' simple."
The woman's anger crumbled into despair. A heavy sigh wracked her chest as she whispered. "If it is simple, kill me and be done with it."
Her soft words seemed capable of draining the red-haired lord of his power, for he knew not how to respond to her invitation. Walter hesitated, his dark eyes widening in confusion. He felt his throat constrict; his voice was somehow lost to him. Anger surged under his calm façade, though it was directed at himself, rather than her. He gritted his teeth - unable to decipher why her suggestion caused him such anguish. He thought on her performance in the theatre, remembering her grief-filled voice when she delivered the queen's final words. He reflected upon the beautiful moment when she had unknowingly exposed her tender heart to him.
His voice softened, though he could not entirely relinquish his contempt for her naïve vulnerability. "We are not in the theatre, milady. Death is not the grand display you have read about in poems and plays. It is merciless and indiscriminate."
The lady sighed, her voice immobilizing him when she replied. "That is what you will become if you value power above all else."
As he stared down at her, his voice regained its former callousness. "Your opinions are insignificant. Those who lack power are destined to seek it from those who have it. Just as you did with me."
She shook her head in dismay. "What on earth are you searching for that your current power is still not enough? Will it ever be enough?"
"I do not have to answer to you, human." He snapped.
"I should have expected as much from an arrogant scoundrel." She turned her back to him, unwilling to yield, despite his visible anger. "You assume I shall remain willfully ignorant of your cruel endeavors. If I am unworthy of your respect, perhaps you are unworthy of mine. I will leave and never again seek your company, for I no longer wish to be the object of your entertainment."
Upon hearing her threat, rage surged through every fiber of his being. Without hesitating, he snatched the woman by the arm and forced her to turn around. When he saw her grieved expression, he released his hold; his anger shattered by her aversion of him. Weakness was unbecoming to one such as he. He felt powerless to overcome the injury she inflicted upon him. At all costs, he would not – could not – allow her to see it.
When his mind pictured the woman departing, his desire transformed into a resolve to possess her – if only to save himself from the pain of losing her. "Indeed, I am capable of many things - such as keeping you here, should it suit me. Unlike you, my power is not limited to speech, alone."
She stared at him for a long moment, as if trying to discern whether his words were spoken in anger or sorrow. After withdrawing a trembling breath, she whispered sadly. "I suppose it would make no difference. I would simply be exchanging one prison for another."
Upon hearing her words, Walter's hand balled into a fist. It incensed him that she would dare compare him with Lord Armster, even subtly. Her words were yet another blow to his fragile composure. "You should be grateful for all I have given you."
"I am grateful, but you cannot keep me here forever!" She challenged. "God's tits! You think you can tell me what to do?"
With a proud sneer, the red-haired lord hissed under his breath. "Oh, I most certainly can."
Without looking at him, she backed toward the door. The suddenness of her steps prompted Pumpkin to totter after her; its squeaking footsteps filling the uncomfortable silence that followed. The creature titled its head upward as its hollow eyes locked upon her. Though its smiling expression remained unchanged, it sensed her low mood and regarded her gently. He watched her step, this time hesitantly, closer to the door – torn between her instinct to flee and her desire to stay. The familiar's loyalty incensed him further. He wanted to assume he was the reason for her hesitation, but uncertainty clouded his judgement.
"I do not think you will. Did every kind word you said mean nothing at all? Am I truly nothing to you?"
The red-haired lord laughed at her imprudence. He parted his lips; deliberately revealing his gleaming white fangs. With a proud scoff, he waved his hand at her like one shooing away an incessant child. "All games must come to an end one day, milady. In time, you will disappear from my thoughts. Whether you meant something or not is irrelevant."
"No, it is not!" Anger surged across her face. Without hesitating, she left her position near the door and stormed back to him, her hair flying behind her as she fought against his callousness. "I know why you play those games! You want to give your existence meaning! You have spent the better part of centuries trying to define what you are and your purpose. Yet, after all this time, you still do not know. You are like a lost little child, trying to find his way in the world…"
"I am not a child!" He snapped, his eyes tinting a shade of red.
Without thinking, he grasped her by the front of her dress and yanked her forward. He lifted her up, forcing her face merely inches from his as though she were a doll. The moment he did so, Pumpkin lashed at his arm with its whip. With barely the flick of hand, he sent the imp flying across the room into a bookshelf on the other side. The little creature hit the object with a loud crash. Books tumbled off the shelf and flew across the floor.
When her gaze broke from him to Pumpkin, he grasped her face with his other hand and forced her to look at him. "You still believe in free will, yet you are bound to me! My purpose is to enjoy toying with their lives, just as I have done with yours. It is my nature to hunt and kill your kind. I do not need to find meaning in that!"
"Oh, but you do!" She shouted back, impervious to his attempts to best her. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at him. Her voice fell quiet. "You play those games because you want to die, just like I did. It has little to do with your nature, and more to do with a desire to end your lonely existence. You cannot kill yourself, so you wait for someone else to exact their revenge. You must stop seeking out your death through these games. I do not want you to die, Walter."
His dark, black pools reflected only her sorrowful face. With a shuddering gasp, he set her down and released his hold. His eyes widened as he staggered back, his lips parting in astonishment at her ability to penetrate his careful guise. Sorrow welled within him whilst he looked at her sad yet hopeful expression. He wanted to believe he had captured her and that she was his to do with as he pleased. Yet, his tainted heart recognized it was she who captured him. Despite his feigned indifference, he did not want her to release him.
After hesitating a moment, he gently wiped the tears from her eyes. His unexpected tenderness made her gasp. "I will not take your freedom."
He knew his cruelty was slowly breaking her. If he continued his games, her affection would eventually erode into despair. When his search for the Crimson Stone yielded nothing, a different kind of power lured him. It was a power he did not fully understand, but longed for, nevertheless. His ambition to find the Crimson Stone seemed inconsequential. As he thought on this, he realized the reason was more obvious than expected:
The woman.
After drawing a heavy breath, the words drifted from his lips. "I will end my games, for you."
She lifted her hand and placed it upon his.
His eyes widened when she said gently. "Not for me, Lord Bernhard…for you."
A careful smile creased the corners of his lips. With a gentle sigh, he lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips – feeling her warmth as he kissed her fair, smooth skin. Yielding to her tenderness, he swept a low bow before her. When his dark eyes met hers, his throat constricted his voice to silence.
And this time, he welcomed it.
It did not take him long to find the embankment where the travelers stopped to set up for their next performance. The large open fire at the center of their encampment released a large plume of smoke into the night sky; revealing their whereabouts instantly. Walter emerged through the trees; his dark eyes focused upon the group of men seated around the fire. The two women accompanying them busied themselves unpacking supplies and basting the boar speared on a spit above the flames. Most of the men sat on the ground around the fire, laughing and joking as they waited for their meal to finish cooking. A large colorful tent and makeshift stage was set up a few meters away. As he rode toward the encampment, the sound of his horse's hoofbeats alerted the group. The men ceased their conversations; their eyes watching him approach on horseback with confused interest.
Walter lowered the hood of his cloak and looked down at them, his eyes glinting in the crackling firelight. His imposing form made some of the men shift uncomfortably, whilst others stood up. All of the men wore simple clothing consisting of tunics, leggings, vests, and hats with large, feathery plumes. Though each of them wore a differently styled outfit, their clothing was primarily all red, yellow or brown – or an eclectic assortment of all three to represent their company's flagship colors.
Thinking he was quite possibly a bandit; one man drew his sword. Walter presumed he was the leader of the group, only because he was the boldest of the lot. Most of them were quite young; their beardless faces and jolly nature indicative of a thirst for change. The man who spoke was the only one among them not wearing the company colors. His entirely black outfit consisted of a black tunic, leggings, and tall leather boots. He held the hilt of the blade confidently, his dark brown eyes locking upon the pale, red-haired man and his bay colored stallion.
"Ho, now, who goes there? I pray you, speak!"
Walter eased his horse to a halt and dismounted. He gave the group a short bow, his crimson locks tumbling around his smooth, regal face. The confidence in which he addressed them seemed to relieve their initial apprehension. The ones who stood to greet him bowed in return. He felt their eyes scan his tall form from head to toe; recognizing his affluence from his expensive clothing and gracious mannerisms.
"Good evening, gentlemen – and gentlewomen." The red-haired lord began, his eyes flitting to the women, whose faces reddened the moment his gaze met theirs. He gave them a practiced smile, whilst his calm voice filled the crisp night air. "I was informed that famed minnesingers shall depart from here by tomorrow's eve. Are the lot of you, by chance, such company?"
"Aye, that is us." The man in black replied. He smiled warily and lowered his weapon – though refrained from sheathing it. "And who are you, good Sir?"
"I am one who appreciates your talents." Walter bowed his head. "Thus, I sought you out to learn when you shall perform again. My Lady has, regrettably, never seen a play. I thought she might enjoy watching your company perform before you journey to your next engagement."
"We perform tomorrow afternoon. If you wish to see us, we ask that you return then, good Sir."
"The afternoon is rather…inconvenient." He flicked his hand. "I must insist you reschedule."
"We are not interested in rescheduling. Baron Wilhelm von Braun is attending our performance tomorrow. Now, I must insist that you take your leave, Sir."
The red-haired lord reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a large purse. He tossed it their direction and smirked when it landed on the ground with a heavy thump. His dark, penetrating eyes watched the fellow pick it up in haste. The man's once incredulous expression quickly changed to disbelief. Walter flicked his hand, his eyes glinting with amusement. The performer turned to his associates and revealed a large sum of gold coins.
"Now, where were we…" The expectation in his voice left no opportunity for misinterpretation. "That should be more than enough compensation for the favor of your company."
"It is indeed, good Sir." The man smiled. His eyes, and those of his comrades, filled with gleeful excitement. "Perhaps, we shall stay a while longer and hold an evening show three days from hence-"
"That will not do." Walter's eyes narrowed. "My domain is not far from here. I wish for my lady to enjoy a private concert. You will perform tonight."
"Impossible!" The man protested, his eyes widening in fury at the lord's audacity. "You have offered us a fair sum, but we are not puppets you can command for your amusement, Sir." Before his companions could object, he tossed the purse back at the red-haired lord. Anger flashed across his face as he added spitefully. "Take your gold and be gone!"
Walter made no effort to catch it; his dark eyes flickering when it landed at his feet and spilled its contents across the ground. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. His face adopted a mask of false disappointment.
"Are you certain your company will not perform tonight?" The red-haired lord asked innocuously.
He tried not to laugh when the man scoffed.
"Aye, I am! Now leave us be! There is nothing you can do to convince me otherwise!"
Walter smirked. "Very well. You have made your decision, now I shall make mine."
"What are you talking about?"
With a shrewd grin, he returned to his horse and mounted it. As he stared down at the black-clad man, the fire's dancing flames reflected in his dark spheres. A low chuckle vibrated from his throat until he replied.
"You are about to understand what happens when you refuse."
"I am pleased you have awoken so soon, for the show must commence within the hour."
The men staggered to their feet. Their wild, confused expressions pleased him. After giving the group a few minutes to regain their senses, Walter unhurriedly rose from his seat. He peered down at the stage over the balcony's ornate gold railing, his lips forming a congenial smile as if their presence was expected - and it was. For him.
"Welcome to my castle. Do try not to die whilst you are here. I would hate to clean up the mess your corpses would leave behind. Should any of you leave without permission, tonight's performance will sadly be your last."
"Where are we? What the devil is going on here?" The man in black shouted.
"Do not fret. I request only what I have paid for."
"What? We didn't accept your money!"
"Indeed, you did not. That is of little consequence at this point, for you are here, now."
"Go to hell, vile wretch! If you intend to hold us captive, you are sorely mistaken! We are leaving at once and shall fetch the king's guard-"
"As I explained…should you leave, I will have no choice but to end your pathetic lives. Now that such unpleasantries are out of the way, do enjoy a drink…on the house." He ushered grandly to an elaborate gold table set up in front of the stage by the wall. Numerous wine glasses, decanters, and bottles were carefully arranged upon it. "I look forward to seeing what you have in store for the lady and I tonight. I am certain it will be to die for."
"We shall do no such thing!" One of the other men shouted. His voice echoed brazenly across the stage.
He chuckled as though something terribly funny had just occurred. "Such passion! Truly, I cannot wait to see your performance."
The man in the black tunic cursed aloud and stormed down the stage's wooden steps. "I shall take my chances leaving then!"
Walter rolled his eyes. Even though he loved it when they tested him, he wondered what compelled them to do so. As much as it would have entertained him to butcher the man himself, the human was hardly worth the effort. Rather than leave the balcony, he seated himself in one of its velvet chairs and rang the curtain bell. Within seconds, the succubus appeared in front of the black-clad man, her lips pressed into a mischievous grin as she threw her half-naked body against him and wrapped her legs around his torso.
"Come here, handsome." She hissed, her eyes glowing with excitement when the man cried out and recoiled from her touch. Her massive, bat-like wings folded wantonly around his trembling form. "Give me a kiss!"
When the temptress sought to place her lips upon the man's, Walter lifted a hand and snapped his fingers; prompting her to pause. "That is enough, servant."
The concubine's lips formed a childish pout. "Oh, you're no fun! I was just giving him a bit of attention. I wasn't going to kill him…completely, anyway."
Unimpressed by her protests, he tossed his head, the firmness in his tone not faltering for an instant. "Of course. I only wish to convey the consequences these men will face if they refuse. I believe your display was enough. Should any of them suddenly change their minds, do not hesitate to copulate with him to your heart's content."
"As you wish, master." The demoness abruptly released her hold and flew to a balcony along the side of the room.
The creature perched upon the railing; her wings folding behind her scantily clad from with bird-like proficiency. She leaned back, visibly dissatisfied despite her interest. With an amused chuckle, she spread her legs and let one of them dangle over the edge of the railing. Her cold, red eyes traced the men with malicious enthusiasm – waiting for just one of them to dare leave the room.
The black-clad man returned to the group. He stared at the concubine with a kind of terrible fascination Walter had seen many times before. Most men had similar looks on their faces when they met their end in her deadly embrace.
When he was certain no further disruptions would occur, he addressed them once again. He spoke slowly to ensure the men understood that his instructions were not to be taken lightly. "I expect you shall give your best performance tonight. Should you displease the lady, perform below expectation, or give her any indication that something is amiss – my succubus will gladly dispose of you one by one. Do I make myself clear?"
The men nodded silently, the fear in their eyes increasing each passing moment.
With a careful smile, the red-haired lord ushered to the table again. "Now then, please take a refreshment and enjoy the evening."
Walter watched them mull about the stage. After a few moments, the braver, or perhaps more desperate ones, descended the stairs and approached the table. He noticed some of them fill their glass to the brim and down the alcohol as quickly as they could fill their cups. The red-haired lord was content to let them drink as they saw fit, so long as liquid courage promised to reduce apprehension and improve performance. However, should any of them become too intoxicated, his devoted concubine would see to them accordingly. He did not want any to die so long as they fulfilled their purpose. Lady Rohesia would arrive momentarily, and he did not wish for an empty stage to greet her. The performance's sudden cancellation would make him regret her disappointment far more than their unfortunate end.
He heard the lady approaching long before she appeared upon the balcony. He rose from his chair, his eyes glinting with delight the moment he saw her.
With a proud smile, he announced. "The lady is here."
As she approached, her familiar followed like a loyal dog. Its uncanny squeaking steps made some of the performers turn their heads in confusion. The imp's short stature meant they could not see it over the balcony railing; leading some to likely believe the lady herself was responsible for the odd commotion. Had any of them dared to mock her, he may have incinerated them on the spot.
She approached the railing and peered at the colorfully dressed men below. "Lord Bernhard, who are these people?"
The red-haired lord swept a deep bow before her, his red hair cascading against his ashen face whilst he replied. "You said you have never seen a play. I arranged for these minnesingers to perform in my theater. They are pleased to entertain you this evening."
The lady covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes widened in amazement. "You did this for me? I do not know how to thank you."
"Your company tonight, should you wish to join me, is enough."
"I would be honored." She sat down in the luxurious red velvet chair beside his, her eyes bright with excitement.
Pleased by her acceptance, the red-haired lord sat down beside her. He picked up a bottle of wine and filled the two glasses on the small table beside him. With a gracious smile, he passed her a glass, his voice softening as he observed her awed expression.
"Excellent." Then, looking at the performers waiting below, he announced. "Let the performance begin."
"What on earth are we performing?" The man in black asked, giving him a perturbed look. Though his voice was not unpleasant, it tinged with faint irritation. When the red-haired lord's lips curled, the performer removed his hat and bowed. His voice immediately adopted a congenial tone. "Of course, we are happy to perform whatever the lady wishes! Do let us know at your leisure!"
Walter's attention shifted back to the lady. With a renewed smile, he invited her judgement. "We await your decision, Lady Rohesia."
After considering a moment, she returned his smile. "Can you perform Lancelot, the Knight of the Cart?"
The man in black nodded. "Yes, milady."
She pressed her hands together in excitement. "Wonderful! I know it was not originally play, but believe it was adapted into one?"
"Yes, milady. Tis' a popular tale we have performed many times."
Walter's brow furrowed. Seldom had any tale escaped his awareness. He shifted in his chair, his dark gaze locking upon her as he whispered in her ear. "What is it about?"
"A brave knight." She replied, her attention remaining upon the performers as they scrambled across the stage in preparation. "It is one of my favorites. When I was a child, my nursemaid used to read parts of it to me before bed. The story is about Lancelot's quest to rescue Guinevere, a beautiful queen abducted and held captive by Meleagant. Lancelot must face many trials...including love, the greatest of all."
The red-haired lord released a low huff. As it was her choice, its fanciful premise did not surprise him. "Very well."
Sensing his skepticism, her attention returned to him. "There is quite a bit of fighting and death though, which may please you, milord."
A low chuckle escaped his throat. "I am certain it shall be entertaining. Life and death are two lovers united by passion but separated by difference."
She gazed at him a long moment, her voice falling quiet when she said. "Indeed."
When the performance began, he initially observed it with bored curiosity. He had met and butchered many brave knights like Lancelot. What was one man against him? Despite his reluctance, her fascination piqued his interest. He wondered if there was more to the tale than he realized.
As he watched the man in black playing Lancelot attempt to win Guinevere's love, his attention focused upon Lady Rohesia. The woman leaned forward in her chair, her heartbeat quickening when the actors professed the character's emotions. Though Guinevere was played by the youngest man in the group, as women were forbidden from the stage, it did not seem to inhibit her enjoyment.
Earnestness appeared in her gaze while she watched the scene play out. She withdrew a sharp breath as Lancelot, spurred into tournament combat, acquiesced to Guinevere's desire for him to purposely lose – then win – in order to prove his love. Walter's lips formed a frown. His gaze flitted between Lancelot and the queen. Unimpressed by the queen's indecisiveness, his fingertips drummed the arm of his chair. At first, he blamed the actor – assuming the youth had failed to deliver the queen's lines convincingly. However, as it was part of the plot, he could not think of a rational explanation.
He did not understand why Lancelot surrendered so easily until his gaze drifted to the woman beside him.
As he looked at her lovely face, he shifted uncomfortably. His hand gripped the arm of the chair. Attempting to distract himself with his drink, he took a long, slow sip of wine. After Lancelot killed his last challenger, the queen proclaimed his victory. The youth's voice filled with admiration as the actor playing Lancelot bowed before 'her.' He listened to Lancelot bid the queen a heartfelt farewell when, forced to return to his imprisonment, power beyond their control made them part ways.
Walter leaned forward in his chair alongside her, his dark, penetrating eyes following the actors across the stage with shared earnestness. Together, they watched Lancelot take the axe given to him by Meleagant's sister and chop his way out of his cell. The man in black swung the axe against the imaginary door and journeyed to his final battle with Meleagant. Of course, he could not ignore the tale's veiled brutality, such as Lancelot's slaying of the prideful knight and his opponents' defeat during the tournament.
Unpredictably, Lancelot and Guinevere's relationship captured his attention most. The queen, disinclined to be won so easily, initially rejected the knight. Though the lovers faced many dangers, passion and determination united them. As he watched, his concern for the lovers' fates grew. Fleetingly, he thought of the countless men and women he had cruelly destroyed with his games. Why, now, did their lives hold meaning? As he thought on it, he stiffened in his chair – his eyes widening whilst he reflected upon the lady's words. I do not want you to die, Walter. Her tearful plea resonated within his heart. With an uneasy sigh, he lifted his hand and delicately rested it upon hers. When he felt her eyes wander from the actors to him, he focused his attention upon the stage below. He waited for her to pull away, fully expecting she would rebuke his boldness.
Yet, when she did not, his throat tightened. He had not expected her to accept him.
Before he could stop himself, he smiled.
At the performance's conclusion, Walter rose from his seat swept a bow. Coils of rich crimson hair tumbled around his face and shoulders when he moved. After pausing a moment, he lifted his head and looked at her – noting her contentment when her pale eyes met his dark ones.
His deep, resonant voice filled the air. "Please wait for me in the hall. I shall be with you in a moment."
"Of course, milord." Upon rising from her seat, she gave him a polite curtsy. Then, shifting her attention to the line of performers standing on the stage below, gave them a departing wave. "I wish to thank all of you for your performance." She beamed. "I enjoyed it very much!"
Walter's lip twitched when one of the men breathed a very audible sigh of relief. "Thank God!"
He returned the human's obstinance with a warning glare. No one else dared speak.
The lady bowed her head. "May all of you be safe and well in your travels. Good evening and farewell."
After her departure, his attention shifted back to the group of men standing like a herd of lost sheep on the stage. The red-haired lord cast them an approving lips formed a tiny smirk. "As you have pleased the lady, as well as myself, I have decided to spare your lives."
The man in black returned his announcement with a scathing glare. "Thank you, Sir."
Unfazed by the human's cheek, the red-haired lord chuckled. His dark, gleaming spheres stared down at the group with predatory interest. "I imagine, all of you must be tired…"
"Let us out of here you bast-"
A red tint appeared within his eyes while he focused his thoughts upon each of them. One by one, the men collapsed onto the stage's wooden floorboards in a stupor. He could not risk them knowing who he was or uncovering his castle's location. Upon rendering the last one unconscious, he focused his thoughts upon the winged creatures within his domain and summoned them. He would have his gargoyles and frost demons collect and dump them where he had found them, like one returning unwanted possessions.
When he was certain the performers would give his monsters no trouble, he departed the room.
He found her waiting for him in front of one of the theater's massive windows. She leaned against a Romanesque column near the windowpane, her soft blue eyes gazing at the serene nightscape beyond. Pale red moonlight beamed across the ornate red carpet lining the outer edges of the room. In the moonlight, she appeared almost statue-like. Her serene allure rivaled the agate sculptures of Artemis and Dido he had collected and displayed throughout the theater's hallways. For a moment, he paused atop the steps; somewhat envious he could not know her thoughts.
Though he made not a sound entering, she broke her gaze and turned to him. Her fine lips formed a gentle smile. "The performance was remarkable!" Excitement filled her voice. "Lancelot fought honorably to rescue his true love from Meleagant. Tis' a shame it is merely a story."
"Does it matter?" He descended the stairs and slowly approached, his soft steps barely making a sound. His larger form towered over her.
She looked up at him in amazement, her eyes widening under the intensity of his gaze. "No, it does not." After a brief pause, she continued. "Though you are immortal, when I look upon you, I do not see a devil or a god. I see only you, Lord Bernhard, exactly as you are. I admire you despite your nature."
Suddenly, his voice was trapped in his throat. Though he maintained his confident smile his eyes betrayed him. Unable to face her tenderness, he broke their gaze; veiling his hesitation behind the coils of his glossy crimson hair.
"I am not Lancelot." His voice fell quiet when he remembered the cruelty he had subjected her to.
He likened himself more to Meleagant than Lancelot. Though had he been Meleagant, the story would have ended far differently…
"I do not expect you to be." She answered softly. "I suppose, God shall damn me for it…but it will not change my feelings. Nothing will. Not even you."
He returned his gaze to her, his dark eyes glinting in the shadow-cloaked room in which they stood. He wanted to touch her but dare not move for fear his composure would crumble away.
Before he could stop himself, the dreaded words fled his lips. "I do not want you to, Arabella."
Without hesitating, the lady reached up and touched his face. Fully aware of his much taller stature, he bent forward slightly so she did not have to stand on her toes. Her gentle expression captured him completely.
She caressed his cheek, her eyes never leaving his as she whispered. "If that is so…why do you fear accepting them?"
"I fear nothing."
The vulnerability in his eyes betrayed him.
He removed his gloves and tossed them aside. With a sigh, he brought his hand over hers, wanting to feel her warm skin against his. He longed to convey his feelings without speaking, for words alone seemed insufficient. After hearing Guinevere and Lancelot's passionate speeches, he wondered why he struggled to create the prose the characters so boldly expressed. He had been confident in his ability to obtain whatever he wished – whether it was blood, wealth, or social influence. However, he suddenly found himself struggling against a constant tide of uncertainty, doubt and regret. He had never regretted what he was until he looked at her gentle face. She drew the only emotion he feared because he was powerless to control it.
Uncertainty churned within him as he drew closer to her. When his hand began to tremble, he pulled away, his lips pursing as he fought against his instinct to reject her ephemeral beauty. A part of him screamed that he was far superior to such a meager creature; one whose limited life would one day cease to be. Her humanity helped him finally conceptualize the fleeting nature of time. Whereas time once seemed irrelevant and everlasting, the longer he stood with her, the more it threatened to unravel them both.
When he tried to move away, she gently drew him into her embrace. He longed to have her then, to show her, rather than explain, the raw emotion she wrought within him. His carnal desires urged him to take her innocence so he could at last regain a semblance of control. Yet, the temptation to entice her surrender felt inappropriate. As she held him, she lifted her head and looked up at him, her grey-blue eyes never leaving his as he lowered his face to hers. He ran his hand through her long, golden hair, feeling its silky strands between his fingers. His lips trailed to her neck and slowly skimmed her skin. Though she trembled from his unexpected coldness, she did not withdraw. He felt her pulse quicken.
With a sigh, the red-haired lord whispered softly. "Do you truly believe all I care about is power?" He was uncertain if he was asking her or himself.
She rested her head on his chest. "No, I do not – at least, not anymore."
Her eyes drifted to the pendant secured around his neck. The object's black, oval-shaped stone gleamed in the crimson moon's ominous glow. When her hand reached up to touch it, he resisted the urge to withdraw. His dark eyes widened as her fingertips skimmed the stone's smooth surface.
"What is this? I have never seen you without it." When he failed to answer, she lifted her head. "I suppose, as you said, some things are not meant for me to know."
"Some things...but not everything." He took her hand in his, ignoring his impulse to hide his truth while fearing rejection if she learned it.
Coils of thick red hair fell around his face as he lowered his head and brought her hand to his lips; his dark spheres gleaming tenderly in the darkness. As she looked at him, he took greater notice of the contrast between them. Whereas her fair hand still possessed the warmth of life, he winced at the sight of his cold, pallid flesh and claw-like fingernails.
After drawing a breath, he said. "That is the Ebony Stone. It creates the everlasting darkness in this forest so that I never require rest. Its power is greater than almost anything else known to man."
"Did it give you eternal life as well?" She asked.
With a soft smile, he shook his head. "No – though it can, should its master desire it."
Her eyes widened, their pale blue spheres revealing her burgeoning curiosity. "If the Ebony Stone did not give you eternal life, what did?"
Despite his amusement, his voice darkened. "I was born into darkness, the same way you were born into light. While this stone is within my power, I needn't fear man, death or God – for none can harm me after nightfall."
She looked at him gently, at last understanding his sorrow as well as his delight. "Like Siegfried's back, the Ebony Stone is your weakness."
"No." As she stared at him, a red tint flickered in his eyes. Sorrowful anger threatened to break his calm façade. He withdrew a trembling breath. "It is not that simple. Nothing ever is."
"That sounds like something I once told you." Her smile returned, though it soon vanished when she added sorrowfully. "If it is not that…"
"I have no weakness." With a flick of his cloak, he turned away from her prying gaze, refusing to allow her to delve any further into his thoughts. His voice regained its former confidence. "We will not speak of this again."
"Why not?" When he scoffed at her insistence, a sigh escaped her lips before she continued softly. "Love is not a weakness, Lord Bernhard."
Anger surged within him as he whirled to look at her again, his lips parting to reveal his deadly incisors. His hands balled into fists, though he dared not approach, for fear that his temper would overcome his patience. However, his frustration increased upon realizing that the mere thought of harming her offended him.
He, who once feared nothing, feared for her.
When he finally spoke, his voice lowered to a whisper. "No, but you are."
Without awaiting her reply, he departed the room.