Eric's eyes had been riveted to the entrance way ever since Pamela had walked out of it nearly five hours ago now. He had been the one to calm her, telling her that she had to learn the limits of her own control.

They had been in Ireland for over three months now, having left England after only a few days after her rising. It was safer that way. He had brought her to his usual residence in the Emerald Aisle, though he hadn't visited it in a few decades. Thomas, the young, strapping lad he had glamoured all those years ago was now a hobbled old man; though just as helpful as ever. He had greeted Eric wholeheartedly, not seeming to notice his frozen appearance though enough years had certainly passed. After the few pleasantries that Eric deemed to exchanged, the man took off back inside, in an effort to ready the space for his master. Eric had turned back without looking to the carriage to offer Pamela his hand; they had had to forgo the steam car once they had hit the rolling hills. When her hand did immediately materialize in his, a frown etched his face, and he turned as he spoke.

"Pamela, don't dally. The sun will be rising soon..."

Her shocked eyes were not looking at him though; they were wide and staring at their new residence. He turned to look at the structure once more before regarding her with a raised brow.

"Is there an issue I'm not aware of, min söta?"

Even the old language, which she was picking up entirely too quickly for her own good, did not stir her from her frozen position; one of her feet still in the motion of stepping down. After a long moment, her eyes flicked down to his, and then to the stone in front of her once again. He could not hide the smirk that began to form on his lips, and rather unceremoniously, he reached up, pulling her hand so that she toppled down into his arms. She glared up at him, hastily rearranging her skirt. But once again, her attention was drawn to the lodging behind him.

"Is that...why...you?"

Eric's laugh had echoed in the foggy night; she hadn't shut up since they had risen that night. And here she stood, speechless. He glanced behind him again, absolutely giddy at her clear surprise.

"You told me you expected a castle."

She stared at him, incredulous, her mouth working to form any word possible. Behind him, loomed the stone castle, sitting on a cliff, overlooking the ocean. Thanks to the recent and plentiful rain, the greenery was a deep emerald shade, framing the stone. It was beautiful. It was tranquil. He had chosen it not out of necessity, but purely because he had liked it. And right now, seeing the surprise give way to excitement, to elation, her blood swirling with both deep and shallow emotions; it was the smartest purchase he had ever made.

"Is it...is it for me?"

She frowned immediately after she spoke; and he was sure her words went much deeper than that. He could feel exactly what she meant. He may have bought it, years ago, but it was for her. It had just been waiting. Waiting for this day. For the princess to storm the front gate and claim it. It was his, and that made it hers, without question.

"Yes, min prinsessa. This is your castle."

Three months since she had all but skipped inside, her brain already buzzing with the thought of redecorating. Thomas had been instructed to just give her whatever she requested. She would leave him a list at dawn, and by the time she would rise at night, carts filled with supplies would be making their way up the twisting road to the ivy covered castle. With Thomas following behind her like a puppy, she had transformed the cold rooms, taking it upon herself to do most of the heavy lifting. Eric, ever the gentleman, had offered his assistance. But after she had realized she could lift an entire dining table over her head with ease, there wasn't truly a point. And he had listened to fursniture being thrown around for days afterward, simply because she could. Her new favorite way of getting his attention was to throw a chair at him. Only once had he threatened to throw it back.

The first time one of her dresses had torn, she had been scaling a ladder in the library. Even Thomas had heard the "riiiiiip" from across the room. Eric had watched, openly, as she frowned, fingering the tear before letting the skirt fall back. She had gone back to her task, but the frown had stayed in place.

That next night, she had quietly pulled on a pair of his pants, cinching them at the waist with one of his belts. She had glared at him, daring him to say something. Instead, he had simply asked if she would be requiring one of his shirts. The growl that was thrown over he shoulder as she flounced from the room had been worth it. And even in men's pants, she moved with the grace that was all woman. He had offered, of course, to replace the dress, to buy her a whole closet full. She had been quick to decline; which had left him surprised. The red dress he had fallen in love with, the one she had been buried in, had been made of silk and other fine fabrics. She was no stranger to fashion. And he had seen the sad frown when it had ripped. But he had let it go; intrigued and confused at the same time. She was unlike any other woman he had met in his nearly nine hundred years on this earth.

And tonight, Eric could not find a single pair of his own pants to wear, and his growl had echoed off the walls. He had stalked through the halls, her discarded crimson dress gripped in his hand. Rounding the corner of yet another sitting room, he came upon her, kneeling by one of windows, casually dusting a candlebra that was already dust free. He knew she could feel his anger, and yet she did not stir. His mouth twisted, and he nearly spit out her name.

"Pamela."

Only after she had completed a few more strokes with the feathers, did she bother to glance up at her maker. When she saw the dress that he had at this point tossed to the ground, her brow arched. She blinked. With an utterly bored expression, she had spoken in a way that had personally introduced many before her to Death.

"Eric, if you wanted to wear my dress, you didn't need to ask. I could even turn out the seams for you."

And with that, she had turned back to her dusting. Caught somewhere between a snarl and a laugh, Eric bent to retrieve the dress again, closing the space between them. Without a word, only a rough shove, he had turned her around to face him. His eyes locked on hers, daring her, his quick fingers had loosened the belt she wore at her waist, letting it and the pants fall to the stone floor. He held out the dress to her, as if she had a choice in the trade. Ever his proud child, she snatched it away, pulling it over her own head as he pulled the pants up to his waist. Once he had fastened the buckle, he made a twirling motion with his hands, and she complied allowing him to lace up the back. When his fingers had finished their task, he dropped his lips to her neck, skimming them down to her shoulder with featherlight kisses.

"You need new dresses. As much in favor I may be to have you walking around naked all the time, the neighbors may talk."

"You don't have any neighbors here, Eric," she snorted in response.

"Not here, but there are plenty in other places."

She turned her head at that, he eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline.

"You have other homes? Other homes like this...?" Her voice had trailed off into excitement, and if he wasn't mistaken, trepidation.

"Yes. In other countries. You could re-decorate them all to your heart's content..." Something in the way her eyes glanced to the floor, and then back again, caused him to snap his mouth shut. His hand found her neck, and he forced her to look at him. There was no anger in his voice, or in his actions, he just needed her to see him. His eyes did not stray as he placed a soft kiss onto her lips.

"You do not like redecorating?" The word still sounded foreign to him.

"I, um, I don't mind..." She tried to finish, but his lips cut her off with a harsh kiss as his grip tightened in the slightest way.

"That is not an answer. You do not enjoy what you've been doing."

"Not exactly...Wait!" Both of her tiny hands reached up to encircle his as he tightened his hold again. Immediatly he let her go, but did not take a step back.

"Tell me," the command was a plea.

"I thought it was what you wanted," she reached up, delicately placing her hands over his mouth as he opened it to retort. "You told me; you told me I was your child, your sister, your mother, your..your wife. I thought that's what was expected. I thought that was my place."

He didn't even hesitate as he answered.

"Your place is at my side. You could paint the entire place pink, or smash it to dust. As long as it made you happy. Do you understand me?"

She nodded her head, and he would have had to have been blind to not see the relief in her eyes.

"I still fail to see why this has lead you to stealing my last pair of pants."

Her hysterical giggle filled the air, "I don't have any money!"

"Were you under the impression that I stole all of this?"

"But that's your money..."

"Which makes it yours."

The tone of his voice broached no argument. He motioned for Thomas, who had reappeared after it seemed his master wasn't going to kill the nice lady.

"Take Pamela into town. She seems to be losing her mind in here."

As Thomas shuffled away, Eric barely entertained any of her protests. She was ready to go out on her own; she had more control then he had ever seen in a newborn. She had to see that she was ready.

The last word he spoke to her as he clasped the traveling cloak at her neck, was a whispered command.

"Behave."

That had been hours ago. And he still hadn't moved from his post by the door. He had felt the excitement, the joy. And he had also felt the hunger, the doubt. But it was the feeling of acute embarrassment he was most concerned about. Nothing came through as to what brought it on.

Finally, he heard the wheels on the rocky road. He made himself stay still, waiting until the door was opened, even as he wanted to run out to the road and see her for himself. The door swung slowly open, aided by the hobbled man, and she hurried inside, the hood of the cloak clutched at her throat. His brow wrinkled as he took a step forward, but before he could reach her, she threw back the hood.

Her cheeks were stained with scarlet tears.