- III -

The first snowflakes started to fall from a dark sky, as Viktor lay in his bed, reviewing his life. He had been ill for a long time now. In the last month, however, even breathing had felt like purgatory, but if something like divine justice really existed he would not go to purgatory, he would go straight to hell. The prince should have been grateful for his long life, but he refused to content himself with sixty years. Why should he, the great warlord and conqueror, sovereign of nearly half of eastern Europe, follow the same laws of nature as some worthless, filthy day labourer?

The thought of what would become of his empire without him, made him furious. Any successor elected by those traitorous Boyars would surely cause the downfall of Moldavia. But who else could he name? All of his male kin and hoped for heirs had died in the countless wars he had waged. Viktor stared at the ceiling, his face a mask of pain and rage. If there had been a devil to make a pact with, to gain some more years to live, he would have given his soul away without hesitation. However, Viktor doubted that the devil existed, just as he doubted that God existed. Only strong men were responsible for the way of the world. And therefore only powerful men like himself could change it. Though only during their lifetimes – and Viktor's lifetime was ending.

A week had passed since the dinner with the prince, and Amelia still lacked a buyer for her estates. In the last two days she hadn't seen the prince. Some maids had been whispering about his failing health. She wasn't certain if she should be worried for him. He seemed to be fond of her, and in a wicked way, even grateful for her intervention in the throne room. She eventually could convince him to aid her. However, when he passed, and that was only a question of time, her future would be once more uncertain.

She was on the way to her quarters when a servant addressed her. "Milady, Prince Viktor wishes to see you."

When she entered his bedroom, her eyes widened. The prince looked like a mere skeleton, his complexion grey, cheeks and eye sockets hollow, and the blue veins apparent through the thin, wasted flesh of his spidery hands on the blanket.

"Milord..." Amelia began.

"Countess, come..." his voice was only a hoarse whisper of itself now.

She walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the bed at his invitation. She tried not to meet his dull-eyed glance.

"I am afraid, I only have mere hours, but after my death you shall not be left without prospects." He took a few wheezing breaths before continuing. "I have decided that you, my dear countess, will succeed me as the ruler of this country."

Amelia's eyes widened, lending her face a disbelieving expression. She opened her mouth and closed it again, not sure how to answer the apparent honor proposed to her. Viktor's grey, skeleton-like hand grasped her rosy, elegant one. It felt cold, rough, and dry at his touch. She swallowed.

"I'm honored that you think of me as a princess," she finally managed to say. "...but Milord, I lack experience in politics. I cannot tell if I would be a good ruler..."

"You will be a better ruler than any of those traitorous bastards who call themselves boyars, believe me," he whispered. "It is all sealed and stated in my will."

Amelia closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. This wasn't the future she had envisioned. She was more mature than many other women of her age and knew ways to achieve what she wanted, but without any guidance from someone she could trust, it would be nearly impossible to withstand the intrigues and power games that would await her as the princess of Moldavia. Desperately, she thought about how she could convince the dying ruler that she was not the right person to be his heir, when there was a knock on the door. Her gaze swept between Viktor and the entrance of his bedroom. He nodded for her to answer, wearied by the effort.

"Come in," she called.

A servant entered and bowed to them. "Milord, there is a man who wants to speak with you immediately. He says he is the son of an Alexander Corvinus, and that he has an offer for you."

"An offer?" Viktor gasped. "I am dying, and that wretch thinks he can sell something to me?"

Amelia watched the servant beginning to tremble. Even from his deathbed the Prince managed to frighten his subjects.

"He says... precisely because you are dying it is urgent, Milord. Once you have heard his offer, you surely wouldn't decline," the servant stammered.

"So he says?" Viktor seemed to consider if this ominous offer could be worth getting interested in.

"Well, he'd better have a good reason for disturbing my last breaths. Bring him in."

The servant bowed several times and backed out of the room, only to come back and announce a certain Marcus Corvinus of Hungary. Amelia cleared her throat.

"I think I will best take my leave, Milord."

For some moments Viktor's gaze was locked on hers. Then he finally released her hand. "Of course..." he said.

She stood up and walked towards the door. Passing the frame, she found herself facing a tall, ginger-haired and blue-eyed nobleman, seemingly in his thirties. His robes were elegant and expensive, but the dust of a long journey made him appear pale. Way too pale for a healthy young man. Amelia's gaze lingered on his form while he walked past her. This man, the aura he emitted, was different from every person Amelia had ever met.

When he stepped over the threshold he took a glance back and looked her straight in the eye. Suddenly, Amelia felt dizzy. A second ago she hadn't noticed anything special about his irises in particular. Now they were glowing like blue steel. She took hold of a column behind her and blinked. What kind of hallucination had taken over her mind now? When she opened her eyes again, he had already entered Viktor's room. Spellbound, she stared at the closed door for some moments, then she left for her quarters.