Part 22

Spain, 1645

Dafne looked at the light green silk gown lying on her bed. She had no intention to wear it or the jewelry on the table. Her "master" could keep his gifts, she didn't want them. There was only one thing she wanted from him. Her freedom. She pressed her lips together and touched the mark on her wrist. She would have given anything if she could make it disappear. He had promised to take it off, but she didn't really believe his promises. Why would she believe someone who had enslaved her?

Sure he had asked "nicely" at first, but he hadn't cared that she had refused. It had been her right, even if she had understood his problem and felt some sympathy. She still hadn't wanted to give up the life she had enjoyed. The life she had chosen. He had taken that from her and she hated him for it. And she hated these nights. She honestly couldn't understand what he hoped to achieve by forcing her to dine with him.

His politeness was nothing but irritating and she would have loved to tell him to go to hell. Unfortunately she couldn't do that, not as long as she had the damn mark. She had no choice but to obey him. She clenched her fists and wiped the gown off the bed before taking a seat. If he didn't like her modest dress and simple bun, that was his problem, she certainly wasn't going to dress up for him.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around her. Once again she hoped that Lucien would find out what had happened to her. He was one of the few people who could maybe help her. Being in this kind of position was nothing but humiliating to her. She was so sick of being used. Apparently serving others was all she was good for. No. For a brief moment she has had her own life and she would have it again after she would find a way to get rid of the mark.

Then there was of course the matter of getting away from here. That was most certainly easier said than done, she was surrounded by very nasty vampires. He also had some witches serving him. Dafne was pretty sure that only a very powerful witch could undo the mark. Lucien knew powerful witches, if only she would have some way to send him a word.

She couldn't deny that she missed him. They have had their differences, but he had never mistreated her. Well, didn't that sound familiar. Apparently that was the story of all her relationships. Elijah, Kol, Lucien… Perhaps Klaus too. She didn't feel anger or hate toward any of them anymore. All she felt now was fatigue. So many years had passed and the world kept changing, but she remained the same. Cold and empty.

Lucien had said that immortality was a gift; it was silly to feel the way Dafne did. She had regretted for opening up to him. He had kept asking what was wrong with her and finally she had told him. She had never wanted immortality; to her it was a burden, not a gift. Somehow she always ended up taking care of someone else, abandoning her own needs. This time the choice hadn't been hers, but still. A brief knock on the door made her to look up. One of his lackeys entered the room.

"Lord de Martel is expecting you," the male vampire stated.

Dafne didn't say anything; she stood up and kept her head high. The vampire glanced at the gown on the floor and frowned.

"Did it not fit you?"

"I am more comfortable like this," Dafne replied coolly.

"Hmm. I would not test the lord's patience if I were you; he has been more than generous to you."

"Thank you for the advice."

"Foolish girl," the vampire snorted and turned around.

Dafne followed him to the hallway; they walked silently to the dining room. Tristan was already there, he stood up when Dafne entered the room.

"Good evening," he said smiling and walked over to her. "You look lovely."

She held still as he kissed her hand. His lackey hadn't come in at all.

"Please," he said and pulled out a chair for her.

She didn't thank him, although she was aware that she shouldn't anger him.

"I see that the gown wasn't of your liking," he said, he was still smiling.

"No, it was not," Dafne replied, keeping her voice free from emotion.

"I am sorry to hear that. A woman like you should only wear the finest silk."

Dafne truly hated this charade; she honestly couldn't understand what his goal was. She had done everything he had wanted; she hadn't had a choice. The damn mark on her wrist forced her to obey his every command. Somehow he had known that compulsion didn't work on her, thanks to her link to Elijah. He couldn't be compelled, so she couldn't be either. Dafne didn't have much appetite, but reluctantly she tasted her dinner. Tristan was trying to have "a civilized conversation" with her, as usual. She however wasn't feeling very civilized at the moment, she would have liked to stab him with her knife.

"I want to thank you for your work so far," he said. "I truly appreciate it."

"I am happy to hear that, my lord," she replied coolly. "I on the other hand appreciate my freedom."

"I am sure you do and as I said, I will have the mark removed soon. It was only a precaution."

Dafne didn't reply to that, she had to once again remind herself to be careful. Angering him wouldn't be a very good idea. She tensed as he stood up and moved next to her.

"I mean it; I appreciate what you have done." He paused and kissed her hand. "I admit that I had my doubts, but now I must say that you have succeeded much better than I dared to hope. Thank you for that."