Chapter 33: 33
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Perfect. I think, trying to keep my face neutral, not too eager as I nod slowly at him. Absolutely perfect. Not only would I be able to try and get more information out of the Prince on the potential whereabouts of the flame, but also a whole room full of vampires- who will likely be drunk and might let slip any other useful titbits of information about Sezeria. It is the perfect opportunity.
"When is it?" I ask, still straining to hide the glimmer behind my eyes as newfound hope rushes into my system. His eyes sparkle as he clucks his tongue teasingly.
"Come with me, and I will tell you," he drawls, leaning back lazily against the wall, pressing one heel up against it and eyeing me, as though weighing up whether I will or not. A bargain, of course he is bargaining.
"Fine, but no travelling in the shadows, I want to know where your room is." He shoots me a wicked grin over his shoulder as he starts taking long strides down the corridor in an agreed response. Hurriedly, I follow after him.
"Planning to come pay me a visit late one night?" he chuckles, as I strain to follow his fluid movements streaking down the long and strangely empty hallways, mentally tracking our every turn and any other notable landmarks that may guide my later voyages. Luckily, he does not see my blush. Then I roll my eyes. That's all they think about, blood and sex.
"I bet you would like that," I mutter, almost tripping up on a bump in the ornate red red carpet. I walk so quickly that it's patterns almost swirl before my eyes, tearing off the ground. I blink, his laugh fading round the hallways, realising he has widened the distance between us further with his long steady strides. And yet he doesn't touch me as we walk, doesn't drag me with him, lead me by the arm like I thought he might. For once, he keeps his hands to himself, as though worried what I might do if he didn't. Part of me wonders if he is being careful, not to be too pushy, or forceful, then I remember he is the Prince of the vampires, and the words considerate and gentlemanly aren't a part of his vocabulary.
It is only several more turns later, and another mountain of corridors that we reach to a halt. The hallway looks like every other one, except opposite the door in front of us, is a picture of a purple rose, half withered and dying. The door too, has no number, and is simply engraved with a ring of wooden roses around the handle of the door. How had I not come across this? Without even so much as touching it, the door swings open before us, and inside I see the familiar silhouettes of his study.
"It's tomorrow- the dance that is," Soren affirms as he ushers me gently inside his study, a guiding hand pressed firmly against the small of my back. With my mind pinpointed and too focused on the hand, and the way my body goes rigid as he laughs softly at me, I barely register his words at all. In fact, I barely have time to inspect how clean everything now seems, how smooth and unscratched the walls are now before he peels back a book on one of his bookcases and the heavy gyrating of two surfaces moving fills my ears. By instinct, I clutch my pendant whose smooth exterior is cold in my fingers, wincing as the bookcase splits open, revealing another room entirely. No, not just room, rooms.
My mouth must have fallen open in shock because Soren laughs a good natured laugh before beckoning me with his hand, the other poised on his hip, authoritative, bold.
"Come on, Serena darling. I may be immortal but I won't wait here forever," and he gestures me forward again, and as I whisper to him "Flirt,", my legs stumbling out beneath me on the wooden floor, still gawking and wide eyed as the bookcase door seals shut behind me.
It's beautiful. It truly is. If there is one thing I can grant Soren, it is that his taste in design is impeccable. And perhaps, judging by the finery of his clothes, and the insistency of his kingdom to keep the splendid elven tailors so close at hand, fashion too. A golden buttery light warms the room from floating lanterns that drift above our heads, so much more welcoming than the study behind us, that grim façade. And I realise, looking upon the soft comfortable couches, the cabinets filled with sparkling jewels and diadems, to the beautiful grand piano and steaming mugs of something on the long glass table that that is what it is. A façade. A part of him behind that exterior of flirtations and impenetrable, bloody cold. A little capsule of geniality enclosed inside a heart of stone.
I soak in the colours of the paintings on the walls letting the warmth- actual warmth- of the room seep into my skin. And then follow Soren into the next room, a bedroom, as he ruffles through a wardrobe with careful precision, my eyes beginning to linger elsewhere. If I thought my bed was big, then his is huge. Piled with puffy cushions and thick pillowy sheets of black that part of me wants nothing better than to sink into and swallow me whole. I study it for a moment. I didn't think vampires needed much sleep, and the bed hardly looks used, only confirming the part of me that suspects it must be used for other non sleeping purposes. My nose wrinkles in something that might be a mix of disgust and blatant smugness. How very predictable. A shaded lamp casts a soft glow around the room, over the bedside draws and squishy armchair tucked into the corner of the room, so warm, so inviting. A glass door paves the way to a balcony, but I hold myself from going over to it, if only not to let in the cold chill of the outside world.
"Here," Soren's voice rings behind me, and I turn sharply, drawing myself out of my distracted daze. In one hand, he holds aloft a dazzling crimson dress, its long flowing fabric stretching outwards from the tightly drawn waist, patterned with huge, embroidered flowers of a deeper red, down the hem of the dress and on the puffy semi see through sleeves. Yes, Soren has good taste indeed. "Would you do me the honour of putting it on?" he asks, and shoots me a wicked grin that is almost as dazzling as the dress itself.
Slowly, hesitantly, I nod, reaching out to grab a fistful of that beautiful silky fabric, gleaming like blood spilt on stones and admire it for a moment more- not wanting to seem too eager. Mercifully, (otherwise I might have debated hitting him), Soren turns away as I slip it on, pulling the draping fabric over my head, listening to the crinkle and swish of it as my eyes punch holes into Soren's broad back, watching the sensuous movements of his body moving in then out with each breath. It is not that I want to look at him, more that if I look away, he might decide on the good of his own whim to turn around, and then I really would have to hit him. However, if he senses me looking, he doesn't say. Once I am done, I go to clear my throat, coughing lightly, as the prince flicks a quick look over his shoulder, first one of caution, and then delight. He circles me a little, wordless, feet soundless on the floor, lifting one arm to check the fit, admiring the fall of the sheer fabric around my arms, as he gestures, twirling a finger, for me to turn around. I oblige, making a low sweeping turn, and then a long bow, grinning up at him through the horns of my hair. He grins back.
"Do- do you like it?" I ask tentatively, stumbling over my words with the intensity of his gaze, and I draw down some of the fabric that had caught up at my waist, sweeping back strands of my hair that had loosened with that low, mocking bow. I try not to look at him as he says softly, so enticingly softly:
"Do you?"
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Perfect. I think, trying to keep my face neutral, not too eager as I nod slowly at him. Absolutely perfect. Not only would I be able to try and get more information out of the Prince on the potential whereabouts of the flame, but also a whole room full of vampires- who will likely be drunk and might let slip any other useful titbits of information about Sezeria. It is the perfect opportunity.
"When is it?" I ask, still straining to hide the glimmer behind my eyes as newfound hope rushes into my system. His eyes sparkle as he clucks his tongue teasingly.
"Come with me, and I will tell you," he drawls, leaning back lazily against the wall, pressing one heel up against it and eyeing me, as though weighing up whether I will or not. A bargain, of course he is bargaining.
"Fine, but no travelling in the shadows, I want to know where your room is." He shoots me a wicked grin over his shoulder as he starts taking long strides down the corridor in an agreed response. Hurriedly, I follow after him.
"Planning to come pay me a visit late one night?" he chuckles, as I strain to follow his fluid movements streaking down the long and strangely empty hallways, mentally tracking our every turn and any other notable landmarks that may guide my later voyages. Luckily, he does not see my blush. Then I roll my eyes. That's all they think about, blood and sex.
"I bet you would like that," I mutter, almost tripping up on a bump in the ornate red red carpet. I walk so quickly that it's patterns almost swirl before my eyes, tearing off the ground. I blink, his laugh fading round the hallways, realising he has widened the distance between us further with his long steady strides. And yet he doesn't touch me as we walk, doesn't drag me with him, lead me by the arm like I thought he might. For once, he keeps his hands to himself, as though worried what I might do if he didn't. Part of me wonders if he is being careful, not to be too pushy, or forceful, then I remember he is the Prince of the vampires, and the words considerate and gentlemanly aren't a part of his vocabulary.
It is only several more turns later, and another mountain of corridors that we reach to a halt. The hallway looks like every other one, except opposite the door in front of us, is a picture of a purple rose, half withered and dying. The door too, has no number, and is simply engraved with a ring of wooden roses around the handle of the door. How had I not come across this? Without even so much as touching it, the door swings open before us, and inside I see the familiar silhouettes of his study.
"It's tomorrow- the dance that is," Soren affirms as he ushers me gently inside his study, a guiding hand pressed firmly against the small of my back. With my mind pinpointed and too focused on the hand, and the way my body goes rigid as he laughs softly at me, I barely register his words at all. In fact, I barely have time to inspect how clean everything now seems, how smooth and unscratched the walls are now before he peels back a book on one of his bookcases and the heavy gyrating of two surfaces moving fills my ears. By instinct, I clutch my pendant whose smooth exterior is cold in my fingers, wincing as the bookcase splits open, revealing another room entirely. No, not just room, rooms.
My mouth must have fallen open in shock because Soren laughs a good natured laugh before beckoning me with his hand, the other poised on his hip, authoritative, bold.
"Come on, Serena darling. I may be immortal but I won't wait here forever," and he gestures me forward again, and as I whisper to him "Flirt,", my legs stumbling out beneath me on the wooden floor, still gawking and wide eyed as the bookcase door seals shut behind me.
It's beautiful. It truly is. If there is one thing I can grant Soren, it is that his taste in design is impeccable. And perhaps, judging by the finery of his clothes, and the insistency of his kingdom to keep the splendid elven tailors so close at hand, fashion too. A golden buttery light warms the room from floating lanterns that drift above our heads, so much more welcoming than the study behind us, that grim façade. And I realise, looking upon the soft comfortable couches, the cabinets filled with sparkling jewels and diadems, to the beautiful grand piano and steaming mugs of something on the long glass table that that is what it is. A façade. A part of him behind that exterior of flirtations and impenetrable, bloody cold. A little capsule of geniality enclosed inside a heart of stone.
I soak in the colours of the paintings on the walls letting the warmth- actual warmth- of the room seep into my skin. And then follow Soren into the next room, a bedroom, as he ruffles through a wardrobe with careful precision, my eyes beginning to linger elsewhere. If I thought my bed was big, then his is huge. Piled with puffy cushions and thick pillowy sheets of black that part of me wants nothing better than to sink into and swallow me whole. I study it for a moment. I didn't think vampires needed much sleep, and the bed hardly looks used, only confirming the part of me that suspects it must be used for other non sleeping purposes. My nose wrinkles in something that might be a mix of disgust and blatant smugness. How very predictable. A shaded lamp casts a soft glow around the room, over the bedside draws and squishy armchair tucked into the corner of the room, so warm, so inviting. A glass door paves the way to a balcony, but I hold myself from going over to it, if only not to let in the cold chill of the outside world.
"Here," Soren's voice rings behind me, and I turn sharply, drawing myself out of my distracted daze. In one hand, he holds aloft a dazzling crimson dress, its long flowing fabric stretching outwards from the tightly drawn waist, patterned with huge, embroidered flowers of a deeper red, down the hem of the dress and on the puffy semi see through sleeves. Yes, Soren has good taste indeed. "Would you do me the honour of putting it on?" he asks, and shoots me a wicked grin that is almost as dazzling as the dress itself.
Slowly, hesitantly, I nod, reaching out to grab a fistful of that beautiful silky fabric, gleaming like blood spilt on stones and admire it for a moment more- not wanting to seem too eager. Mercifully, (otherwise I might have debated hitting him), Soren turns away as I slip it on, pulling the draping fabric over my head, listening to the crinkle and swish of it as my eyes punch holes into Soren's broad back, watching the sensuous movements of his body moving in then out with each breath. It is not that I want to look at him, more that if I look away, he might decide on the good of his own whim to turn around, and then I really would have to hit him. However, if he senses me looking, he doesn't say. Once I am done, I go to clear my throat, coughing lightly, as the prince flicks a quick look over his shoulder, first one of caution, and then delight. He circles me a little, wordless, feet soundless on the floor, lifting one arm to check the fit, admiring the fall of the sheer fabric around my arms, as he gestures, twirling a finger, for me to turn around. I oblige, making a low sweeping turn, and then a long bow, grinning up at him through the horns of my hair. He grins back.
"Do- do you like it?" I ask tentatively, stumbling over my words with the intensity of his gaze, and I draw down some of the fabric that had caught up at my waist, sweeping back strands of my hair that had loosened with that low, mocking bow. I try not to look at him as he says softly, so enticingly softly:
"Do you?"
Perfect. I think, trying to keep my face neutral, not too eager as I nod slowly at him. Absolutely perfect. Not only would I be able to try and get more information out of the Prince on the potential whereabouts of the flame, but also a whole room full of vampires- who will likely be drunk and might let slip any other useful titbits of information about Sezeria. It is the perfect opportunity."When is it?" I ask, still straining to hide the glimmer behind my eyes as newfound hope rushes into my system. His eyes sparkle as he clucks his tongue teasingly."Come with me, and I will tell you," he drawls, leaning back lazily against the wall, pressing one heel up against it and eyeing me, as though weighing up whether I will or not. A bargain, of course he is bargaining."Fine, but no travelling in the shadows, I want to know where your room is." He shoots me a wicked grin over his shoulder as he starts taking long strides down the corridor in an agreed response. Hurriedly, I follow after him."Planning to come pay me a visit late one night?" he chuckles, as I strain to follow hisfluid movements streaking down the long and strangely empty hallways, mentally tracking our every turn and any other notable landmarks that may guide my later voyages. Luckily, he does not see my blush. Then I roll my eyes. That's all they think about, blood and sex."I bet you would like that," I mutter, almost tripping up on a bump in the ornate red red carpet. I walk so quickly that it's patterns almost swirl before my eyes, tearing off the ground. I blink, his laugh fading round the hallways, realising he has widened the distance between us further with his long steady strides. And yet he doesn't touch me as we walk, doesn't drag me with him, lead me by the arm like I thought he might. For once, he keeps his hands to himself, as though worried what I might do if he didn't. Part of me wonders if he is being careful, not to be too pushy, or forceful, then I remember he is the Prince of the vampires, and the words considerate and gentlemanly aren't a part ofhis vocabulary.It is only several more turns later, and another mountain of corridors that we reach to a halt. The hallway looks like every other one, except opposite the door in front of us, is a picture of a purple rose, half withered and dying. The door too, has no number, and is simply engraved with a ring of wooden roses around the handle of the door. How had I not come across this? Without even so much as touching it, the door swings open before us, and inside I see the familiar silhouettes of his study."It's tomorrow- the dance that is," Soren affirms as he ushers me gently inside his study, a guiding hand pressed firmly against the small of my back. With my mind pinpointed and too focused on the hand, and the way my body goes rigid as he laughs softly at me, I barely register his words at all. In fact, I barely have time to inspect how clean everything now seems, how smooth and unscratched the walls are now before he peels back a book on one of his bookcases and the heavy gyrating of two surfaces moving fills my ears. By instinct, I clutch my pendant whose smooth exterior is cold in my fingers, wincing as the bookcase splits open, revealing another room entirely. No, not just room, rooms.My mouth must have fallen open in shock because Soren laughs a good natured laugh before beckoning me with his hand, the other poised on his hip, authoritative, bold."Come on, Serena darling. I may be immortal but I won't wait here forever," and he gestures me forward again, and as I whisper to him "Flirt,", my legs stumbling out beneath me on the wooden floor, still gawking and wide eyed as the bookcase door seals shut behind me.It's beautiful. It truly is. If there is one thing I can grant Soren, it is that his taste in design is impeccable. And perhaps, judging by the finery of his clothes, and the insistency of his kingdom to keep the splendid elven tailors so close at hand, fashion too. A golden buttery light warms the room from floating lanterns that drift above our heads, so much more welcoming than the study behind us, that grim faade. And I realise, looking upon the soft comfortable couches, the cabinets filled with sparkling jewels and diadems, to the beautiful grand piano and steaming mugs of something on the long glass table that that is what it is. A faade. A part of him behind that exterior of flirtations and impenetrable, bloody cold. A little capsule of geniality enclosed inside a heart of stone.I soak in the colours of the paintings on the walls letting the warmth- actual warmth- of the room seep into my skin. And then follow Soren into the next room, a bedroom, as he ruffles through a wardrobe with careful precision, my eyes beginning to linger elsewhere. If I thought my bed was big, then his is huge. Piled with puffy cushions and thick pillowy sheets of black that part of me wants nothing better than to sink into and swallow me whole. I study it for a moment. I didn't think vampires needed much sleep, and the bed hardly looks used, only confirming the part of me that suspects it must be used for other non sleeping purposes. My nose wrinkles in something that might be a mix of disgust and blatant smugness. How very predictable.A shaded lamp casts a soft glow around the room, over the bedside draws and squishy armchair tucked into the corner of the room, so warm, so inviting. A glass door paves the way to a balcony, but I hold myself from going over to it, if only not to let in the cold chill of the outside world."Here," Soren's voice rings behind me, and I turn sharply, drawing myself out of my distracted daze. In one hand, he holds aloft a dazzling crimson dress, its long flowing fabric stretching outwards from the tightly drawn waist, patterned with huge, embroidered flowers of a deeper red, down the hem of the dress and on the puffy semi see through sleeves. Yes, Soren has good taste indeed. "Would you do me the honour of putting it on?" he asks, and shoots me a wicked grin that is almost as dazzling as the dress itself.Slowly, hesitantly, I nod, reaching out to grab a fistful of that beautiful silky fabric, gleaming like blood spilt on stones and admire it for a moment more- not wanting to seem too eager. Mercifully, otherwise I might have debated hitting him, Soren turns away as I slip it on, pulling the draping fabric over my head, listening to the crinkle and swish of it as my eyes punch holes into Soren's broad back, watching the sensuous movements of his body moving in then out with each breath. It is not that I want to look at him, more that if I look away, he might decide on the good of his own whim to turn around, and then I really would have to hit him. However, if he senses me looking, he doesn't say. Once I am done, I go to clear my throat, coughing lightly, as the prince flicks a quick look over his shoulder, first one of caution, and then delight. He circles me a little, wordless, feet soundless on the floor, lifting one arm to check the fit, admiring the fall of the sheer fabric around my arms, as he gestures, twirling a finger, for me to turn around. I oblige, making a low sweeping turn, and then a long bow, grinning up at him through the horns of my hair. He grins back."Do- do you like it?" I ask tentatively, stumbling over my words with the intensity of his gaze, and I draw down some of the fabric that had caught up at my waist, sweeping back strands of my hair that had loosened with that low, mocking bow. I try not to look at him as he says softly, so enticingly softly:"Do you?"
