Author's Note: After a very long hiatus (7ish years!?), I'm back! This story has been floating around in my head for a very long time. I decided to write it after Darksymphony777 reviewed my other work, Melancholia, on YouTube. Although this is intended to be a "prequel" to Melancholia, you do not have to read Melancholia to understand the plot or characters.
Unfortunately, stories about Walter are few and far between. I think Walter is a fascinating character and far more than the sadistic sociopath he appeared to be in Lament of Innocence.
As always, reviews are greatly appreciated. I love feedback because it lets me know people are reading my work!
This fic is dedicated to Darksymphony777 (who inspired me to start writing again) and those who read/followed Melancholia (you know who you are – aka lateniteslacker, Azariyabelmont, etc.)
Chapter I
Walter glided into the home; his steps echoing softly upon the marble floor. The walls were covered with elaborate tapestries depicting men and women of esteem, Greek gods, and famous battles from bygone eras. The home was warm and inviting. Its vast corridors and rooms were alit by numerous candelabras along the walls and gold chandeliers hanging from vaulted ceilings. Though many would have admired such decadence, the red-haired lord barely gave it any mind as he walked through the space. He wound his way through the throngs of guests. All wore beautiful garments made of silk, satin, and the finest jewelry and embroidery their wealth afforded them. Women dressed in elaborate gowns smiled and eyed the stranger. He felt their eyes follow him as he went, quietly curious about the visitor in their midst. A few women bowed their heads. His striking appearance and unbridled confidence drew their attention. Over time, he had grown used to such things, and scarcely paid them any mind.
It had been some time since he attended a party, though it was a necessity he enjoyed partaking in when it suited him. His tall, masculine appearance never went unnoticed – but all it took was a smile and a bow to prove he belonged among them. It amused him knowing how easy it was to dwell among the sheep. A part of him enjoyed pretending to be one of them. He would listen to the trivial matters defining their short, empty lives: war, money and status. Frequently, he would learn who was in good graces with the courts and church and who had become the latest social pariah. It mattered not to him one way or another, for his world was completely unlike theirs.
Lord Trantoul, though much shorter in stature than his guest, had a kind and cheerful disposition. He was average height with neatly kept dark brown hair and a thin goatee. A luxurious wolf fur pelt covered his shoulders; protecting them from the winter cold. His long, navy colored robes were embroidered with silver and gold thread.
With a hearty laugh, the man passed him a glass of red wine. "Ah, Lord Bernhard!" He exclaimed. "Tis' good of you to come. You haven't aged a day despite how regretfully long it has been since we last met! I hope you are well and finding everything to your liking?"
Walter bowed. The coils of his rich, red hair splayed around his face and shoulders like waves of fire. "Tis' an enjoyable celebration, Lord Trantoul." His voice, deep and assertive, resonated through the room.
"What the devil are my servants up to that you should be without a drink?" The nobleman joked, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Where on earth have you been? Certainly not fighting in the east judging by that fair complexion of yours!"
Walter accepted the glass, returning the other lord's observation with a practiced smile. Without missing a beat, he replied graciously. "My duties have kept me rather occupied. How goes the war?"
The other lord shrugged; attesting a clear disinterest for matters beyond his immediate concern. "As well as any war can, Lord Bernhard. Men go off to fight and many more do not return. This has created quite a predicament."
Walter raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"
The other lord laughed heartily and slapped him on the back. "Why, there are so many unclaimed beauties I can scarcely look two feet in front of me without sighting one! I am certain some here are on the hunt tonight for a fine man like yourself."
The red-haired lord's smile broadened. "Is that so?"
"Never fear, Lord Bernhard. I'm sure you'll catch one for yourself, yet!"
"Perhaps." Walter took a sip of wine. "On my way in, I heard someone say the Belmonts could not attend. Surprising, given Baron Leopold's recent victory in the east."
Lord Trantoul's smile faded. After glancing around to ensure no one was near enough to overhear, his voice lowered. "I thought everyone knew of the rumor by now, despite Baron Belmont's efforts to keep it in the family..."
Upon hearing the urgency in the man's voice, Walter raised an eyebrow. Feigning disinterest, he replied. "I do not care for rumors unless they concern my interests. Do enlighten me though, Lord Trantoul. If it is, in fact, merely speculation, it shall be of little consequence to Baron Belmont's reputation. Tis' a shame he is not here. I had been looking forward to meeting Leopold. He was your guest of honor, after all."
The man nodded stiffly. While giving the red-haired lord a concerned look, he whispered. "Indeed, he was. I thought a party celebrating the church's accomplishments would have drawn him like a bee to honey. I am sure, you understand the importance of family allegiances, Lord Bernhard. Nevertheless, it cannot be helped."
"It seems not." Walter muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Baron Belmont's prowess in battle earned his family respect and fortune. His talents intrigue me, for they are a rarity. I had hoped to share a drink with him tonight..."
Sensing the other lord's displeasure, Lord Trantoul shook his head. "Well, since you asked...I heard Baron Belmont has been attending to his wife as of late. They say she is ill. After giving birth to their son, the Baroness' humors became imbalanced. Her black bile was so excessive that she frequently succumbed to bouts of melancholia. During her most recent incident, she threw a candle and nearly burnt the entire estate to the ground! Do not take my word for it though. Tis' merely rumor and hearsay."
"Interesting..." Walter huffed, unmoved by the man's account. "I had hoped Baron Belmont would not disappoint. Alas, I shall have to find another source of entertainment this evening..."
"The night is young, Lord Bernhard!" The other lord chuckled good-naturedly. "Now, enough gossip, my friend. Every person in this room is playing their own game tonight, as is expected at these sorts of events. Perhaps, you shall simply have to start a new one?" Before the red-haired lord could respond, Lord Trantoul tapped a man next to him on the shoulder. "Lord Conqvist, have you perchance met Lord Bernhard?"
The other man turned round, his chestnut-colored eyes looking at the tall, fair-skinned gentleman before him with muted interest. His long fingers were covered with numerous gold rings, which clinked restlessly against his glass. His face was smooth and clean-shaven, giving him a deceptive youthfulness that contrasted his cynical disposition. His long, copper colored robes swept gracefully with him when he moved. Dark brown hair framed his regal visage and fell just below his shoulders in thick waves. A heavy brown cloak trimmed with rabbit fur covered his back.
After studying the stranger a moment, he gave an approving nod. "I am afraid we have not met. I am Lord Sebastian Cronqvist."
"Lord Cronqvist is a respected scholar," Lord Trantroul explained, ushering dramatically to the other lord like one addressing some sort of god. "He is studying with Rinaldo Gandolfi, whom I'm certain you have heard of?"
"I am afraid not." Walter replied. When the noblemen glanced at one another in surprise, he added smoothly. "Could you enlighten me?"
"I am studying a branch of natural philosophy and speculative theory." Lord Cronqvist explained, his condescending tone contradicting his gracious disguise. "Sir Gandolfi is an expert in the field. Though he is younger than I, his knowledge is astounding."
The red-haired lord needed no further explanation, for the man had his complete and undivided attention. "I see." He replied thoughtfully, his eyes shining with sudden enthusiasm. He wondered if the man Lord Cronqvist mentioned knew the whereabouts of an object he sought. He had spent the better part of two hundred years searching for it. Walter tossed his head, curtaining his growing interest beneath wavelets of lush red hair. Undoubtedly, the man was studying something far beyond his limited understanding.
With an impish smirk, the red-haired lord asked, "Do you wish to learn how to cure disease and extend life?"
Lord Cronqvist shifted uncomfortably. A brief silence passed before their eyes met. "I wish to learn about God's elements so that I may use them to further the church's ambitions."
Walter noticed the nobleman's eyes drift to the oval-shaped black object adorning his neck. The human's perceptiveness startled him somewhat. Without thinking, he grasped the intricate gold necklace and slid his fingers across the smooth, round stone. As if to ensure it was still there, he touched it lightly. Displeasure flickered across his elegant face when the man probed further.
"That necklace…what is it? I have never seen a stone like that. Is it obsidian?" Lord Cronqvist asked, his eyes narrowing when the red-haired lord's gloved hand covered it from view. Unwilling to relent despite the other lord's silence, he added under his breath, "That looks like something Sir Gandolfi would find interesting…"
Another long silence passed. Walter stared at the man, his distaste for him growing each passing moment.
When the silence became unbearable, Lord Trantoul politely ushered the red-haired lord away. "Lord Bernhard, I would be a poor host if I did not introduce you to some of my other guests. As you so rarely attend these events, tis' best you make some valuable connections."
"I am grateful for your consideration, Lord Trantoul." Walter replied, giving the other lord a scathing look before returning his attention to his host. The intervention relieved him, for he did not want an educated mind interested in his affairs.
"Excellent!" Lord Trantou continued, his cheerful voice carrying through the large ballroom. As his host passed a servant carrying a tray of wine, he picked a goblet off the tray along the way as if plucking a delicious fruit. They had nearly crossed the length of the room when he halted and spun around to face him, his wine sloshing haphazardly with his sudden motion. "I shall next introduce you to Lord Armster. He has an estate in a village not far from here called Creightel. Do keep in mind he is rather…unusual."
"Is that so? Do explain." Walter eyed the other lord curiously, his dark eyes glinting with sudden interest.
He took a sip of wine and looked around the room, sighting only well-dressed men accompanied closely by hen-like ladies with contrived smiles. The selection that evening left much to be desired, though he was certain it would matter little when his hunger took hold at the end of the night. The familiar, dull ache in his mouth reminded him that blood was blood, no matter the class of person it came from.
Seeing that his guest had not sighted the man in question, Lord Trantoul laughed and waved him onward. "Ah! You cannot miss him, I assure you – even one with your keen eye will know whom I speak of in a minute. Lord Armster is rather fair."
"Fairer than I? Surely, you jest." Walter smirked, knowing his uncharacteristically pale complexion would not be overshadowed easily. He took another sip of his wine, relishing its rich velvety taste. He swirled it in his mouth a moment; doubtful that any of Lord Trantoul's guests would impress him so easily.
"Alas, he is stricken with some sort of condition. I dare say, he looks albeit devilish with his white hair and skin. Do try to pay that no matter, for he is highly regarded by the church, and is thus a valuable ally."
The red-haired lord nodded. Already bored, he considered excusing himself. He needed to decide which among them would join him for dinner that evening, for he was getting hungry, and opportunities were ever-fleeting. Nevertheless, he permitted one more inconvenience, for he did not wish to create bad relations by refusing his host's hospitality. It did not take him long to discern whom Lord Trantoul spoke of. Among the groups of chattering nobles, a tall, slender man with straight white hair immediately captured his interest. In all his centuries of existence, he had never seen anyone quite like him. The pale man wore silvery-grey robes and steel boots. His monochrome appearance had not gone unnoticed by other guests, who watched and whispered with nervous curiosity. The man's regal visage was almost the color of snow. His cold, sapphire blue eyes contrasted his ashen skin. Walter detected most guests were apprehensive around him – he could hear heart beats quicken whenever the pale man's eyes locked upon their focus of interest.
Though he was surrounded by people, most maintained a greater than typical distance, as if in the presence of a leper. Despite this, every guest seemed to go out of their way to pay their regards with a polite nod, bow, or curtsy. Many more tried to approach and engage in some form of conversation, dropping names, attempting to flatter, or gloating about their successes.
Lord Trantoul's demeanor tensed, like one approaching an unpredictable beast. His voice, once warm and congenial, adopted an air of nervous formality. The white-haired lord's piercing eyes fell upon the man as if an insect had crossed his path.
Lord Trantoul was first to speak. "Lord Armster, do forgive my interruption."
The pale lord's gaze flitted to the crimson-haired stranger in his company. When he spoke, the sharpness in his voice made the other lord wince with embarrassment. "Who are you?"
Taken aback by the crusader's brusqueness, Lord Trantoul fell into an uneasy silence. In an effort to keep the pale lord's attention away from their host, Walter approached and swept a confident bow. "Good evening. I am Lord Walter Bernhard."
The pale man huffed. His face wore a mask of cold indifference. "I see." He snipped. Feigning interest, he took a small sip of wine and inquired. "From where do you hail, Lord Bernhard?" A tiny smirk creased the corners of his fine lips. He flicked aside the strands of his long, abnormally white hair.
Though somewhat irritated by the man's dismissiveness, Walter returned the smirk. "Eternal Night."
The white-haired lord raised an eyebrow. "I have never heard of it." A derisive chuckle escaped his throat as if finding humor in the other lord's response. His piercing eyes flitted to their host with mock amusement. "Where do you find these people, Lord Trantoul?" He scoffed.
Walter took a sip of wine, unwilling to be so easily baited. When their eyes met, he stared at his pale appearance for a few moments too long – deliberately testing the man's patience. When the other lord shifted uncomfortably, his smirk broadened. "Indeed, after meeting you, I must ask the same."
The crusader's dark blue eyes narrowed. "I do not take kindly to those with a sharp tongue."
"Now, gentlemen," Lord Trantoul interjected; visibly exasperated by the constant tension. "Must petty quarrels dampen a fine evening? Both of you should have more wine and forget this nonsense."
As if on cue, Lord Armster's attention shot to a figure in the crowd. His sharp gaze locked upon a young woman a few feet from them. She greeted the other guests with a smile and a nod as she made her way their direction. Her skin was smooth and fair; indicating a life of protection, comfort and privilege. Her presence drew the eyes of several noblemen, who looked at her but dare not approach under the white-haired lord's watchful eye. The lady's straight blonde hair floated lightly behind her; its sleek, glossy strands brushing against her cheeks. Her long, ash grey colored dress fanned around her graceful figure and trailed on the floor. Though she smiled, Walter detected a hint of melancholy in her face. She avoided holding her gaze upon other guests for long; as if fearing they would see through her mask.
The moment she realized Lord Armster's attention was upon her, her smile faded, and she reluctantly approached. The crusader gazed at her attentively, the coldness in his eyes tempering somewhat in her presence. "Milady, Lord Trantoul and his guests are tiring of conversation. Perhaps you could play for them? I am certain our host would be pleased by your show of appreciation. I would enjoy it also."
The woman shook her head. "Milord, I do not wish to trouble Lord Trantoul and his guests-"
"Nonsense!" Lord Trantoul laughed, his face beaming at the opportunity to at last free himself from his guests' polite discord. "I would adore the opportunity! What do you play? I shall have one of my servants fetch an instrument of your choosing. Lord Armster speaks highly of your musical talents."
She looked imploringly at the white-haired lord, who ignored her silent plea for deliverance. "It is getting late and I grow tired. Perhaps another time-"
"Surely, you would not refuse our host's request?" The pale nobleman chided. Then, turning to their host, he said. "Have one of the servants bring a lute."
Within moments, a servant approached with the requested instrument and handed it to the lady. Like a caged songbird, she held the object in her hands, her eyes nervously observing the other guests. Though the red-haired lord adored music, her discomfort hindered his enthusiasm. Unimpressed, he slunk further back into the crowd, his tall form disappearing seamlessly amidst elaborately dressed men and women. Though he had distanced himself, he watched her delicate fingers dance across the instrument's strings. Her face remained expressionless despite the beautiful music echoing throughout the room.
"Gather round, everyone!" Lord Trantoul announced cheerfully, his voice summoning his guests' immediate attention. "Lady Armster shall play a bit for us-"
"Lady Rohesia." She corrected sharply; her eyes locking upon the other lord whilst she continued to play.
Lord Trantoul laughed, his cheerfulness contrasting the lady's dark mood. "Judging by the way he is looking at you, I doubt much longer!"
To this, the lady said nothing. She continued to play, the sound of her music eliciting polite applause from the crowd. Though she tried to avoid eye-contact with him, Lord Armster remained close by – his piercing eyes focused exclusively upon her. His endless staring seemed to unnerve her, for her concentration upon the instrument waned under its intensity. After a time, she paused in the middle of a song. The unexpected silence prompted the crowd to stir.
She tensed as Lord Armster lifted his head, the white curtains of his hair cascading against his face and back whilst he spoke. "What is wrong?" He asked, his voice straining when curious murmurs filtered amidst the onlookers. "I did not tell you to stop."
"I am done playing for tonight, milord." She replied. The curtness in her voice was unmistakable.
"You are done when I say." He snipped. "Continue playing."
When the crowd's surprised whisperings increased, Lord Trantoul bowed his head, the cheerfulness in his voice straining somewhat as he said. "If the lady is tired, I shall summon my chamber players-"
"No." Lord Armster held up a hand, his lips curling into a displeased sneer. "Do forgive her childishness, Lord Trantoul. The lady will play."
"No, I will not." She glared at him. Her fury rose alongside his unwillingness to acknowledge it. When he continued to stare at her, she glanced at the lute in her hand and added with an air of finality. "I cannot play an instrument that is broken, milord."
"What are you talking about?" The white-haired lord glared back at her. His voice, now rising with impatience, caused whispers to sound throughout the crowd. "How dare you-"
Before he could continue, she lifted the lute and slammed it against the marble floor with a resounding bang. The sudden noise prompted a few people in the crowd to cry out in shock. Indifferent to their reactions, she tossed the broken instrument aside. Without a word, she fled to the terrace doors on the other side of the hall, her grey dress sweeping with her swift steps. Lord Armster glared after her. His face wore a mask of fury and embarrassment; his fine lips curling to a scowl so severe it seemed capable of freezing anyone unfortunate enough to see it. As he stared after her, a servant hurried to the scene and picked up the instrument's splintered remains.
Within moments of Lady Rohesia's departure, a woman with dark brown hair and eyes ran to the pale nobleman and grasped him by the arm. She was dressed in all the finery expected of a hostess. Her hair was tied back into an ornate bun wrapped with braids and pearls. Her elaborate sage green dress moved gracefully with her as she walked. Her beautiful, fair face looked up at her guest of honor with noticeable reverence.
Though her voice was soft, her disapproval cut through the silence like a dagger. "Lord Armster, how dare that uncouth wench rebuke you so? Come, milord, let me get you a drink of wine. Though she is ungrateful for your service to the church, I am not. Lord Trantoul and especially me, are glad you graced us with your presence this evening."
Lord Armster gave the woman a reluctant smile. Despite his politeness, he hissed quietly under his breath. "I thank you for your kind words, Lady Trantoul, and regret this incident deeply. However, I ask that you please refrain from insulting Lady Rohesia. I shall deal with her later."
"Of course, milord." The woman smiled back, her voice quieting when she added. "I ask now, that you deal with me. I will not take no for an answer. Come."
Walter watched the pale nobleman give in to the woman's persistence. With a sigh, Lord Armster allowed her to lead him to the edge of the room. She ushered for him to take a seat at the banquet table and immediately sat down beside him.
It took a few moments for the guests to disperse and resume their chatter, though the red-haired lord could not help noticing tension remained. It hung in the air; stifling the party's formerly cordial atmosphere. He had expected to be somewhat entertained that evening, but not to such a dramatic extent. His lips lifted into a discreet smile. Lady Rohesia had captured his complete and undivided attention. Not wanting to waste time mulling about with the rest of the sheep, Walter slowly made his way across the room to the terrace doors.
He might not leave the party hungry, after all.
Walter stepped through the French doors and emerged onto the terrace. A gentle breeze brushed against his face and swept the loose coils of his crimson hair back. As he approached the stone railing, the moon's soft white light welcomed him. Though it was not yet full, its presence was somewhat comforting. Shadows partially veiled his face as he admired the serene nightscape. When he glanced over his shoulder and peered through the hall's large windows, longing briefly overcame his delight. As his eyes traced the groups of people mulling about, he wondered what they looked like in the daytime when the sun's rays reflected against their silk and satin clothing and kissed the hall's marble floor. He had only seen the sun in paintings and books. He remembered looking at images created by artists, noting the array of colors and shading they used, while secretly wishing he could see its forbidden beauty for himself.
She faced away from him, her long, honey colored hair waving carelessly behind her in the wind. The train of her grey dress swept around her like unfurling wings. Though he had not attempted to conceal his presence, she did not turn to greet him. She remained almost statue-like; her grey-blue eyes transfixed upon the rolling fields surrounding the manor. As she sat there, she hummed a sad little tune under her breath. It seemed to calm her, for the tension in her body released. He approached the railing and stood beside her – keeping a respectful distance to ensure she could not study him too closely. Moonlight threatened to betray his guise like a jilted lover, for its whiteness would reveal his unnaturally pale complexion.
His tall and imposing frame shadowed her smaller, delicate figure. Her contrasting nature and mournful silence intrigued him. Amidst the wind-swept strands of her golden hair, her milky throat beckoned his carnal desires. His fangs would pierce the tender flesh like needles through silk. He wondered if her fire would reappear in her last moments, for he loved nothing more than witnessing the valiant struggle between life and death.
When her eyes met his, he inhaled sharply at their coldness. The sight almost made him step back, as it was uncharacteristic of one so young. Sorrow reflected in every fiber of her being; its intensity weakening his hunger. When she spoke, her calm voice filtered through the darkness.
"I know what you are." She whispered.
"Do you?" Walter's smooth lips lifted into a practiced smile. Confidence masked his surprise.
Without hesitating, she continued. "Yes."
His brow furrowed, the amusement in his expression souring upon realizing her seriousness. He tossed his head, curtaining his annoyance behind the thick locks of his crimson hair. "What am I?"
"Dead." As suddenly as she looked at him, she returned her attention to the night.
She leaned forward, forcing her body precariously far over the terrace's stone railing. Dissatisfied, she hoisted herself on top of the stone and sat with her feet dangling on the opposite site. The skirt of her long dress swept around her; carried by the gentle wind. In the moonlight, the dress' ash-grey hue appeared ivory. As she gazed at the fields, Walter slid closer to her and rested his hands upon the railing. The wind caught his cloak and swept it to the side with a single effortless motion.
"I see it in your eyes," she added, her voice nearly lost in the wind. "Though you smile and court their attention, life has lost all meaning for you – as it has for me."
"I assure you, milady, I am very much alive." Walter countered, his confidence faltering when her mournful gaze returned to him.
She looked over her shoulder at him. As if able to see through him, her expression was torn between sadness and curiosity. "In body, perhaps, but not in spirit. I know it all too well, for we are alike in that respect. I did not think one of your caliber required their company."
Momentarily taken aback, he lifted his head, allowing the moonlight to spill across his face. His dark eyes flickered. Unwilling to accept his unforeseen vulnerability, he answered assuredly. "I require only entertainment. Surprisingly, I received my fill of it tonight from you, milady."
"I care not."
"If that were true, we would not be speaking."
She paused. "No one will dare be seen with me for the rest of the evening. Yet, you followed me here…"
"Merely a coincidence, milady."
"Nothing is a coincidence." She looked at him again, her fine lips pursing as they studied each other. "Have you come to chastise me for my rudeness?" Her tone remained skeptical despite seeming to know his answer.
"It is not my place to say how a woman should behave." The red-haired lord's lips formed a slight frown. He observed her cautiously, noting her perilous location at the edge of the railing. With a sigh, he wondered why trouble seemed to await him everywhere that night. "A fall from such a height as this would surely be…unpleasant."
The lady peered down at the ground below. "Indeed…" she murmured, seeming to agree with his observation. "If I were to fall, perhaps while trying to obtain a better view of the township surrounding the estate…my death would be inconsequential. Of course, Lord Trantoul and his guests would be aghast, but they would forget, in time."
Walter's brow furrowed. "And Lord Armster?" He asked expectantly.
After a silence that seemed to last an eternity, she shook her head. Her voice sounded flat. "What of him?" Without waiting for him to reply, she continued. "Are you not tired of these games; of pretending to be something you are not for the sake of their approval? I just…want to get away...from all of this."
Though he often feigned modesty, in truth, he craved the admiration of humans as much as their blood. He wondered why he frequently sought out human company when doing so had little benefit. When he grew tired of them, his castle provided a much-needed haven from the world. "At times, I grow weary." He replied. "I prefer it when guests come to me. My castle is my only sanctuary from what you call…this."
"You have a castle?" She asked, her eyes widening in surprise. Then, catching herself, she nodded as if in approval. "You must be richer than Lord Trantoul. Where is this castle you speak of?"
"Why, tis' not far, milady. It is called Eternal Night."
"Eternal Night? What a strange name for a castle."
He smiled patiently. "The trees of the forest surrounding it block out the sky to give the illusion of darkness. Tis' simple, really."
"Nothing is simple. If it were…I would not be here."
He watched her shift closer to the edge of the railing. Her silky hair floated around her in the wind. She breathed deeply, seeming to consider her fate as the party carried on; oblivious to them both. Music sounded within the hall from Lord Trantoul's chamber players. Despite the unwanted distraction, Walter's eyes remained locked upon her. The darkness of night seemed capable of suspending time, for neither he nor the woman moved.
"I suppose that is true." He replied. "Is my company so terrible that you must perch there like a pigeon waiting to take flight? Death will not grant you deliverance."
"What do you know of death?" She accused. Her lips curled into a frown the moment she noticed his unusually pallid face.
A tiny smile pressed across his lips. With cat-like stealth, he took slow and deliberate steps toward her. When he spoke, his voice held an air of superiority. "I know a great deal more about it than you, milady."
"How so?" She asked.
Her eyes widened when he stopped directly behind her and lifted the ends of his cloak. He wrapped the heavy fabric around her - shielding her from the wind while simultaneously blocking her vision. With a low, knowing chuckle, his face drew close to hers. The red-haired lord's cold breath skimmed her ear.
"Because, as you said…." He whispered, "I am dead."
The sound of her heartbeat pounded in his ears. His lips skimmed the tender flesh of her throat. The urge to consume her was overpowering. He wanted his patience to be rewarded with her blood – to taste her sweet nectar upon his tongue while she surrendered to his power.
To his disappointment, she remained unmoving. At first, he assumed she did not understand his veiled threat – yet his closeness did not trouble her, either. It was then that he understood she was waiting for him. The unexpectedness of it alarmed him, for never had a human looked at the face of death as calmly as she. As he weighed her fate in his mind, he reflected on the profoundness of her despair.
Intrigue and anger simmered beneath his calm exterior when he realized she was the one in control. Though she initially could not have known his true nature, she was content with using him as means to her end. The possibility of relinquishing control to a human infuriated him. Unwilling to acquiesce, he lifted his cloak away and grasped her firmly on the arm. Before she could object, the red-haired lord lifted her delicate form off the railing in a single, swift motion.
When he set her down, she spun around to face him, her eyes wide with fury and surprise as she spoke. For the first time, her voice rose in anger. "Why?"
The woman's accusing tone was music to his ears, for it pleased him to deny what she assumed was hers to receive.
"Because it is my wish." The simplicity of his answer incensed her further.
She glared at him; harshness in her eyes revealing a capacity to feel something other than sadness. "It was not mine!" She cried, her eyes widening when the red-haired lord returned her rebuke with an amused smirk. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, her anger faded into familiar unhappiness. Her voice lowered to a whisper; demonstrating an awareness that their conversation was not entirely private. She looked up at him and studied the smooth, flawless skin of his face as the words left her lips. "You are truly not of this world. Your skin is pale and cold, yet you seem more human to me than all the lords and ladies gathered here tonight. Unlike them, you were the only one who sought me out…"
A low, amused chuckle vibrated from his throat as he looked down at her, his glossy hair appearing blood-red under the moonlight. "I assure you, I am quite the opposite."
"Were that true," She observed. "You would have ended my life or watched me fall."
"Do not mistake my action for mercy." The red-haired lord cautioned. A bright red glow flickered in his eyes. Despite his warning, the lady did not retreat. She continued looking at him, her lovely face transfixed by his dark gaze - wanting to know the thoughts veiled behind them. Sensing this, Walter released an exasperated huff. "You pretend to know what death is, despite your ignorance of it."
"Yes, I am ignorant of such matters." She admitted. "But not so ignorant as to ignore the fact that you wish to know as much about life as I about death. I can think of no other reason why you would be here, otherwise."
"Oh, I can think of many." Walter drew his lips back – revealing the sharp tips of his incisors.
A part of him wanted to end her then and there, for the truth in her words made his heart ache with unwanted vulnerability. He was not some play actor for her to study and unmask. However, he was not entirely resistant to the idea that life had lost much of its significance. He wanted to believe his unending search for pleasure and power gave him purpose. But to what end? Even he could not answer that, no matter how many centuries passed. Uncertain of her fate, he turned toward the nightscape and looked up at the stars as if they held the answer. The woman stood beside him. Thousands of stars twinkled faintly in the cryptic blackness above, their beauty only outmatched by the moon accompanying them. Though he could look upon them, they were forever out of reach – reminding him that despite his power, he was still insignificant.
With a sigh, the lady turned and looked up at him – her eyes reflecting both fear and wonderment as she said. "How I wish I could understand the night as you do. Maybe then, my life wouldn't feel so…hollow."
The red-haired lord traced her face, admiring her ephemeral beauty as he considered her words. His brow furrowed as he brought a gloved hand to his chin. His dark eyes narrowed alongside his pensive expression. Her willingness to remain in his company surprised him. Perhaps, youth made her foolish? He had killed enough humans to know the suggestion was insufficient. A fool would have screamed and fled. She remained quietly by his side, content to star gaze while he decided her fate.
Whereas humans could extinguish their pitiful lives instantly, he remained. Though he did not resent his existence, human entertainment promised a temporary escape from endless monotony. He wondered if the fair creature offered something new. If he truly wanted to know life, perhaps not ending it immediately was the answer? He entertained the idea of turning her, but the lady's innocence fueled his curiosity. He feared he would tire of her too quickly if he acted in haste. Nevertheless, he was susceptible to changing his mind on a whim. If she bored him, he would simply turn or kill her – and his mood would largely determine which of the two was more appealing.
"Your life needn't be hollow, milady." His deep voice broke the night's peaceful silence. "If you wish to learn about the night, perhaps I will show you its secrets. Of course, you would have to refrain from throwing yourself into oblivion beforehand…"
Her eyes widened. "Why do you wish to teach me? Surely, scholars are more worthy of your knowledge than I-"
"Scholars are of no interest to me." He interrupted smoothly, his lips forming their familiar, practiced smile. "Unlike you, they have the sense to fear death."
She bowed her head. Strands of her long, blonde hair curtained her face. "Even though I am undeserving of it, I am grateful. Yet, I must ask your forgiveness…for I do not even know your name?"
The red-haired lord swept a bow before her. The coils of his lush red hair splayed across his shoulders in thick waves. His deep, resonant voice echoed through the darkness. "I am Walter Bernhard."
The lady curtsied in return, her lips parting when he took her delicate hand and pressed it to his lips. He noticed what may have been the barest thread of a smile appear on her face, though he could not tell for certain. She replied softly. "I am Arabella Rohesia, though I will soon adopt the surname Armster, if he has his way."
"Pleased to meet you, Arabella." The woman's name rolled smoothly off his lips. Though he had never heard it before, its fancifulness seemed fitting. Names like hers were practically expected as means of differentiating aristocracy from commoners. Now that he knew it, he could scarcely imagine her by anything less. Despite her effort to hide it, he detected her regret. "Lord Armster's accomplishments are well-known. Perhaps, his reputation pales in light of his rather…unusual appearance."
"He is indeed pale." She remarked. Her expression softened somewhat. "I wish people would not judge him harshly for it. I know their whisperings and attentions trouble him greatly. The doctors call his condition albinism – whilst others call it monstrous."
"Do you think he is a monster?" Walter asked - trying not to sound assumptive.
The lady sighed. Her pale eyes stared into his for a long moment before she answered reluctantly. "Even if he is, it scarcely matters if our marriage is affirmed. Should it be, I will try to…see the good in him. I believe his intentions are honorable, albeit misguided."
The red-haired lord gave her a coy look, his smile turning into an amused smirk when he asked. "Do you think I am a monster?"
Although her musings on Lord Armster were mildly interesting, he could not resist the opportunity to know what had prompted her to accept his unconventional offer. He might have thought her mad, had her candidness not surprised him utterly.
He half-expected her to say no, as most might to avoid causing injury to a creature of his power and unpredictability, but she refrained. "I do not know." She answered quietly. "I do not fear you as I fear Lord Armster, for unlike him, I know what you are. Perhaps I find the assurance in that comforting."
"Though you know what, you know not who." He replied, his voice darkening as they looked at one another – her smaller, delicate form disappearing in the intensity of his gaze. He straightened as his hand instinctively touched the stone secured around his neck. The object's oval-shaped black surface glinted in the moonlight.
He considered saying more, but a child's voice interrupted him. A little girl, likely no older than eight, hurried through the terrace doors. She wore a modest beige dress with a white smock over the front. The garment's high frilly neckline seemed to irritate her, for she tugged at it several times. Wavy chin-length locks of dark blonde hair framed her face. Her cheerful brown eyes focused on the noblewoman as she called gingerly.
"Lord Armster asked for you, milady."
The woman looked over her shoulder and nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Justine. You may go. I shall be along in a moment."
The child bowed her head – taking momentary notice of the red-haired lord's presence before obligation forced their parting. "Yes, milady."
The child ran back inside; her light steps echoing across the stone floor. Faintly, he heard her voice call over the crowd – her youth attesting her lack of concern for propriety. "Lord Armster! I found Lady Rohesia talking to a red-haired gentleman! Milady will see you in a moment!"
Upon the child's leave, the lady bowed her head and cast her eyes upon the floor. "I have been summoned. Though I regret my sudden departure, I must ask – when will we meet again, Lord Bernhard?"
Walter smiled in return, his voice never wavering in its confidence. "I am sure it will be soon, milady."
"How will I find you though?" Her head shot up in surprise.
"That is unnecessary," With a low chuckle, he flicked his hand and continued. "I am certain it shall be I who finds you, milady."
As he sought a discreet exit, the familiar sound of Lord Armster's voice drew his attention. When he peered around the corner, his dark eyes focused upon two men on the other side of the corridor. Lord Armster stood with his back to the wall, his long, pearly white hair partially veiling his face – but not enough to conceal the rage festering underneath his austere façade. The white-haired lord's wide eyes focused on Lord Cronqvist, whose hands balled into fists. Though they attempted to lower their voices, Walter's superior hearing enabled him to listen with little difficulty. It was not in his nature to care about human quarrels, but the crusader's uncharacteristic dread intrigued him.
He watched Lord Armster speak through gritted teeth, his face paling a shade whiter than Walter thought possible. "I will not return to the east." He snapped, the assurance in his voice faltering when the other lord huffed. "I care not for the church's wretched holy war – or yours. You have used my success to benefit your family's reputation for too long. I have fulfilled my obligations to the church, Lord Cronqvist."
"But you have not fulfilled your obligations to me," The other lord scoffed, his voice darkening as he stepped closer. "Lest you forget, I saved you from the pyre. The church would have burnt your accursed white body to a crisp had I not assured them your worth." The white-haired lord fell silent. Briefly, despair flashed across his smooth, white face as he leaned back against the wall in an effort to distance himself from the other nobleman. The coldness in Lord Cronqvist's voice shattered the other lord's resolve like glass. "You will do as I wish for as long as I wish. Should you disobey, I will ensure you are branded a heretic and condemned. Given your unusual appearance, it would be easy to convince the church. I would also ensure the church seized your lands and assets; leaving your family destitute."
"Regretfully, I am the last Armster. Your threat is meaningless." The pale nobleman returned the man's threat with a sardonic grin. "As God decrees, I needn't care about physical rewards or punishments on this earth – even though the church does."
Unimpressed, Lord Cronqvist shrugged. After giving the other lord a tiny smile, his voice darkened. "Perhaps, but I am certain other members of your company are not so…fortunate. The church has been very generous. It would be a shame if such generosity were to be withdrawn. Though you are prepared to suffer, I doubt your company is as willing. If there is one thing the church excels at, it is ensuring those who oppose their will understand the consequences. Though respect and honor are difficult to attain they are also, regrettably, short-lived."
"Indeed." The white-haired lord snipped. A tiny, sardonic grin creased the corners of his lips. "I find your mention of heresy rather…problematic…"
"And why is that?" Lord Cronqvist asked, though his tone was more-so of challenge than question.
"Why, I heard you are studying alchemy and intend to have your son tutored in the practice. You above all know the church does not take kindly to the secret arts. Perchance, I happened to mention this inconvenient rumor to the bishop? I am certain he would be most…displeased."
Lord Cronqvist gave the man a scathing glare, his lips curling as he replied confidently. "Perchance you did. Who do you think the bishop will find more trustworthy? A pale, white-haired monster or one of his most devout followers? My family has funded the church's causes for decades. Forgiveness is easily bought, Lord Armster."
The white-haired lord glared at him hatefully, his voice tensing. "My nightmares are worsening. The things I have done in the name of God prove I am no better than the devil-"
"They are heathens!" Lord Cronqvist snapped. "They deserve to die for betraying God's love!" When the other lord gave him an incredulous look, Lord Cronqvist reached into the pocket of his robe. The man withdrew three small glass vials containing a blackish-blue liquid. Without waiting for Lord Armster to accept them, he grabbed the man's hand and shoved the objects into his palm. His voice quietened. "These were originally created by Sir Gandolfi. They are experimental but should suffice. Only a quarter of a vial is needed but it will help you sleep." When Lord Armster said nothing, he sighed and added. "You are not the only one who has nightmares. God will reward you when the time comes, though you must find happiness in other aspects of your life. You have more than enough wealth and influence to find a lady of good breeding…besides Lady Rohesia."
The white-haired lord huffed, his eyes stabbing the other man like daggers. "She will accept me."
Lord Cronqvist rolled his eyes. "A woman like her needs to be tamed, first. Find a way to give her something she wants – then, perhaps, she will be more receptive to your advances. Women always want something – though in her case, it may not be you, I'm afraid."
Without replying, the white-haired lord shoved the other nobleman aside and stormed out of sight.
The party now concluded; Walter emerged into the familiar darkness of night. He withdrew a breath, taking in the crisp, refreshing air. It was the first time in a while that he left an event empty-handed.
He was about to begin the trek back to his domain when he sighted Lady Rohesia standing next to a black carriage. A boy, likely sixteen or seventeen, opened the door to admit her inside it.
Lord Armster extended his hand. She reluctantly accepted; her lips curling in displeasure as he helped her inside.
Before departing, the pale nobleman walked to the two silver horses harnessed to the front. His voice, soft and whispering, gently addressed the creature as he stroked its muzzle. The beast emitted a low wicker in response whilst its finely pointed ears swiveled forward. He gave the horse's sleek neck a gentle pat, his lips lifting into a small smile when the beast's soft muzzle brushed against his cheek.
Then, turning to the boy, Lord Armster asked reproachfully. "When was the last time you gave them some water? I can tell they are in need of it."
With a nervous bow, the youth replied. "Not since our arrival, milord. The beasts shall have to wait until we return."
The pale nobleman backhanded him viciously across the face, his lips forming a scowl as he snapped. "Stupid fool! They are exhausted and should have been provided for. You worked the poor creatures too hard."
The boy removed his hat and bowed his head. "It shall not happen again, milord." Gasping sharply, he covered his throbbing cheek.
"For your sake, it better not." Without looking at the youth again, Lord Armster climbed into the carriage and slammed the door shut.
A tiny smile creased the red-haired lord's lips when he saw the lady's face appear in the carriage window. Her grey-blue eyes stared back at him as the carriage began to move away. Within moments, she disappeared into the surrounding darkness.
Walter's smile broadened.
A new game was about to begin.