Damien was looking down out of the large eight pane window of his manor, the velvet drapes served as a reminder of the dead body that was still lying in his room by the lounge chair. He will have the chair thrown out, it had speckles of blood on the covering of it's cushion.
He took a sip of his wine, and closed his eyes, his sharp ears picking up on all the sounds that disturbed the tranquility of his personal space. A maid was being scolded for her tardiness in the kitchen, the horses were stamping their hooves in the wake of the hail storm, and then were the noises which occurred in a working household. The sounds of utensils being moved, the swishes of brooms and dusters, swipes of the curtains being pulled and thuds of the windows being closed.
The storm would last for a few days, Damien sighed in disappointment. He wouldn't be able to go for hunting as he had initially planned to. At least he found an excuse for not attending the ball dance being held in the neighboring province. The only good thing about attending those galas and parties was getting laid once it was all over. Not that he needed them to have his needs fulfilled, any woman would fall at his feet if he asked for. But maybe that was his arrogance speaking, did it matter?
He finished the wine in his glass and kept it aside, taking a hold of the bottle instead. The butler had come to announce the arrival of a lady to interview for the post of a communicator. He was not gifted with kind words and assuring promises, he needed a person to put up the facade for him and communicate with the others through letters.
Taking a large gulp from the bottle he went to the bar that was situated in one corner of his chambers, stocked up with bottles upon bottles of alcohol. Wine, champagne, vodka, whiskey, gin..........everything that he might need to get through the night.
Replacing his bottle of wine with that of whiskey, he exited the room and proceeded to his study where the lady was asked to have a seat.
He couldn't have cared less if she was a whore from a brothel, or a daughter of a duke, he was utterly unconcerned about the way he was going to appear to her. Why had a woman came in again? He usually did not entertain women for official work that was anywhere close to relating with the throne or his people. Women absolutely could not be trusted with work of significance. The only reason he was entertaining her was perhaps the chance of bedding her if she was pretty.
And what was the harm in interviewing her? Other posts were open for her to try, like being a maid. Or mayhap a cook in the kitchen.
He took a few more large gulps from his whiskey as he walked down the hallway to his study. The large blackwood doors were carved with intricate designs that he despised from the bottom of his heart.
Taking another gulp he entered the room with the bottle still in his hand and closed the door behind him.
Elle, who was admiring the portrait of a woman which was mounted on the wall behind the large wooden bureau, turned around at the sound of the door opening.
Her gaze went over the man who had entered, going from his astray hair to the perfectly curved eyebrows that framed the deep red eyes, the color of which was very alike the red of her favorite wine, and for some reason she wished to get drunk under his stare. Her eyes then traveled to his his straight nose and high cheek bones, she would have admired his lips too, had he not brought the bottle in his hand to his lips.
His gait as he walked inside was perfectly fine, undrunk if one might, but she Elle was busy in taking in his large frame, his bulging biceps and thick trunk of a torso that descended to a considerably smaller waist.
As he walked in, so did his domineering aura, that seemed to make it hard to breathe. His bloodline was pure and it reflected not just in his form but also the way very air that surrounded him. She felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up in caution, the man before her was not a person to be played with. He reeked of alcohol and although he wasn't looking at her, she lowered her eyes in submission.
Damien looked at the woman who had stared at him with a very disapproving gaze, her eyebrows down in a frown as she pressed her lips in a condemnatory manner. As if she was disapproved of him being drunk, but like he cared?
He walked to his desk, sat down in the thronelike chair and placing the bottle on his desk. She bowed to him as was appropriate when greeting a man of his station and power. The King demanded respect, as did the throne.
She straightened again and looked at him, waiting for him to speak.
"Have a seat." He told her while looking into her eyes that seemed to shine from within. Through the haze of alcohol that was finally kicking in, he addressed her wavering form.
She sat down in the chair, facing him, her lips pursed together. Her legs crossed at the ankles rather than her knees and her hands lay in her lap.
"What's your name?" He asked her.
"Elle." she replied. Her voice was like velvet, so entrancing. She could keep on listening to a voice like his for her whole life.
She was momentarily overwhelmed by how handsome he looked. But looks were definitely deceiving, his soul, as she looked at him, appeared to be corrupt. A black shadow in place of a luminescent aura that enlightened a person from within.
"What makes you think you are qualified for the post?" He asked her, opening a drawer and taking out a folder of sorts he kept it in front of him.
"Um......I have studied literature and have also served as an assistant to Duke Milford."
"My, so I presume Milford sent you here?" he asked her and went through the document before him.
"Indeed. He suggested I interview here as he does not need a communicator or an archivist." she answered and and tried to pry her eyes of his face. She seemed to memorize his features on a blank page of her memory.
She was very self conscious of herself. For one, she was sitting afore one of the most influential people in the world, The vampire king. And she was in her worn out dress that was sullied by mud splashes. Her feet too were covered in shoes, the soles of which were flattened by overuse.
The Duke had paid her well, but all her income went to the rent of her house and to her meals. She had no relative or family, but that didn't mean that she didn't have expenses of her own. She would rather spend her pennies on books than on clothes.
" You were his archivist?" His piercing gaze suddenly looked up at her, boring straight in her eyes. She held her breath at the intensity of his gaze, he oozed of dominance, as if he knew that there was no one above him. But considering that he was the reigning monarch, it was no surprise.
She nodded her head, unable to muster up any words.
"Were you the one who handled all the letters being sent out of his mansion?" He asked and went back to reading the document.
"Yes milord." She answered him.
"Last month I received a letter from Milford, can you recite it's subject matter?" he asked her with a raised eyebrow. It was not a wonder that he was doubtful towards her. After all, she did not appear to be a lady capable of withholding a position as such. And in a man's world, the sad reality was that women will always be looked down upon.
"You were sent three letters milord, which one would you like me to remind you of ?" was her smart retort. As if questioning his memory was so going to work in her favor.
He glared at her and kept aside the open folder. As he leaned back in his chair, she was reminded again that she was dealing with the Lord of their kind, a King capable of killing at sight just for the fun of it without being questioned by anyone.
She gulped down and squirmed under his scrutinizing gaze, he interlocked his fingers and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair.
"The last one." he answered.
She seemed to have lost her breath and voice under his direct accusatory gaze. His voice held a promise that he one wrong word uttered would result in a lifetime spent in a dungeon.
He raised his eyebrow in question as he waited for an answer. A woman like her? All he could see of her now was a blurred form, but how dare she talk back like that?
"ummm, It was about the orphanage that is being opened in the southern part of the empire being administered directly by you. The date for the opening ceremony has been decided and your confirmation and approval is required to proceed further." She rushed with her words in a single breath. Her hands sweaty as she wiped them on her dress, her breath too was coming out in small pants.
He continued glaring at her for a few minutes, not uttering a word as she stared right into her eyes, making her jittery under his dangerous aura.
"You'll work for a week without a pay, if I am satisfied by your work you will be hired. For the time that you will serve me, you are required to stay in the manor. Ask the butler to appoint you a room in the servers quarters." he reached for the bottle, took a large swig and threw the now empty bottle in the waste basket.
She blinked at him a couple of times, trying to comprehend his words.
"Off you go, shoo" He ushered her out like an animal, her already flustered being stumbled as she got up and made her way to the door.
She ground her teeth in her fury, she could do nothing to calm the surging anger at being shooed off, but what could she do but curl up her fists and seethe in silence.
He was a king, she was an imposter. She could not afford to go against anyone in this empire..........yet.