Vampire Legacy (Book 4 of the Dragon Heat series) (2 page)

Chapter Two

Wallachia, Romania, 1799

The Border between Vampire and Draconian territories

“Halt,” the driver shouted as the carriage jolted in place.

“For Hiad’s sake, what is it now?” Petran heard Arthur, his chamberlain, yell from a few feet ahead. He’d been riding at the front of the line with the other guards.

“The wheel got stuck again,” the driver answered.

Petran let out a long sigh and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. This trip was getting on his nerves. He loathed travelling by…well, he loathed travelling. Vampires didn’t have to depend on slow horses or carriages for transport, they teleported. Petran was a wizard at that skill, having mastered it far better than his counterparts. Diplomatic visits like this one, however, called for a more substantial method of arrival, as protocol dictated. He hated diplomacy but knew the world would be an intolerable chaos if its leaders didn’t follow minimum decorum. And so here he was crossing the Carpathian Mountains by carriage in a never-ending spring drizzle, going at an agonizing four miles per hour and getting stuck in every shallow hole on the road. It was pure torture.

“We must move before any outlaw dracos sniff us out here,” Arthur added from outside the coach. “These roads are full of them.”

“Nah, dracos ain’t allowed to shift no more in these parts, only with the permission of their lord,” one of his personal guards replied in a nonchalant manner.

“The very definition of outlaw, you door-knob, is one who doesn’t follow the law,” Arthur grunted in reply.

Great, now they were discussing grammar
. “I do not care what it means or what is stalling us,” Petran growled from his cabin, not even bothering to open his coach’s window. “Just get on with it before we all turn into ashes with the coming sun.” His men were all vampires and could hear a pin dropping, so there was no need for wasting his energy with an elevated voice.

It worked. Arthur and his guards stopped the blabbering at once and got on with getting the task done.

When the carriage finally resumed the drive, Petran shifted uncomfortably on the hard leather seat. Next time he would teleport to the nearest spot then make the final distance by foot. It was better than enduring an overnight trip at turtle-speed surrounded by incompetent morons. He had to admit, however, he too had had his share of utter uselessness when it came to operating human inventions.

After a couple of excruciatingly painful hours of uncomfortable jostling, they crossed a draconian village, and then started their way up the hill toward the Dragon Lord’s castle. At last. Three quarters of an hour later, the carriage came to a halt—a planned one this time around.

Petran didn’t wait for the formal protocols but instead, he promptly stepped out of his cubicle and stretched his legs. The end of their journey was in the middle of a wide stone bridge, which connected two sides of a gorge. Its end landed on an elevated platform that hosted a colossal door, carved into sheer rock.

“We have arrived, your majesty.”

“I can see that, Arthur,” Petran replied trying to remind himself that butchering his own servant would be unwise. He took a deep, calming breath and admired the majestic wall before him.

The Dragon’s castle had been literally carved into the mountain. The only entrance was through the impossibly long stone bridge, which was adorned by intricate carvings. The symbols depicted an ancient story of war and victory, of the Golden Age of the Dragons. A colossal door greeted visitors at the other end and a few feet above it two towers stood as if poking out of the mountain itself.

“Who comes there?” the tower guard above them yelled down.

“It is I, Petran, King of Vampires, from the House of Basarab. I come to pay my respects to your lord Somenski the Truthful, Draconian Lord of Moldavia.”

“I was not informed my lord expected visitors,” the impertinent sod replied. “I must consult first with—”

Suddenly, the stone door creaked alive and an entourage of dracos emerged.

“Let him through,” a feminine voice uttered. It was soft yet full of confidence.

Petran narrowed his eyes trying to see who had voiced the command, but only managed to distinguish a lithe shadow among the many male bodyguards.

He waited in the drizzle as the tower guard nodded once and disappeared into his cubicle. After a short moment, the heavy door creaked alive again and slowly opened up to its full range to welcome the visitors. The female stepped forward and stopped at the mouth of the grand entrance. A couple of servants rushed after her, holding up some sort of tent in an attempt to protect their lady from the rain. She gently lifted her hand, indicating that there was no need for it. As the servants stepped back, she lifted her chin high and looked straight at Petran.

And his gut clenched.

He had no idea who she was, but this lady was by far the most striking woman he had ever laid his eyes upon. She wore a simple yet elegant dress made of dark blue velvet, which hugged her slender waist and molded her breasts in shape. Dark grey eyes were framed by thick lashes, and fiery red hair was plaited onto a high bun carrying no adornments or precious stones. She didn’t need any, her beauty was arresting enough without any subterfuges.

“Welcome to the house of Somenski the Truthful, Draconian Lord of Moldavia, your majesty,” she stated, going down on a perfect bow.

Petran nodded in acknowledgment, as decorum dictated. “I come to pay my visit to your lord. I trust you received my missive.”

“Yes, your majesty, we did,” she replied. “Unfortunately, we misread your message for it predicted your arrival after the rainy season.”

No, she hadn’t misread his missive for that was exactly what he had sent. He knew it, she knew it. But she had clearly decided to avoid embarrassing a royal visitor by pointing it out. Wise decision. He was too good a poker player, however, to think of explaining why he had unexpectedly pushed his visit forward. There was no need to ruin a good neighborly relationship with the truth.

“Please, let me provide you shelter from this drizzle,” she said flicking her hand in the air. At once, her entourage rushed to Petran’s side and lifted the small tent up, successfully shielding them both from the rain.

“Please follow me,” she requested with a short bow, then without waiting for any response, turned around, and started making her way into the mountain.

Petran narrowed his eyes at the slight sway of her hips. Who was she? In a formal encounter, one would introduce oneself declaring his name and rank in the household. Despite her obviously well trained manners, she hadn’t properly informed him of her lineage and position. It probably had not been on purpose but nonetheless it made him weary, maybe even irritable. He detested not knowing all the players on the table, or not having all the facts at his disposal at all times.

Petran shook his head and chided himself. He was overthinking things again, a habit which Arthur, his trusted Chamberlain, had subtly highlighted more than once. It was best not to assume the worst. This was a simple visit, official but of a kinder nature, from one neighbor to another. There was no point of seeing mischief in the shadows. It was best to simply ask for clarification. One always receives what one commands.

With that in mind, Petran accelerated his pace until he was side by side with the young woman. They had now entered a tall chamber which seemed to have been carved straight into the mountain. “Please accept my apologies for not having sent an emissary with the adjusted date of my arrival, Lady…”

“Oh, please your majesty, there’s no need for apologies. We are your servants,” she replied politely, without looking at him, and without stating her name. Again. She had simply ignored decorum all together.

Damn her. Was she Somenski’s new wife? No, occurrence of such magnitude would have quickly made its way to his ears. He hadn’t been advised of any matrimonies of late, either. Unless the old sod had decided to take on a mistress—a much younger one from the looks of it.

Petran ran his eyes over the lady by his side. She was worth taking, for sure. With marble skin, flaming red hair, and delicate features, her beauty was a marvel. Their society widely accepted royal mistresses—some of them were even better treated then the official wives, living a life of glamour and luxury, not having to carry the burden of the continuation of their house name or of having to protect their reputations.

A small smile lifted the corner of his lips as a tinge of jealousy enveloped his groin. If only he had found this red-haired gem before his draconian neighbor, he would have shown her what it was like to bed a true king—over, and over again.  

The object of his lustful thoughts paused, then turned to face him, meeting him eye-to-eye. An obvious question was stamped on her face, as if asking for justification for such inappropriate staring.

Well, he too could ignore decorum. “My mind must be playing tricks on me for I could swear I have seen you before, milady. Did Somenski officially introduce you as his royal mistress in the last Open Games?”

Her eyes widened in shock and her jaw dropped. “Your majesty!”

At once, Petran realized that maybe he’d been too blunt, but tiredness from the long trip prevented him from finding apologetic words, only ones of perplexity reached his tongue. “Well, don’t look at me so bewildered, milady. I too find myself confused.”

She opened her mouth again, then turned on her heels, took a couple of steps and stopped facing the other way. Petran watched in amusement as she obviously fought to gain her composure. It was quite entertaining actually.

After a few heartbeats, she turned around again. “Apologies, your majesty, for my lack of manners,” she said in controlled somber tones. “I should have introduced myself.”

“Yes, you should have,” Petran replied curtly, not giving her space to evade him any longer.

A hot blush colored her cheeks but she took his reprimand in silence. Bowing low, she said, “I am Lady Natalia Somenski, Duchess of Moldavia.”

Now it was Petran’s turn to look astounded. Lady Natalia? As in Little Natalia, Somenski’s daughter who had been sent away to boarding school just a few years ago?

“It’s been three decades, your majesty,” she replied politely, and Petran realized he had spoken aloud.

Bloody Hiad
.

“I hadn’t been informed of your return, milady, nor had I realized time had elapsed so fast,” he muttered gravely, trying hard to make it sound like an apology. He wasn’t one to make amends or justify his actions, but apologies were definitely in order. One thing was to ogle over Somenski’s mistress, but another one entirely was doing it so to his
daughter
, even if she was a delight to the eyes.

“Yes, time does tend to creep up on all sons of Apa Sâmbetei, no matter who you are—a mere vassal, a king, or even a royal mistress,” she replied softly, but her subtle derision was not missed in his ears.

Was she jesting with him?
Petran stared at those grey eyes, his tired mind taking longer to find the right come back.

Before he managed to find his voice again, Lady Natalia resumed their walk. “Please, let me take you to your chambers. You must be in need of a rest after your long journey.”

He was indeed but—“I’d rather see your father first, if possible.”

She nodded once, acknowledging his request and carried on.

Petran followed the lovely Natalia along the endless corridors taking everything in. Somenski’s castle was a medieval fortress carved within the mountain. Impossibly tall chambers led to other even taller hallways. Maybe it was how enormous everything was, or maybe it was the earliness of the morn, but the castle looked rather empty. After a few minutes, they reached an alcove, which looked like the entrance to the kitchens.

“Your entourage may follow my servants to the stables, where they may take care of your horses.”

Petran nodded to his men, a silent order for them to comply with the lady’s suggestion. Arthur stared back at him for a flicker of time, as if undecided whether to comply or to rebel against his orders. That bloody chamberlain! Petran would have to teach him some manners. He lifted an eyebrow at Arthur, leaving no doubts as to which the right decision was. After a heartbeat, his servant got the gist of the message and moved along with the others toward the stables. Wise decision.

Petran had known Natalia’s father for centuries and trusted the old sod, even if he were a dragon. But the main reason he denied the safety of his guard’s company was to ensure privacy. There were disturbing rumors travelling around, too disturbing to ignore. That was why Petran had decided to pay his neighbor a visit, with the excuse of collecting the rent the draco owed him.

Now, accompanied by just one servant who lit the way with a single candle torch, his lovely hostess guided Petran along more corridors and chambers. This was no castle, but a maze of towering proportions. Finally, they reached a hollow alcove, which held a colossal waterfall without an end. Crystal chandeliers filled the steep walls surrounding the waterfall, which radiated rays of light in several directions, creating an eerie yet awe-inspiring effect. Several doors filled the ledge along the empty space, framed by verandas, which emerged out of nowhere, as if glued to the stone wall. Petran looked down, and saw only an endless pit into which the waterfall disappeared.