"So then, after wrestling all those stubborn Moroaice back into their cells – again, I might add – I think to myself – perhaps I can deliver their dinner personally, yes? That way, I can see if that stupid man is in one whole piece after spending the entire day with Daniela – and I can withdraw the note and tell him to his face that the next time he makes a mess," Bela paused to lean back on her chair and take a swig of her palincă – Romania's traditional fruit spirit. The sweet burst of pears hit her tongue first, followed by the heat traveling down her throat and warming her chest. The mildly bitter aftertaste of alcohol lingered in her mouth as Bela slammed the shot glass down onto the table. The glass landed next to a long plate, loaded with strips of fatty bacon, fresh onion slices paired with a pile of salt, a side of pickles, and a helping of bread. Bela slurred on with a wide swing of her hand – nearly knocking the bottle of palincă over, "He should clean up his own damn mess!"
"My, my," The Duke remarked, his ever-present smile never leaving his face. He settled a large hand over the bottle of alcohol, unscrewing it before pouring Bela another shot. Once the bottle was secured – a safe distance away where Bela couldn't knock it over – he added, "And did you find our dear Mr. Winters and Lady Daniela? Were they in the library?"
"No," Bela curled her lip in a sneer. "She took Ethan elsewhere, apparently, and, and -" Bela grabbed the glass in a haste. In her rush to stop the thoughts before they sprung to the surface, she easily spilled a fourth of the palincă on the table. She tossed her head back and downed the next shot. The alcohol trailed fire down her throat, but it was a better alternative than considering the possibilities – of just where Daniela had taken Ethan.
Like to her bedroom.
It was not lost on Bela just how attracted Daniela was to the man – especially after their first few encounters, and all the comments Daniela had made about Ethan and his appearance – his body, his face – everything about him.
Bela could see them in her mind's eye, clear as day – instead of her own body tangled up with Ethan in his cell, it was Daniela. Her red hair draped across Ethan's face as he pressed his lips to her head – telling her to "Stay, please."
Not Bela. She was nowhere in sight as Ethan and Daniela held each other until the morning without a care in the world.
Bela's hands balled for a moment, tightening and trembling. Then they released, and she dropped her elbows down to the Duke's table, and grabbed fistfuls of her messy blonde hair. She drew in deep breaths in the effort to stop her brain from churning out unwanted thought after thought. They invaded her mind anyway, without a care for what Bela wanted. Her teeth gritted, and she spat out, "If she laid a single fucking finger on his head, I swear…"
"Now, now, Lady Bela," The Duke's tone bordered on reproachful, and Bela's haughtier, more condescending self just then threatened to snap back at him – because who was he to chide her?
But that was the alcohol talking now. Bela had come to the Duke to vent, not the other way around. After failing to find Ethan and her sister in the library, Bela had to make herself scarce – lest she be spotted by one of the servants, who may think to report her to her mother.
With her head spinning from all the day's events and stress, Bela didn't know who else to turn to, and found herself in the Duke's Emporium as a result – besides, she did need to queue the orders to replace the broken furniture and tableware. Ever prepared, it was as though the Duke had been expecting her. The palincă and food were just waiting for her arrival.
If not for the Duke, who did Bela have to turn to?
Daniela was with Ethan, and that put her off the table immediately. Bela couldn't talk to her about her jumbled mind.
After the teary, heartfelt hug she had shared with Cassandra, Bela felt their rocky relationship was on the mend.
Hopefully.
They still had a long way to go, and so Cassandra was not the person to talk to about this – about Ethan, and all the things he meant to Bela, and all the damn things he made Bela feel. Maybe someday when Cassandra unlearned all the violence Bela had instilled in the younger brunette – but not today.
Mother was out of the question as well. Even if she'd had the time of day to talk to Bela, she would not even begin to understand the connection Bela had fostered with Ethan – and just how much he had come to mean to her.
Not only would she fail to understand it – she would be horrified to learn of the developments. Bela could already picture that tick at the corner of her mother's eye before she bellowed out to chastise her – the woman may very well pop a blood vessel to consider the possibility that a pathetic man-thing meant so much to her daughter.
The servants all but quaked and cowered whenever Bela entered a room. Even if it had been about a decade since the last time she had dragged a decapitated body through the halls, her reputation preceded her. The stories remained, generation after generation of maids.
Strigoaica Întunecată was what they called her – a cautionary tale to young boys and girls. It kept them from wandering the woods in summer and spring, when the Strigoaica was on the prowl. Because if you were caught alone in the forest or the mountainside, the last thing you would see was the sweeping black trail of her dress, and death followed suit. Maniacal laughter and bone-chilling giggling would drown out the sound of their screams.
Bela had carved that local legend into the countryside with her gruesome past. It was a moniker that Cassandra shared in for years, especially after the massacre in that basement decades ago. Now, it was only Cassandra who truly upheld that terrible name.
Naturally, it didn't stop the maids from cowering at the sight of them for the most part – especially Bela. After all, the earliest tall tales had started out as Strigoaica Bălaie – specifically calling out her blonde head of hair, splattered red with blood.
So no, the maids were quite obviously out of the question. Most of them would sooner die than listen to Strigoaica Bălaie lament about how her prized catch was stuck with her sister for the day – especially considering some of those catches had once been maids attempting to flee the castle, only to be captured and severely punished for their transgressions. It didn't matter that Bela had not lifted a sickle to the servants in years – the stories persisted.
Even Tatyana, devoted and tenured as she was, held some wariness for Bela. Their relationship was strictly professional, and Bela had no illusions to the contrary. Besides, as the grand chambermaid, she more often than not reported directly to mother. Anything Bela told Tatyana in confidence could not be trusted to be kept from the castle matriarch. Just knowing that Tatyana had seen all the bodies in the antechamber and not in the storeroom was enough to give Bela anxiety. But Tatyana had no reason to volunteer that information to mother for the moment, so Ethan's hide was safe for the time being.
That left the Duke.
The Duke, who was admittedly a better listener than Bela had expected. Even now, the larger-than-life man was regarding her with kind, patient eyes as he swirled his own shot glass around in his big hand. When he was certain that he had Bela's attention, he finally continued, "Is there a reason you do not trust Lady Daniela with Mr. Winters?"
"Aside from the violent mood swings? She is the word 'flirt' in walking, talking, flying form," Bela grumbled, her face particularly sour.
A low laugh was let out before the Duke waved a hand, "Lady Daniela is an observant woman. I am sure she is keenly aware of your…" He cracked a knowing smile, "Stake in Mr. Winters. She would not do anything to earn your ire."
Bela let out a breath.
She hated to admit it, but the man was right. Daniela had a slew of her own troubles and issues, but one thing that could not be denied was the respect and care she had for her sisters. She loved Bela and Cassandra – her two found sisters in this crazy, crazy world. Bela had seen the look Daniela had sent her and Ethan's way – she'd noticed something was up.
Okay, as in I see what is going on now.
Daniela's voice was clear as day in Bela's head. Maybe it was all those damn books Daniela burned through – Bela really did not know. But one way or another, Daniela had seen the thing that brewed between Bela and Ethan. Whatever that strange, unnatural, undefined thing was, Daniela had seen it, and respected it. She was observant in that way. Sometimes, too observant.
Bela released a deep sigh, more forcefully than intended.
"I suppose you are right," Bela admitted.
It earned a lopsided smile from the Duke. He took the moment to take his own shot. His glass settled onto the table with a heavy thunk, before it was refilled alongside Bela's glass. The Duke screwed the cap back onto the bottle – even if it was a wholly futile gesture, considering how quickly they (or more accurately, she) was blowing through the bottle. "So, that brings us up to speed, yes? You came to see me not long after delivering their dinner?"
Bela released the grip she had on her hair, resting her chin on her knuckles. In her other hand, she took hold of the shot glass, bringing it closer. She ran her thumb around the rim for a beat before answering, "Yes."
Without anyone else to turn to, Bela found herself here, recounting the day's events.
Cassandra's bullshit idea of a game. The backbreaking and tiresome stint of cleaning half the damn castle. The mental breakdown and depressive spiral over nearly losing Ethan (of which the Duke had heard the abridged version). All the way to her failed attempt at getting a glimpse at Ethan's day with Daniela. Bela had told the Duke quite a lot while burning through their first bottle of palincă.
The merchant gave a lengthy hum before taking hold of his fork and jabbing a piece of bacon. He appraised the fatty slice, turning it over several times as he began, "It is quite the eventful day you have had. That goes the same for Mr. Winters, it appears."
"That is putting it lightly," Bela scoffed, but not quite directing it at her unlikely drinking companion.
Bela was hardly a drinker to begin with. It was rare that she, Cassandra, and Daniela broke out the palincă and the vodka. The last time Bela had knocked alcohol back this hard was when the tide of memories had first washed over her a decade ago.
How foolish she had been to think she could drink the memories away.
"Everything appears to have been neatly wrapped up, does it not?" The Duke bobbed one mighty shoulder with a shrug. He took the entire piece of bacon into his sizeable mouth and chewed, holding a well-mannered hand in front of his lips. "If I may ask, Lady Bela – why are you upset? Mr. Winters is no longer in any mortal peril. In about…" The Duke's head swayed to one side, to a small clock on the table, which was now sticky with stray palincă. "Seven hours? Eight? In the morning, Mr. Winters will be back under your charge, and all will be well. What troubles you?"
Ah – yes. How silly of her to deliberately leave out the part where Ethan had verbally slapped her across the face the night prior.
"I expected to find you relieved, rather than… upset, to put it lightly." The Duke must have found Bela's expression particularly dour, because he gave a low hum, and began, "Mr. Winters did not seek your help after Lady Cassandra visited him in his cell, yes?"
The glass was gripped tightly in hand, and Bela took the shot in a single motion.
It wasn't that he didn't – more like he couldn't. How could he, when he was as bloody and battered as he was? The simple act of standing looked as though it pained Ethan. A detour to her bedroom – barricaded with flour – would have done him little while he was pressed for time and fighting for his life. The hot alcohol was still searing Bela's insides when she responded, "Yes."
Palincă was supposed to be the strong stuff. Even in the past, when partaking in the fruity alcohol alongside warm, rowdy company – Bela recalled this was the liquor that could knock her flat on her rear. Apparently, her metabolism as a bug-woman raised her tolerance. The Duke and she (but mostly she) had burned through half of this second bottle now, and Bela barely felt more than a buzz. She took her time ripping a slice of bread in half as the Duke gave another hum in consideration.
"With the bond that you two formed, I would have expected that Mr. Winters would seek your aid before all else." The Duke set his fork down, trading it for the bottle of palincă.
That bond was under stress lately. Even if Ethan had been able to reach her – and that damned barricade of flour hadn't been set up – Bela doubted he would have shown up at her door. After last night, Ethan had plenty of reason to avoid her like the plague.
Bela's lips tightened in displeasure as her eyes bore holes into her shot glass. It was steadily refilled while she chewed on her bread. If his profession as a merchant did not work out for the Duke, at least he had a solid future as a bartender. Maybe even a therapist, considering how good of an ear he was lending her. It was unexpectedly easy unloading her personal troubles onto the Duke.
"We…" Was there even a 'we' anymore? Bela felt her expression bitter even further as she admitted, "We had a tiff last night."
"Ah," The Duke offered a sympathetic smile, "Well, it is only natural. The two of you are only people – a disagreement was bound to happen."
Bela would argue that technically, Ethan was the only person, but she didn't bother pointing that out. He was a person, and she was a monster. A foolish, lost, confused monster.
Lately, a brokenhearted monster as well. All that was missing now was some other dramatic tragedy – maybe going blind or dying horribly – then her life could be shipped off as a story fit for Daniela's expansive library.
"Were it that the row was over something simple," Bela grumbled, sliding the shot glass closer. "Unfortunately, that is not the case."
Even while Bela's attention was set on her glass of palincă, she could feel the Duke's piercing, intelligent gaze on her. The man was far more insightful and observant than what a glance at him and his profession may reveal. "Did it have something to do with his daughter?"
When Bela met the Duke's eyes, the man added, "I just assumed. After all, there is little that matters to Mr. Winters as much as little Rosemary."
Sighing, Bela picked her glass up, thumbing the side of the smooth, damp surface. "That was a large factor, yes."
After things had gone sideways between Bela and Ethan, she'd spent the night alone in her room as a pathetic, emotional wreck. In the morning that followed, when she realized the impending danger Ethan was in, Bela had managed to swallow down all emotions relating to the previous night. As the day crawled on, Bela tempered those feelings – there were much more pressing things to worry about.
Ethan's brush with death fighting the Moroaice, narrowly avoiding mutilation from Cassandra, and the torment her mother would inflict on him for destroying a shelf of their wine and blood – they took precedence over her prickling emotions.
Their argument – her hurt feelings – felt so inconsequential compared to Ethan's potentially grisly fate.
Only hours ago, she was grappling with the possibility of giving Ethan her final goodbye before she put him out of his misery – to spare him the lifelong torment that awaited. After everything was so perfectly wrapped up thanks to Cassandra, the emotions came trickling back – that was what birthed her snarky note in Ethan's dinner tray; the equal parts sour and fiery emotions from the previous night lingered with the relief over his survival.
Now, after a long day, and a bottle and a half of potent alcohol, those feelings were resurging with a vengeance. The suppressed emotions all tumbled back down in earnest. The frustration and sadness over their argument joined a newfound – possibly petty – anger that Ethan had put her through such an emotionally turbulent day through his recklessness in the storeroom.
No – not petty, Bela would argue. It was thoroughly justified after all she'd done for him. The painstakingly cooked food, the gorgeous dress – all her preparations for a nice, lovely evening together – and then there went Ethan Winters with all his eloquence.
"Would you believe that the first thing he said to me was 'cut the shit, Bela'?" It stung more than she could even begin to articulate. She had walked into that room with her hopes high and nothing but good intentions. She left with a knife twisted in her heart.
"Oh dear," The Duke shook his head in disapproval. "Mr. Winters certainly has a fiery tongue in his anger, no?"
Bela's head lifted up from where it rested on her knuckles, tilting back to take the next shot. She rubbed at her lips with a clumsy hand, and her eyes landed on the long platter of food between them. Nodding, she grumbled, "You could say that again."
Fresh palincă trickled into Bela's glass as the Duke released another thoughtful hum. "What caused Mr. Winters to be so heated? Was his daughter involved?"
Bela tugged on the platter, bringing it closer before her hands hovered over it for a long second – because why not just throw all decorum and propriety out the window?
But her mother had taught her better, and would give her a hardy smack on the rear if she caught Bela grabbing bacon with her bare hands. With a slight groan, Bela retrieved the utensils. Her hands felt heavy seizing the knife and fork on her side of the long plate. With far less care and class than she was accustomed to, Bela sliced herself some bacon. "I do not know why he was so angry the moment he saw me." She paused to sigh, allowing the bacon to drip oil onto the plate. "But yes, Rosemary came up in conversation, among other things"
Last night's events ran through Bela's head – replaying and repeating incessantly. It was almost hard to imagine their argument had barely been over twenty-four hours ago. With the weight of all that transpired today, Bela felt a year older from stress alone.
"Ethan wanted me to take him to see her. It is understandable, given that he is here because of her, but…" Bela's eyes fixed onto her food for a while longer as the harsh words clawed their way beneath her skin. "It all went downhill from there."
The Duke regarded her for a moment as she chewed on her forkful of bacon. His brows raised in a show of sympathetic support. "May I ask how you reacted to this request?"
Bela felt like a fool caught with her pants down when Ethan had sprung that question on her. It had her leg bouncing up and down in anxiety and anger alike. And because her mother was never one to tolerate nervous fidgeting – terribly unladylike and all that – Bela stood up. She seized her shot glass and began to pace the length of the small room.
"I was evasive at first," Bela explained, channeling the nervous energy through sharp gestures of her free hand. "Taking him to my mother's quarters to see Rose is no simple feat."
"Of course," The Duke nodded before tipping his glass back to take a shot.
"We were about to have dinner. There was no way I could sneak him upstairs unnoticed," Bela huffed from behind her glass, pausing to add, "And it is hard to say if we could go up undetected at another time. Mother's schedule and the servants' movements can be unpredictable."
As the alcohol burned down her throat, Bela approached the table with her empty glass. "He did not like that response."
"I take it this is when things got unpleasant?"
"Unpleasant is one word for it," Bela snarled, "This is when he started to act like an asshole."
Bela set the glass down for a refill. It only took her a second before deciding to snatch the entire bottle from the Duke's grasp once his own glass was topped off. In her other hand, she stole a slice of bread from the plate before turning around. The Duke gave a hearty chuckle at the sight of Bela resuming her pacing, alcohol and food at the ready.
She took a big swig straight from the bottle, allowing the palincă to trickle down her throat, lighting her insides up with a fire to match her blazing emotions. She paid no mind to the excess of alcohol that splattered onto her chest and her dress. She drew her mouth free from the bottle to growl, "He was angry because I was following mother's commands. Then he," She gave a hot, irritated scoff, "He made light of the connection we formed, asking if I had earned his trust on my mother's orders."
"Which you did not, hm?" The Duke's attentive eyes followed the trail of Bela's pacing.
"Of course not." Bela groaned, coming to a stop in front of the table sitting by one end of the room. Where the castle's scale model had once rested. Where she and Ethan had worked together and shared a light laugh or two. "Befriending him was my decision. Being kind to him was my decision."
Her lips tightened into a scowl, "Slaving over the stove for him, tending to his wounds, caring for his health," She bit down on her bread, chewed, and glared at the empty table before her. Swallowing, she grumbled on, "Locking up every damn thing in the dungeons so he wouldn't be eaten, twice – those were all my decisions."
Sharing his bed for the evening. Losing herself to the comfort of his arms. Allowing herself to be so taken by those steely grey eyes – those were also her own decisions. She'd always been a fool for eyes like those.
Not that the Duke needed to know that.
"He demanded that I take a bite of him. His blood in exchange for a visit to Rosemary." It left a bitter taste in her mouth to recall the exchange. She turned and resumed her pacing with a renewed vigor in her steps. "Even though it had been a week since I made it a point to stop turning our feedings into trades."
"And why did you stop?" The Duke asked.
Bela – bottle in hand – paused before she could drown herself in the alcohol. If she gave the long, emotional answer, she was fairly sure the palincă's depressive properties would kick in. She settled on a quick, dismissive, "I wanted to stop taking his blood unless he freely offered it." Bela shrugged her shoulders in a display of apparent apathy, and resumed her pacing.
It got another low, interested hum out of the Duke. Rather than question her decision further, he downed his shot, setting the glass on the table. It allowed Bela to continue crossing the room with her quick, unsteady strides.
"Ethan then demanded that I give him useful information instead, if I could not take him to see his daughter." Bela took a long swig, ignoring the stray drip of palincă on the carpet. She cleared her throat as she turned around to face the Duke, "He asked about our wine as well."
It was a side of her family that Bela was hardly equipped to explain to Ethan. She knew the family business would inevitably come to light someday. She had only hoped that she could have told him about in on her own terms. Preferably after sufficient mental preparation, of which she needed much of. There was no easy way to key Ethan in on the sheer quantity of blood and wine in their cellar, and the countless lives that perished to make it all happen.
He would have received the news poorly either way, understandably so. But at least the fallout could have been mitigated if the information personally came from her. "I… I have no clue where he heard of that, but it was a point of contention as well."
While Bela spoke, the Duke had taken the time to produce a cigar. With a strike on the lighter's starter, he took a big inhale, and the cigar alit with life. Releasing the smoke, he cracked a smile, "Although I understand Mr. Winters' discomfort about this information, a few drops of blood never killed anyone anyway."
Bela gave a half-scoff, half-chuckle in response. It was anyone's guess if the Duke meant it, or if he was simply trying to make her feel better. The few drops of blood were plenty – she knew that. Ethan had every right to be as shocked as he was. If they were to trade places, Bela was sure she would be as horrified as he had been. That went double for the countless shelves of neatly bottled lives below their very feet in that moment.
Barely any blood at all made it into the wine in the past decade. Tatyana had been trained accordingly. Cassandra had not made a peep about the changes, for whatever reason. Perhaps it was high time to revisit the distillery in the lower dungeons and do away with the practice altogether. It was not the first time she'd thought of it.
If her mother made an issue of the change in taste, then she could figure a way to explain it all away.
"I had no information to give him," Bela continued with a shake of her head. "As you can probably imagine, he did not take that well either."
The Duke gave a cursory, "Oh dear," in between puffs of his cigar.
Spurred on by the alcohol both dulling her senses and heightening her emotions, Bela went on with the frustration rising in her voice. Her hands animated in the air with wild, energetic gestures. "I tried to be sympathetic, but all I got for my efforts were some very foul things yelled my way."
She was responsible for the loss of countless lives – Bela could admit that. She wouldn't even take a split second to consider denying it.
"I don't know loss," Bela scoffed. "Stupid man-thing." She curbed the sneer on her lips by taking another deep swig of palincă.
Loss was precisely what molded her into who she was – both before and after her past grew clear in her mind. It shaped her in different ways. Some good. Some bad. But all of who she was could be attributed to it regardless. It was preposterous to think she wasn't familiar with the feeling of loss.
She had to admit, Ethan did not know the deepest extent of her loss. But that did not excuse him – that did not mean he could talk shit about things he didn't understand.
"Quite the low blow from Mr. Winters." The Duke rolled his cigar between his fingers. "Did your argument end there?"
In spite of the bubbling anger in her veins, Bela felt her knees weaken. "The next time I saw him was when Cassandra nearly sliced his tongue off this morning."
Ethan's poor battered cheek leaning into her palm. The relief on his face and that soft 'hey'. The quiet shine in those strong eyes – looking at her like she was the sunrise after a night of terror. Ethan perfectly mirrored Bela's own relief to find him alive after winding up in her sister's clutches.
Even after he'd spat venom at her the night before, Bela could never truly wish ill on the man. Not after everything. She only wanted him to be safe and whole.
Silence hung in the air for a short stretch of time, interrupted only by the soft, muted thumps of Bela's heels on the carpet. She felt the Duke's eyes on her – or maybe on the bottle of palincă she was hogging – as she paced.
"Allow me to ask you something, Lady Bela."
Maybe he wanted the palincă back. It was his bottle, after all. He was simply sharing it with her. Not that there was much left in the bottle to return to him.
And not that she would give it back willingly. Considering the day she had, it was her bottle now. She deserved that bottle. She deserved another one, and the Duke would agree if he saw how much of a pain it was to wrestle the dozens of Moroaice back into their cages.
"If you could help our dear Ethan reunite with little Rosemary – would you?" And before Bela could repeat her sentiment that it was complicated, the Duke raised a hand and added, "Ignore, for now, the difficulty of the act – and the possibility your mother may find out."
With those conditions, Bela answered in a heartbeat, "Yes. I would."
"And if you could uncover the information Mr. Winters desires, bar the feasibility and likelihood of obtaining it – would you?"
Bela's grip on the palincă tightened. She trailed a nervous thumb around the bottle's rim.
It wasn't her answer that was giving her pause. She had said 'yes' in her head the moment he had uttered the question. What had Bela fidgeting with the bottle was the ease with which she was prepared to answer.
The Duke was, in essence, asking her if she would betray her family – further smash away the line between jailer and prisoner. He was asking if she would disobey her mother's orders, obtain sensitive information, and deliver it to the man meant to be locked up in their dungeon, who was supposed to be kept in the dark.
He was Miranda's prisoner, if one made it a point to really follow the chain of command here. It was information about the woman herself which Ethan was seeking. Uncovering and passing over that information was a form of betrayal to not only mother, but to Miranda herself, who mother all too readily bowed to.
Yet Bela was on board in spite of it. For Ethan, she would do it. It's not like she was taking a sickle to Miranda's head anyhow – it was just information which Ethan couldn't even act on from the confines of this castle.
Bela shrugged slightly, as the answer slipped free from her lips, "Yes."
"Why is that, Lady Bela?" The Duke tilted his head, brows furrowed in curiosity. "After your disagreement, I would have thought you to be less inclined to help the man."
Bela licked her lips, parting them for a moment as the words stalled on her tongue. When the answer didn't tumble out as quickly and easily as she thought it would, she raked a hand through her now messy hair. Her heels hit the carpet again in winding, shaky steps as she resumed pacing. If the movement wouldn't bring clarity to her thoughts, at least it might give her time to think.
There was a slew of reasons she was still willing to help, Bela was aware. She was angry, yes – but that didn't mean she stopped caring about him.
Bela settled on that, simple as it was. "I care about him. Just because I am upset with him, does not mean I have no wish to fix things with him or help him."
The Duke studied her, giving Bela time to take another deep sip of the bottle. By the time the alcohol bloomed in her insides, the Duke followed up, "I understand that you are upset, Lady Bela. But is it truly him you are upset with, or the fact you are unable to help him as much as you wish?"
A retort was hot on Bela's lips, and she was vaguely aware of the disbelieving – nearly insulted – look on her face. She was the one who had been hurt and was rightfully angry because of it. Bela had to make it a point to bite down and pause.
Ethan had been crass and hurtful in that fateful encounter. She was perfectly justified in being upset with him – especially because of how he disregarded her intimate history of loss. Ethan may not know all the details, but he knew enough.
He knew enough to know better than to say something as insensitive as that.
"Being rude or disrespectful is never a good thing – that goes without saying," The Duke continued before she could speak up. He only stopped to take a quick puff of his cigar, "But at the end of the day, you must remember that Mr. Winters is a prisoner in your dungeon, separated from his daughter… and from what I understand, she is the only family he has left, after his wife's tragic departure. It is only natural that he acted out as he did." The thin layer of smoke hung in the air as the Duke exhaled. He tapped his cigar and gave a small smile. "What kind of father would Mr. Winters be if he did not act with his family's best interest at heart?"
And that was the harsh truth of it, wasn't it?
Ethan would do anything to see his daughter. Yet when given the chance to escape imprisonment, to repay the torture inflicted upon him, and to condemn her to an icy grave – he'd chosen mercy, even at the cost of his own freedom.
The lines had been so blurred over the past nearly two weeks. Bela hardly saw herself as the key-holder to Ethan's cell, thanks to the barriers they shattered left and right. After all, how does one spend the night in their prisoner's arms, and then pretend they were nothing but a jailer and a captive afterwards? For days and days now, Bela had all but disregarded the roles they were supposed to be playing. She could only see herself as just Bela, and him as just Ethan. Nothing more, nothing less.
And that was a fantasy she allowed herself to indulge in. To disregard the painful circumstances of Ethan's imprisonment was a disrespect to him and all he'd been through.
Sure, he was unkind and twisted the knife in her heart with his words – but that didn't invalidate his suffering, or the content of everything else he'd said. He was being kept here against his will. He had to endure agonizing torture from Cassandra, and blood feeding from all three of them.
It didn't matter how comfortable his living arrangements were – he was trapped and separated from his daughter. Bela could wrap his cell in as much bells and whistles as she wished, but it did not change the essence of his stay here – his unwilling imprisonment and his daughter's kidnapping.
It did not wash her hands of her involvement in keeping him pacified and away from his daughter. It did not erase the fact she had been the one to catch him and throw him in a cell.
Ethan was well within his right to lash out as he did. He was locked in a cage and the only person to offer him help couldn't give him what he truly wanted – his daughter. Of course he was upset and angry.
"You care about Mr. Winters, yes?" The Duke stirred her from her thoughts as the smell of cigar smoke cut through the strong bite of alcohol in the air. "Truly?"
"I do." The answer was out of Bela's lips automatically, spurred on by the alcohol flowing through her veins.
There was much stock Bela put in Ethan – probably far more than he could ever imagine, and more than she would ever admit to him. There were few lights left in Bela's life after her memories restored a haunting clarity in her mind. Her long string of failures left Ethan as the final lighthouse that kept her from running aground and giving up on it all. He made Bela believe in that chance of a life beyond blood and death, as unlikely as it may be. He made Bela believe that she could be just Bela and not a blood-starved monster.
As stupid and rude as the man could be, Ethan reminded her of how beautiful life was. Something she'd nearly forgotten in her years as a frenzied beast, and the more recent hopeless, brooding years. Even now, buzzed out of her mind on palincă and simultaneously angry and sad, she felt more alive than she had in decades.
Somehow, perhaps against his better judgment, Ethan accepted her as she was, even after all she and her family had done to him.
And what did he get in return? Not his daughter, that was for sure.
All his kindness had been repaid in torture and bloody life-or-death games.
Bela swallowed hard. She repeated, barely above a whisper, "I care about him very much."
Her anger may have been reignited by an unholy combination of many factors. The palincă. Last night's argument. Today's emotional turbulence. Cassandra's sick sense of entertainment. Daniela doing whatever it was with Ethan – hopefully not giving him the night of his life.
But despite all of that, there was truth to what the Duke had said. Bela was beginning to feel the certainty settling all the way down into her bones. Digging deep down, she knew she was also angry with herself for being unable to do more for Ethan.
Here she was, claiming she cared about Ethan, yet she couldn't do more than make his imprisonment comfortable. She did the bare minimum human thing – that wasn't supposed to get her any sort of preferential treatment from Ethan. She didn't deserve a thank you for that, and that was the harsh reality of it.
Would she thank her jailer for a mattress to sleep on and food to eat? No.
Ethan was still separated from his daughter and locked in a cage, with no way of gathering meaningful information – of why he was locked up to begin with, why his infant daughter was kidnapped, and what the elusive Chris Redfield was doing in the valley. Bela could prattle all she wanted of how much she cared for Ethan, but that didn't matter if she didn't lift a finger to help him with what truly mattered.
Bela's free hand balled into a frustrated fist at her side, and her grip on the bottle of alcohol tightened.
What a fool she was for even getting angry with the man.
"If you ask me, securing Mr. Winters' leave from the castle is a complex affair. But reuniting him with little Rosemary may not be so," The Duke got Bela's attention once more. He tapped his cigar, allowing the specs of ash to waft down to his ash tray. "You hold much sway among your servants. If they do not respect you, they certainly fear you, Strigoaica Bălaie. It is simply a matter of observing your mother's schedule, and keeping the servants clear."
It drew the slightest shiver from Bela. There was no pride she took in her reputation and the folkloric title that came with it. Actually using it to her advantage swirled her insides with unease, but Bela could not deny its potential efficacy. Under threat of disembowelment, the maids would gladly steer clear of the path to Rose.
Daniela and Cassandra were other factors to account for. Though considering how secluded Daniela was, there was little chance she would happen upon their visit to mother's quarters. Cassandra was tricky as well, but after the understanding they reached, Bela liked to think the former would not willfully sabotage her activities with Ethan.
Probably, anyway.
Cassandra was still a wild card. She cared, but if she found out what Bela was up to, it may just devolve all over again. She was best off avoided if Bela wanted to sneak Ethan upstairs.
From there, it was just logistics and planning. She could figure it out.
Doing right by Ethan far outweighed the risk of being caught. It was the human thing to do – to allow the poor man to see his daughter again, after an entire two weeks of separation after his whole world fell apart. Bela would be damned if she didn't take a stand now and make the preparations soon.
"I will plan something out." Preferably when her mind was less scrambled by the palincă. She nodded to herself, "Yes… it can be done. Hopefully." Bela's nerves resurged, prompting her to add, "I have no clue if it is a good idea – if mother finds out, I'll be cleaning the castle with a toothbrush for a year."
The Duke watched her parse through the conflict with a somewhat amused grin on his features.
Nodding again, firmly this time, even if it made the room swirl, Bela said, "I'll sober up, and I will make it work."
With the amount of alcohol in her system, it was not a bright idea to be making any complex plans. She was far too drunk for that. Bela had underestimated the palincă's potency after blowing through the first bottle – but now it was starting to catch up with a fury. She was better off laying off the stuff for the rest of the night.
The Duke clapped his hands together, sending stray ash onto the already messy table beneath him. "Wonderful. And how do you intend to uncover the information he seeks?"
Well, considering the insurmountable task and borderline betraying her family – perhaps she wasn't drunk enough after all.
It prompted Bela to take another big swig from the bottle. With the prickling heat in her mouth, her tongue was considerably looser, "If I step foot outside this castle to find that information myself, I am as good as dead."
The only person with meaningful information would be mother. After all, she had been the one to – albeit briefly and in little detail – tell them of Ethan Winters' arrival in the valley, and that she would be looking after his daughter on Miranda's behalf. Given how often mother was away these days, it stood to reason she knew much about the current events in the region.
Unfortunately, mother would never talk. If it was anything relating to Miranda, there was no way her mother would give so much as a peep about the matter. In fact, even inquiring may land Bela in hot water, and probably Ethan by some extension. Cassandra and Daniela were just as in the dark as she was. Tatyana had a knack for catching some news from outside the castle, but not much. Nothing that would help Ethan.
The Duke was towing a fine line right now – but it was clear even to Bela's drunken mind that he would not divulge any information to her directly. He was bound by his word to not aid in Ethan's escape – hence his refusal to sell lockpicks, weapons, or explosives to the man. That then extended to keeping his lips sealed, even if it appeared the Duke was egging her on and providing indirect support.
That only left herself to rely on. She'd scour the valley and the mountainside for answers, if only it weren't so damn cold this time of year.
"Have you tried exiting the castle in this weather?" The Duke's question was earnest, yet at the same time had a hint of a challenge to it. As if it were as simple as braving the bitter cold and pressing forth with steel in her resolve.
Bela did her best to swallow down the snappiness in her tone, "A maid once opened the dining window a crack." The chill was numbing. Her very skin had stiffened and shifted in consistency, and her body felt brittle – ready to be destroyed by the next stiff wind to blow in. "I am certain that actually stepping outside would kill me."
Much like they had killed that maid, many, many years ago.
Much like Ethan could have killed her, barely two days into his captivity.
Bela knew she was fast. She prided herself in being the swiftest among her sisters – but that would count for little if Ethan had pushed that window open. A dash across the room would have only resulted in her crashing face-first into that open window. Ethan could have killed her before she knew what was coming, or maybe thrown her out the window and locked her in the courtyard, leaving her to the elements.
She was alive today because of his mercy; one move of the hand was all that had separated her from certain death. Bela did not bother pretending she had that situation under control – because she didn't. It was only thanks to the size of Ethan's heart that she was spared. If he had been a different person – a more jaded, scarred man who did not want to take any chances – she would be dead and buried.
"What if I told you that I have enough gear and clothing to ensure you survive the trip outside?" The Duke's statement broke Bela from the haze that had begun to settle in her mind. "We'll keep every inch of you covered and warm to protect you from the cold." He paused just to shoot a smile, "For a price, of course."
"Go on." Bottle of palincă in hand, Bela motioned for him to continue. Her other hand was already fumbling in her pocket for the wad of Lei, hoping it would suffice. If not, she could always dip into one of the nearby vases which Daniela haphazardly used as a makeshift piggybank. It certainly beat walking or flying – or more realistically, crawling – all the way to her room in the dungeon. She didn't trust herself to cover that distance without faceplanting in her current state.
"I must warn you," The Duke tilted his head down, ensuring he leveled his now serious gaze on Bela. "They are just clothes. It will likely be uncomfortable. Perhaps even painful at times. I doubt you'll be able to even shift into your swarm safely if the need arises." He took a long drag of his cigar, allowing Bela the moment to let the words settle. "But you will live through it, that I can assure you."
Ethan had been outnumbered ten-to-one, gotten his blood drunk more than once, and survived going toe to toe with Cassandra. All for the sake of his own survival. If he could do that, then she could survive a jaunt through the cold.
It was time to repay Ethan's mercy. She was done sitting idle and unable to truly help him in a way that mattered.
She'd give him enough information to make his damn mind spin – as much as her own vision was spinning in that very moment.
Bela tilted her head back, pressing her lips to the bottle as she stumbled on towards the Duke's table. She swayed from one side to the other with each step, keeping her free arm outstretched for balance – until her damn heels finally had enough of her drunken shambling.
She planted a hand on the table to catch herself before she could fall over completely, spilling some palincă on the floor and carpet in the process. The bottle remained firmly affixed to Bela's lips the entire time, and she could hardly process the sweetness on her tongue – only the buzzing heat that lit up her entire body and danced around her skull. With the liquid courage pumping fire in her veins, she took a second to kick her heels off where they could no longer trouble her. Bela's hand anchored her to the table and stopped her from toppling over as she downed the last of the bottle's contents.
Her vision swam, and the room spun in slow circles – but the fire in her chest roared with might.
Bela was ready.
She was ready for fucking anything.
Bela slammed the bottle down onto the table, shattering it completely. She swept the broken glass onto the floor with a single wave of her arm, then gripped the damp surface with her hands.
"I'll do it. Give me the clothes and name your price. Anything you want, you name it. Like this bottle," Her sluggish hand motioned to the shards of glass littering the carpet. She cracked a smile and an attempt at humor, "Not my dress though. It wouldn't fit you." The words mashed into each other as she spoke quickly and sloppily. "Besides that, anything. I'm going!"
The Duke regarded her with wide eyes – the first time Bela had seen him looking remotely surprised by anything at all.
To drive the point home, Bela jabbed the table with an emphatic finger. "I am going out there and I will show that stupid man-thing and his dumb, gorgeous eyes how it's done!"
She closed her own eyes, trying not to acknowledge her alcohol-laced slip of the tongue. It helped shut out the mad spinning the room was subjecting her to. Bela bit down on her lip for a moment before slurring out to herself, "You'll see, Ethan… I, Bela Dimitrescu, will journey out this castle and find out every fucking thing you ever wanted to know."
Bela opened her eyes to find the Duke with a clipboard in hand, already preparing her bill. Whatever Lei she had to shell out would be inconsequential. Bela cared about Ethan. She cared about him more than she had words to explain it, and she would be damned if she let some fucking snow stop her from helping him. A little goddamn cold wouldn't stop her from slicing Redfield's head off his shoulders after finding out why he murdered Ethan's wife.
The only problem was she had no idea where to start.
"Fuuuuck," Bela grumbled with a wince, and a hand to her already throbbing head. She looked to the Duke for assistance. "Where am I going?!"
The Duke cracked a wide smile and gave a low chuckle. "I know just the person to talk to."
A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Do be sure to hit those fave and follow buttons, and send me a review to let me know how you liked this chapter! Love hearing from you guys as always!
Not gonna lie, I wrote half this chapter buzzed on gin, and writing drunk Bela is an absolute JOY. This was probably the most fun chapter to write in a long while for me, and I hope you liked drunk Bela as much as I enjoyed writing her. I know the end of this chapter implies a slight delay to you guys reading the Bethan reunion... but do know it will be all the more worth it when we finally get there. Bela dearest is going on an adventure. All the best decisions are made while thoroughly sloshed, so let's hope the palincă (and the Duke) are not leading Bela astray.
(Anyone else really wanting to try palincă after reading about it? I know I am, after all the, ehm, research I did)
And a small note for the daughters and winter time clothes - the sort of alternative canon I'm trying to establish here is that, if sufficiently layered and warmed, they can brave the temperatures. But, it's not like they're still the swift hunters they are in their normal garb. If they tried to hunt in winter, everyone would just outrun them since they're too bundled to run efficiently (more bundled than their prey). Shifting into their swarm would negate the effect of the clothes, and they'd freeze to death and the flies would die off. So as a result there's never been any attempts to get out and brave the cold. After all - why bother? They have everything they need in the safety and warmth of the castle (entertainment aside - looking at you, Cass). So without looking too deep into the biology of the daughters and how clothes work (and writing myself into a corner), that's the sort of meta I'm operating on. Let's just hope for Bela's sake that she's not exposed to the cold for too long while she's all bundled up. Can't be good for her lovely complexion.
I think that's it from me for now. Thank you all once again for the overwhelming support. I've been keeping a good pace with my writing as of late, so fingers crossed that I can sustain it. I'll catch you all in about a week or so at the usual time. Stay safe out there!
