Chapter 79: 79
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"That still doesn't change the fact you are leaving without me, though," Ithuriel sighs with a dramatic roll of his eyes, getting himself up off the armchair and dusting the remaining crumbs of bread off himself, sweeping them away with a long flick of his hands. He places his mug carefully on the coffee table.
"You have gone alone to the Great forest twice now, and twice you have somehow gotten yourself in a tangled mess with Soren," he jokes now, dipping his head to indicate a particular exposed bite mark on my neck that my healing powers have yet to cover up. I blush a little, and Ithuriel shoots me another knowing look.
"I know just as well as you that a vampire's bite is addictive. Who is to say you won't stumble across the Prince in the woods and succumb to your desires? Yes Serena, I know what you have been doing with him. I cannot blame you for being infatuated with him, he is a gorgeous creature I will give you that," Ithuriel calls to me as he traipses to the bathroom to wash himself clean. I stick my tongue out at him from behind his back, withdrawing myself from the fireplace reluctantly to scoop up Soren's diary from the chair where Ithuriel left it. Tenderly, I rub over the bitemarks that still stand prominent on my neck, the flesh tender, soft, and pricked with red from the stains of my own blood. A little shudder runs through me.
"You make it sound like you want a piece of him too. Should I be jealous, now?" I jest, flicking through some of the pages absently as Ithuriel returns, patting his face off with a towel, his hair wet and glistening faintly from the quick shower.
"Maybe," he laughs, eyes twinkling, his hair shifting to a joyful golden hue. "Besides," he adds, motioning over to the book in my hands with a general, lax wave of his forefinger. "I think you might want me to explain a few things about Soren's diary. About Fangorn."
I glance down at the book in my hands, towards the delicate golden binding, and the thin pages of manuscript, worn and yellowed from long days with a vampire's immortal time. Chewing on my lip, I debate my options ponderously:
Let Ithuriel rest and potentially risk my life?
Or bring Ithuriel with me and risk him collapsing from exhaustion?
Neither of them sound particularly favourable, but it is immediately clear which is the lesser of the two evils.
"Okay fine, you can come. But as soon as we get back from whoever this Fangorn is, you are taking a nice long nap, capiche?"
Ithuriel lowers his head, placing a broad hand over his heart with mock respect.
"It is an honour to serve you, my generous Queen," he says, half teasing, and I almost deliberate launching the diary at him, toying with it lightly between my fingers.
"Pftt, sure Ithuriel. An honour. Hurry up, then, we have until dusk to get in and out of the end, and I don't much fancy getting eaten alive by vampires," I sigh, rubbing my hand past my neck. Ithuriel rises and flashes me a cheeky grin.
"Now I bet Soren would hate to hear that."
This time, I do lob the book at him.
***
Ithuriel and I manage to find the palace stables before the sun has even reached half way in its due course across the sky. The stables span a sizeable length of the land behind the castle, and thus in tandem with the rotation of the sun, are shaded half the day, and rich with a glorious buttery light the other half.
The sun is beaming in over the stables by the time we reach them, illuminating the glossy coats of the horses roaming freely in the paddock and casting a refreshing warmth over my skin, a much needed relief against the dull chill of the palace. Enough that, for a brief moment, I can forget the ailments of my bites and simply enjoy the natural splendour of the place, soaking up the warmth with a desperate hunger as it washes over my skin. I am not sure how long it has been since I was granted the luxury to do such a thing.
It makes sense that a horse stable, one of distasteful aromas and dirtied animals, would not be a common dwelling place for vampires. Most of the residency consists of elven butlers tending to ill forgotten horses, who- the few Faey creatures who pride their appearance less than their ideals, can be seen riding horses around the lush green paddocks, or combing the fine locks of their hair under the bright warmth of the sun. I myself have been careful to attend to my own horses, feeding them most nights when I have a spare moment in the tedious hours of my day. It was a form of escapism on my first days here, a perfect ideal to help get away from the cramped musters of the palace, the intoxicating smell of blood and lulling perfume, and the tricksy antics of the Scarlet Prince, who on his good days would only stick to flirtatious comments in passing in the hallways.
Yes, my two stallions certainly provided some solace.
From where I am from, horses, especially white horses, are a prized possession. A symbol of royalty, and loyalty, as where I am from, 'to ride true' is not merely an expression of goodwill, but of honour too.
It is therefore not surprising that amongst the smells of muddied animals and the sour smell of hay and fresh silage, I have never come across the Scarlet Prince here, either. For one of the more reasonable vampires though he be, he is still, indisputably, a vampire, and the rules of general vampirism would evidently still apply, preferring to smell of cleanliness and roses, and keep their long claws clean of anything except the blood in which they feast.
These factors combined make it all the more surprising when I come across lady Mikhail, tending to her chestnut stallion in the stables next to ours.
At first, a neutral oblivion passes between us, the determination to flit by each other without so much as a word staunchly obvious. But then, as I am prudently adjusting the saddling on my horse, and Ithuriel has begun to pace impatiently outside the stables- determined to remove himself from the overwhelming stink as quickly as possible, Mikhail speaks.
"I always thought I would have him, you know." she speaks into the air, neither of us overly concerned with turning round and facing the other, not with our brief and volatile history. I stiffen. Outside the stables, a scarce whimper can be heard from the white woodfox in response to her words, urging me with a desperate plea to ignore her, yet I listen anyway. I do not need to be an adnexo angel to hear the hurt practically dripping from her voice. Regardless of whether I am listening or not, she continues on anyway.
"We have known each other for centuries. Even when I was a child, I used to think: someday I am going to marry this man. And everyone used to think so too. I was the most beautiful vampire of Sezeria, I was adored, there was no disputing it." she trails off slightly, and I can hear from behind me her steady brushing on the horse's mane as it slows to a halt, filling the stables with a chasmal abyss of silence. It takes me a solid second to realise who exactly she is talking about: Soren. For a moment I stand there frozen in the half light of the day, a wintry chill spiking its way up my back, toying with myself whether or not to engage.
Don't do it. Ithuriel urges in my mind. Her aura is broken and hurting, it's not worth the risk of infuriating her, or damaging her further.
Composing my resolve, I twist myself around to face her, leaning back against the stiff rafters of the stable, my horse nickering next to my ear, desperate to be released into the glorious warmth of the day. I stroke it's muzzle tenderly. Just a little longer.
"So, what changed?" I breathe at last, pressing myself further backwards in a manner that is just bordering nonchalance, making it clear that is things go sour, I could leave just as easily as I came. This time, it's Mikhail's turn to freeze. She glances back round at me, pale blue face streaked with lines of wet and mournful tears, as though the sound of my voice had reduced her to such a state in a mere matter of seconds.
"He found you." I raise my brows, indicating her to continue with silent questioning.
"It was never my intent to be cruel to you. I may be a vampire, but I respect you elves, your kind have always been amiable to me in the past. But there was one night, the night before this whole ceremony had begun. Soren came back from hunting in the woods, he was ravenous, and crazed, infatuated by something or someone that he would not tell me about. He told me he would not marry me right then and there, and..." she breaks off, swallowing down bitter tears.
"And it broke my heart."
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"That still doesn't change the fact you are leaving without me, though," Ithuriel sighs with a dramatic roll of his eyes, getting himself up off the armchair and dusting the remaining crumbs of bread off himself, sweeping them away with a long flick of his hands. He places his mug carefully on the coffee table.
"You have gone alone to the Great forest twice now, and twice you have somehow gotten yourself in a tangled mess with Soren," he jokes now, dipping his head to indicate a particular exposed bite mark on my neck that my healing powers have yet to cover up. I blush a little, and Ithuriel shoots me another knowing look.
"I know just as well as you that a vampire's bite is addictive. Who is to say you won't stumble across the Prince in the woods and succumb to your desires? Yes Serena, I know what you have been doing with him. I cannot blame you for being infatuated with him, he is a gorgeous creature I will give you that," Ithuriel calls to me as he traipses to the bathroom to wash himself clean. I stick my tongue out at him from behind his back, withdrawing myself from the fireplace reluctantly to scoop up Soren's diary from the chair where Ithuriel left it. Tenderly, I rub over the bitemarks that still stand prominent on my neck, the flesh tender, soft, and pricked with red from the stains of my own blood. A little shudder runs through me.
"You make it sound like you want a piece of him too. Should I be jealous, now?" I jest, flicking through some of the pages absently as Ithuriel returns, patting his face off with a towel, his hair wet and glistening faintly from the quick shower.
"Maybe," he laughs, eyes twinkling, his hair shifting to a joyful golden hue. "Besides," he adds, motioning over to the book in my hands with a general, lax wave of his forefinger. "I think you might want me to explain a few things about Soren's diary. About Fangorn."
I glance down at the book in my hands, towards the delicate golden binding, and the thin pages of manuscript, worn and yellowed from long days with a vampire's immortal time. Chewing on my lip, I debate my options ponderously:
Let Ithuriel rest and potentially risk my life?
Or bring Ithuriel with me and risk him collapsing from exhaustion?
Neither of them sound particularly favourable, but it is immediately clear which is the lesser of the two evils.
"Okay fine, you can come. But as soon as we get back from whoever this Fangorn is, you are taking a nice long nap, capiche?"
Ithuriel lowers his head, placing a broad hand over his heart with mock respect.
"It is an honour to serve you, my generous Queen," he says, half teasing, and I almost deliberate launching the diary at him, toying with it lightly between my fingers.
"Pftt, sure Ithuriel. An honour. Hurry up, then, we have until dusk to get in and out of the end, and I don't much fancy getting eaten alive by vampires," I sigh, rubbing my hand past my neck. Ithuriel rises and flashes me a cheeky grin.
"Now I bet Soren would hate to hear that."
This time, I do lob the book at him.
***
Ithuriel and I manage to find the palace stables before the sun has even reached half way in its due course across the sky. The stables span a sizeable length of the land behind the castle, and thus in tandem with the rotation of the sun, are shaded half the day, and rich with a glorious buttery light the other half.
The sun is beaming in over the stables by the time we reach them, illuminating the glossy coats of the horses roaming freely in the paddock and casting a refreshing warmth over my skin, a much needed relief against the dull chill of the palace. Enough that, for a brief moment, I can forget the ailments of my bites and simply enjoy the natural splendour of the place, soaking up the warmth with a desperate hunger as it washes over my skin. I am not sure how long it has been since I was granted the luxury to do such a thing.
It makes sense that a horse stable, one of distasteful aromas and dirtied animals, would not be a common dwelling place for vampires. Most of the residency consists of elven butlers tending to ill forgotten horses, who- the few Faey creatures who pride their appearance less than their ideals, can be seen riding horses around the lush green paddocks, or combing the fine locks of their hair under the bright warmth of the sun. I myself have been careful to attend to my own horses, feeding them most nights when I have a spare moment in the tedious hours of my day. It was a form of escapism on my first days here, a perfect ideal to help get away from the cramped musters of the palace, the intoxicating smell of blood and lulling perfume, and the tricksy antics of the Scarlet Prince, who on his good days would only stick to flirtatious comments in passing in the hallways.
Yes, my two stallions certainly provided some solace.
From where I am from, horses, especially white horses, are a prized possession. A symbol of royalty, and loyalty, as where I am from, 'to ride true' is not merely an expression of goodwill, but of honour too.
It is therefore not surprising that amongst the smells of muddied animals and the sour smell of hay and fresh silage, I have never come across the Scarlet Prince here, either. For one of the more reasonable vampires though he be, he is still, indisputably, a vampire, and the rules of general vampirism would evidently still apply, preferring to smell of cleanliness and roses, and keep their long claws clean of anything except the blood in which they feast.
These factors combined make it all the more surprising when I come across lady Mikhail, tending to her chestnut stallion in the stables next to ours.
At first, a neutral oblivion passes between us, the determination to flit by each other without so much as a word staunchly obvious. But then, as I am prudently adjusting the saddling on my horse, and Ithuriel has begun to pace impatiently outside the stables- determined to remove himself from the overwhelming stink as quickly as possible, Mikhail speaks.
"I always thought I would have him, you know." she speaks into the air, neither of us overly concerned with turning round and facing the other, not with our brief and volatile history. I stiffen. Outside the stables, a scarce whimper can be heard from the white woodfox in response to her words, urging me with a desperate plea to ignore her, yet I listen anyway. I do not need to be an adnexo angel to hear the hurt practically dripping from her voice. Regardless of whether I am listening or not, she continues on anyway.
"We have known each other for centuries. Even when I was a child, I used to think: someday I am going to marry this man. And everyone used to think so too. I was the most beautiful vampire of Sezeria, I was adored, there was no disputing it." she trails off slightly, and I can hear from behind me her steady brushing on the horse's mane as it slows to a halt, filling the stables with a chasmal abyss of silence. It takes me a solid second to realise who exactly she is talking about: Soren. For a moment I stand there frozen in the half light of the day, a wintry chill spiking its way up my back, toying with myself whether or not to engage.
Don't do it. Ithuriel urges in my mind. Her aura is broken and hurting, it's not worth the risk of infuriating her, or damaging her further.
Composing my resolve, I twist myself around to face her, leaning back against the stiff rafters of the stable, my horse nickering next to my ear, desperate to be released into the glorious warmth of the day. I stroke it's muzzle tenderly. Just a little longer.
"So, what changed?" I breathe at last, pressing myself further backwards in a manner that is just bordering nonchalance, making it clear that is things go sour, I could leave just as easily as I came. This time, it's Mikhail's turn to freeze. She glances back round at me, pale blue face streaked with lines of wet and mournful tears, as though the sound of my voice had reduced her to such a state in a mere matter of seconds.
"He found you." I raise my brows, indicating her to continue with silent questioning.
"It was never my intent to be cruel to you. I may be a vampire, but I respect you elves, your kind have always been amiable to me in the past. But there was one night, the night before this whole ceremony had begun. Soren came back from hunting in the woods, he was ravenous, and crazed, infatuated by something or someone that he would not tell me about. He told me he would not marry me right then and there, and..." she breaks off, swallowing down bitter tears.
"And it broke my heart."
"That still doesn't change the fact you are leaving without me, though," Ithuriel sighs with a dramatic roll of his eyes, getting himself up off the armchair and dusting the remaining crumbs of bread off himself, sweeping them away with a long flick of his hands. He places his mug carefully on the coffee table. "You have gone alone to the Great forest twice now, and twice you have somehow gotten yourself in a tangled mess with Soren," he jokes now, dipping his head to indicate a particular exposed bite mark on my neck that my healing powers have yet to cover up. I blush a little, and Ithuriel shoots me another knowing look."I know just as well as you that a vampire's bite is addictive. Who is to say you won't stumble across the Prince in the woods and succumb to your desires? Yes Serena, I know what you have been doing with him. I cannot blame you for being infatuated with him, he is a gorgeous creature I will give you that," Ithuriel calls to me as he traipses to the bathroom to wash himself clean. I stick my tongue out at him from behind his back, withdrawing myself from the fireplace reluctantly to scoop up Soren's diary from the chair where Ithuriel left it. Tenderly, I rub over the bitemarks that still stand prominent on my neck, the flesh tender, soft, and pricked with red from the stains of my own blood. A little shudder runs through me."You make it sound like you want a piece of him too. Should I be jealous, now?" I jest, flicking through some of the pages absently as Ithuriel returns, patting his face off with a towel, his hair wet and glistening faintly from the quick shower."Maybe," he laughs, eyes twinkling, his hair shifting to a joyful golden hue. "Besides," he adds, motioning over to the book in my hands with a general, lax wave of his forefinger. "I think you might want me to explain a few things about Soren's diary. About Fangorn."I glance down at the book in my hands, towards the delicate golden binding, and the thin pages of manuscript, worn and yellowed from long days with a vampire's immortal time. Chewing on my lip, I debate my options ponderously:Let Ithuriel rest and potentially risk my life?Or bring Ithuriel with me and risk him collapsing from exhaustion?Neither of them sound particularly favourable, but it is immediately clear which is the lesser of the two evils."Okay fine, you can come. But as soon as we get back from whoever this Fangorn is, you are taking a nice long nap, capiche?"Ithuriel lowers his head, placing a broad hand over his heart with mock respect."It is an honour to serve you, my generous Queen," he says, half teasing, and I almost deliberate launching the diary at him, toying with it lightly between my fingers."Pftt, sure Ithuriel. An honour. Hurry up, then, we have until dusk to get in and out of the end, and I don't much fancy getting eaten alive by vampires," I sigh, rubbing my hand past my neck. Ithuriel rises and flashes me a cheeky grin."Now I bet Soren would hate to hear that."This time, I do lob the book at him. ***Ithuriel and I manage to find the palace stables before the sun has even reached half way in its due course across the sky. The stables span a sizeable length of the land behind the castle, and thus in tandem with the rotation of the sun, are shaded half the day, and rich with a glorious buttery light the other half. The sun is beaming in over the stables by the time we reach them, illuminating the glossy coats of the horses roaming freely in the paddock and casting a refreshing warmth over my skin, a much needed relief against the dull chill of the palace. Enough that, for a brief moment, I can forget the ailments of my bites and simply enjoy the natural splendour of the place, soaking up the warmth with a desperate hunger as it washes over my skin. I am not sure how long it has been since I was granted the luxury to do such a thing.It makes sense that a horse stable, one of distasteful aromas and dirtied animals, would not be a common dwelling place for vampires. Most of the residency consists of elven butlers tending to ill forgotten horses, who- the few Faey creatures who pride their appearance less than their ideals, can be seen riding horses around the lush green paddocks, or combing the fine locks of their hair under the bright warmth of the sun. I myself have been careful to attend to my own horses, feeding them most nights when I have a spare moment in the tedious hours of my day. It was a form of escapism on my first days here, a perfect ideal to help get away from the cramped musters of the palace, the intoxicating smell of blood and lulling perfume, and the tricksy antics of the Scarlet Prince, who on his good days would only stick to flirtatious comments in passing in the hallways.Yes, my two stallions certainly provided some solace.From where I am from, horses, especially white horses, are a prized possession. A symbol of royalty, and loyalty, as where I am from, 'to ride true' is not merely an expression of goodwill, but of honour too.It is therefore not surprising that amongst the smells of muddied animals and the sour smell of hay and fresh silage, I have never come across the Scarlet Prince here, either. For one of the more reasonable vampires though he be, he is still, indisputably, a vampire, and the rules of general vampirism would evidently still apply, preferring to smell of cleanliness and roses, and keep their long claws clean of anything except the blood in which they feast.These factors combined make it all the more surprising when I come across lady Mikhail, tending to her chestnut stallion in the stables next to ours.At first, a neutral oblivion passes between us, the determination to flit by each other without so much as a word staunchly obvious. But then, as I am prudently adjusting the saddling on my horse, and Ithuriel has begun to pace impatiently outside the stables- determined to remove himself from the overwhelming stink as quickly as possible, Mikhail speaks."I always thought I would have him, you know." she speaks into the air, neither of us overly concerned with turning round and facing the other, not with our brief and volatile history. I stiffen. Outside the stables, a scarce whimper can be heard from the white woodfox in response to her words, urging me with a desperate plea to ignore her, yet I listen anyway. I do not need to be an adnexo angel to hear the hurt practically dripping from her voice. Regardless of whether I am listening or not, she continues on anyway."We have known each other for centuries. Even when I was a child, I used to think: someday I am going to marry this man. And everyone used to think so too. I was the most beautiful vampire of Sezeria, I was adored, there was no disputing it." she trails off slightly, and I can hear from behind me her steady brushing on the horse's mane as it slows to a halt, filling the stables with a chasmal abyss of silence. It takes me a solid second to realise who exactly she is talking about: Soren. For a moment I stand there frozen in the half light of the day, a wintry chill spiking its way up my back, toying with myself whether or not to engage.Don't do it. Ithuriel urges in my mind. Her aura is broken and hurting, it's not worth the risk of infuriating her, or damaging her further.Composing my resolve, I twist myself around to face her, leaning back against the stiff rafters of the stable, my horse nickering next to my ear, desperate to be released into the glorious warmth of the day. I stroke it's muzzle tenderly. Just a little longer."So, what changed?" I breathe at last, pressing myself further backwards in a manner that is just bordering nonchalance, making it clear that is things go sour, I could leave just as easily as I came. This time, it's Mikhail's turn to freeze. She glances back round at me, pale blue face streaked with lines of wet and mournful tears, as though the sound of my voice had reduced her to such a state in a mere matter of seconds."He found you." I raise my brows, indicating her to continue with silent questioning."It was never my intent to be cruel to you. I may be a vampire, but I respect you elves, your kind have always been amiable to me in the past. But there was one night, the night before this whole ceremony had begun. Soren came back from hunting in the woods, he was ravenous, and crazed, infatuated by something or someone that he would not tell me about. He told me he would not marry me right then and there, and..." she breaks off, swallowing down bitter tears."And it broke my heart."
