The Throne of Blood Book One

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Written from the perspective of vampires in 19th Century English Court. A tale of forbidden love, secret affairs, consequences of one's choices, the pain of being duty-bound, and that life isn't fair. Sebastian Piper is vampire royalty, set to rule and govern his people during 19th Century England. As a role handed down through generations, he takes it with nothing but loathing and contempt. Selfish and a non-conformist, he settles in ready for a life of utter boredom..until he meets the stunning Miss Seraphine Yale, a beautiful fiery-haired recluse, who is betrothed to his friend. In an instant, his world is turned upside down, and suddenly she is all he wants, and the only thing he is certain, is that he will break every rule in the book to have her. Seraphine Yale, a beautiful, duty-bound woman is emotionally damaged by the loss of her mother as a child. Choosing not to mingle with society, she remains alone with her father a well-known merchant. In a backwater deal between him and the father of a green-eyed boy named Caelan, the two are set to marry. It is a deal she accepts whole-heartedly until she meets a raven-haired Prince, known only to her as the 'devil prince', showers her with forceful feelings, causing her to make decisions that damage both their lives, and the lives of all around them...

Romance / Fantasy
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Part One - Sowing the Seeds.

Chapter One - The Dark Castle.


It was a cool, crisp evening, and the sky was slowly but surely beginning its transition from day, to night. As I laid silent and still in the comforts of my soft and warm, large and wooden four poster bed, I thought deeply about only one thing: It was as though my tongue had possessed a mind of its own, for it would constantly shift to be directly under a new, sharp fang that had finally finished ripping excruciatingly through my young gums. It was the first of many pains, I knew, as my milk teeth would fall, and my adult teeth would take their place in my mouth. I was not worried about those teeth. It was the appearance of the second fang that had me fretting. When it would decided to grow in, which would be at a random time, like any tooth, my life would change, and I would no longer be an innocent little boy. So far, it had remained hidden.

Quickly deciding against staying in bed, I pushed back the covers, stretched my muscles out, ready for movement, and sat up. Still sleepy and groggy, I sat there for some time, fighting the desire to fall back down onto my bed and return to sleep.

Before I was able to calculate how long I had remained idle, a soft knock on my bedroom door was heard.

“Caelan, dear, are you awake?” Came the soft, quiet voice of my mother.

“Yes, Mother.” I replied, clearer than I truly felt.

As my mother slowly opened the door and stepped into my room, a sweet scent of sunflowers wafted in with her. It was a smell that had always managed to lift my spirits into something brighter, and the scent was soft enough just to cling to the air, not to soak it. Taking in a long, deep breath, I inhaled the scent. My heart and my mood lifted.

“Did you sleep well?” She asked as she closed the door.

“Yes, Mother.” I replied as I pushed myself from the bed and turned to her.

She stood before my armoire, with every intent to help me dress for the night. She was a very pretty woman, and at that time in my life, her beauty was unmatched. Her coppery hair was brushed to a shine and placed artistically around her head. There were many small twists and braids wrapped in such a manner that they looked like little roses. The style was completed was a singular hairpin, with a ruby rose on the top. Her face was pale and clear of any blemish. Her eyes, wide, doe-like, and as bright a green as well watered grass. For that night, she wore an olive green velvet gown that had puffed out sleeves and golden trimming around the bodice. It had laced up in the back, tied tight and neat. A white strip of lace, with a golden butterfly broach attached adorned her slender neck.

“Good.” She replied with a nod and a smile before opening the doors to the armoire and selecting my clothes.

Muttering quietly to herself, she selected a crisp white button-up shirt with puffy sleeves, a black vest with golden buttoning and some black trousers. Her lace necklace had slipped up her neck slightly, and I saw that at the base of my mother’s long neck were two deep, dark puncture wounds. I had seen these wounds on both of my parents over the short years that I had lived, I had always been curious about them and why they were there, but I never asked about them. It was not my place to know.

“It appears that my son is curious about my little wounds.” She laughed softly as she gently closed the door with the arm that was not draped with clothes, and smiled at me.

Unable to deny this fact, I blushed hotly and turned my face away, hoping to hide my embarrassment.

“Do no scowl so, my son.” She said softly. “You will ruin your handsome features.”

“Why are you injured?” I asked, choosing not to look at her, lest she see my irritation at her being hurt.

“Unfortunately, you are too young to be told such things.” She replied kindly as she moved toward me and sank down to my level. “But one day, when you are a fine and handsome young man, you will understand.”

My child’s mind had failed to understand my mother’s words that day. Most children would put away whatever they did not grasp, but I could not. I was a seeker of knowledge and a watcher. Not understanding something was always abhorrent to me.

“I understand your frustrations, Caelan,” My mother consoled as she stroked my hair. “but there comes a time when waiting can provide the best answers.”

Satisfied that her words had reached me, she pushed herself up, and flew about my room, pushing back curtains, straightening pillows, and smoothing bed-covers. With the tidying done, she tasked herself with dressing me for the night.

“You will be a very handsome young man.” She told me as we stood before my tall, narrow mirror, when I was neatly dressed and primed.

As I stared back at both of us, I felt as though I were staring at two versions of my mother, save my hair, I was in possession of her fine, and feminine features, her full lips, her fine brows, her high cheekbones, her slender nose and small forehead. I also had her bright grassy green eyes, but my hair was a deep chocolate brown. It hung straight and smooth around the base of my neck. I was given a deep side part, shortening the hair around my face to hang around my jaw. Looking back at myself, I felt old.

“Do you see yourself, Caelan?” She asked, as she too, stared at my reflection.

I nodded.

“You must always be clean and well-groomed. To be anything less would insult your beautiful looks. Remember that.”

“Yes Mother.” I replied, hearing the truth of it.

“You are ready to face the night.” She said upon taking in a fresh breath. “We are going somewhere special tonight.”

“Where?” I asked, as I turned my face away from my reflection, and up to my mother.

“You will see, Caelan.” She smiled, placing a hand on my shoulder and guiding me from my room.

Stepping out into the hallway, I saw that the heavy velvet curtains shielding the tall, narrow windows in the large entrance room below us. They had been drawn back to welcome the light of the moon. Many candles had been lit, including the ones sitting in the candle chandelier dangling from the roof.

As my mother and I moved down the wooden stairs, we spied my chocolate-haired father standing by one of the windows, staring out into the darkening night.

He was a tall, proud man. One who had the admiration of every being who had the pleasure of knowing him.

“Finley!” My mother called softly, when we reached the bottom of the stairs.

My father seemed to engrossed in his mind, and did not hear her call him.

“Finley!” She repeated louder, and with an amused laugh. “Finley!”

“Yes? What?” He replied with a start, blinking several times.

He turned around, and saw his wife with the smile on her face.

Dressed in a manner similar to myself, my father looked sharp and well-presented. His hair, was a deep brown like my own, but it was thick and full, tied away from his face with a black ribbon at the nape of his neck. His pale, clear face was crisp and clean-shaven. He was not as finely featured as I, nor were his eyes as large, but I had always considered him handsome.

“Ah, my Finley, always so deep into your mind.” My mother laughed.

“I am sorry.” He replied earnestly before giving her a wide smile. Both of his fangs were visible, and as I saw them, I thought about the lone one that had finally appeared in my own mouth. I would not tell them that it had grown in. I could not. At least, not at that time.

“How are you, Caelan?” He asked as he turned his sky blue eyes onto me.

“Fine, Father.” I replied.

“Good.” He nodded. “Let us leave, if you are ready to. I have called for the carriage.”

One of our maids stepped toward the heavy wooden double doors, and pulled them both open for us. Outside, the air was cool and fresh. The sky head darkened, and millions of shining stars accompanied the full moon, as they worked together to brighten the night.

The family manor was situated on the edge of a thriving forest, away from the hustle and bustle of populated towns. It had been built by my father’s ancestors, and would fall to every male born into the family to become its lord, to look after it with his wife and family. Eventually, that would include me.

The dark, but pretty carriage, bearing our family crest on its door sat and waited. Two steel grey clydesdale horses were strapped both to it, and to each other.

“Goin’ ta see Master Piper and his family, are we Sir?” The skinny, old driver asked as he pulled open the door, revealing a dark, navy blue velvet interior, complete with one small lamp hanging from the ceiling for light.

Mother prodded me toward the carriage, and lifted me over the flimsy step and into the interior. I took my seat next to the other door, and watched my father as he offered a hand to my mother. Taking it, she grabbed a fistful of the skirt from her gown, she lifted it up so she could step up unhindered. Shifting across and next to me, she smoothed her skirts and pushed back a stray hair.

The carriage dipped slightly as my father stepped in, to sit opposite my mother, before he reached for the door.

It took several long moments for the driver to seat himself at the front of the carriage and ready the horses taking us to where we were to be. Finally, a soft crack was heard, and we lurched along. With little else to do, I looked out beyond the small glass window and watched the large water fountain beside us slowly moved by as we turned around it, and headed toward the gates that closed our manor away from the world.

Rocking and clattering along as we slowly made our away to ‘Master Piper and family’, I was rife with boredom. Carriage rides were stifling and incredibly dull. There was very little to see beyond a vast expanse of land, land that was darkened by the night. On long journeys such as this, I had taken to imagining what the land, nature, and the seasons looked like during the day, when the sun was out. Bright whites of winter, vibrant colours of the rainbow in spring, happy shades of green, yellows and blues in summer...

In imagining these happy things, I recalled a most painful memory. As a mere child of four years old, I had been curious to see what the world was like, bustling with the lives of people, and to how differently the world had looked while I slept. Full of excitement and wonder, I had retired at the crack of dawn, and slept only four hours before I forced myself awake. As I opened my eyes, the sheer brightness of the sun against white walls was a bitterly uncomfortable feeling for my eyes. They had ached and complained, but in my bid to see the world, I fought against the desire to shut my eyes and left my bed to explore. Passing my doors to my small balcony, the sun had ferociously attacked my eyes, causing me extreme pain, giving me a pounding headache around my forehead, and temporary blindness. I remember crying out then, closing my eyes so tightly and fighting against a wave of nausea. Feeling my way around my bed and to the door, I had deemed it safe to open my eyes once more.

An ordinary, less curious child would have thought the adventure too painful to continue, and would have retired back to bed. Doing so would have been a wise decision for me to make, but I had really wanted to venture outside just once. So, I waited for the nausea to take its leave, and for my sight to return, before I set off once more.

It took several moments for my vision to return to me. I went from seeing nothing but darkness, to seeing shadows, to forms, to colour, until finally, to a higher detail.

Confident that my vision could get me by without hindering me, I stretched out and pulled open my door. As I stepped into the hallway, I saw that the manor was closed and sleeping. The velvet curtains were closed, preventing any and all light from out of doors seeping in. It was dark and silent as I excitedly made my way down the stairs, eager to be outside, so that I could see the world when it was supposed to be seen.

Bounding youthfully across the room to the curtain shielding the glass doors, I grabbed the curtain, and pulled it aside. I felt the warmth of the sun on my knuckles as I did this, which had only fuelled my desire to see the day.

What I had not expected, however, was for the sun to be gleaming right through the glass and into my face. The sun was the brightest thing I had ever seen, as was it was the most beautiful. It was not the bright, gleaming yellow that I had read about in books. It was in fact a cream colour. Beyond the sun, I had not the chance to glimpse at outside before the sudden brightness caused my head to ache monumentally, as the nerves behind my eyes felt like they had simply exploded. I had wailed loudly whilst suffering this agony. My body’s self-defence mechanism had taken control of my body then, forcing me back into the protection of a velvet curtain at the far side of the room. The dizziness brought on by the heat and brightness, forced upon me a violent illness, losing all contents of my stomach onto the wooden floor.

“Oh! Little Master!” One of the housemaids wailed as I heard her running across the room. “Are you alright?”

I found that I could not answer her, as my mouth felt filthy, and I was grossly ashamed that a mere maid saw me at my most vulnerable time.

“Good heavens, you’ve been sick, too. Never mind. Let’s get you back to bed.”

She reached for my hand and moved to lead me along, but I could not move.

I shook my head as gently as I could, lest the movement cause the pain in my head to worsen, if that were even possible. I continually rubbed at my eyes, trying to see anything beyond darkness.

“What is happening out here?” Came the voice of my father, probably from atop the stairs.

“I do not know, Sir.” The maid replied nervously as she turned to face him. “I was asleep, then I heard the young sir wailing in pain. I came out here to see why this was so, and he was huddled in the corner before a pile of sick rubbing at his eyes...”

“Why is the curtain open?” My father asked, as it sounded like he was descending from the stairs.

“I do not know.” She said again. “They were like that when I got here.”

“Close them, and clean up the sick. I will deal with my son.”

There was a moment of silence before I heard the scraping of the curtains, and pattering of feet hurrying away.

“What have you done to yourself, Caelan?” I heard my father ask gently. I fought with the sudden desire to cry.

Perhaps I had frowned, because my father gently patted me on the head, a notion that caused my head to thunder painfully with each pat.

“Did you try to see outside while the sun was out?” He asked.

I nodded gingerly.

“Oh, Caelan.” My Father sighed understandingly. “Unfortunately, the sights and sounds of the day are not for us. We cannot even hope to try...we are enemies to the sun and day, so we must function when the world sleeps.”

“Why?” I questioned as my eyelids burned with friction.

“That is just how we were born to be.” He replied. “I cannot begin to wonder why we are what we are, simply just live with it. I am sorry, Caelan...”

There was a silence for reflection, before the maid returned to clean up the sick that was somewhere in front of me.

“I fear something else happened to him, Sir.” She added as I heard the sloshing of water and a plop of a wet cloth hit the floor. “I tried to move him earlier, and he wouldn’t move.”

My Father was silent for a moment, I assumed he was inspecting me.

“Caelan, open your eyes and look at me.” He told me. I ceased the rubbing at my eyes and tried to locate the exact position of his voice. I saw nothing but black.

“Oh no! He looked right passed you, Sir. What is wrong?”

“He has been blinded.” My father said correctly.

“Oh no!” The maid squawked. “Is it permanent?”

“I should think not.” He replied as he seized me around my waist and lifted me high up until I sat uncomfortably on his hip. As the movement was made without my vision, a new wave on nausea attacked me, and I did not want to lose more stomach content all over my parent.

Though my father had been right in saying that my vision loss was not a permanent thing, I remained sightless and indisposed with a migraine for three days hence.

Focusing back on to the present, and to the dull carriage ride, I glanced out of the small window with a sigh, and noticed that we were presently rolling through a small village. The road was cobbled, and the carriage jarred and clacked over it. Tall black lamps lit the road for travellers, shining brightly in contrast with the dark night. Small huts and dingy houses lined the road as we passed by. Inside, I saw that the inhabitants had their lamps lit, not yet ready to retire.

On the dirty streets, however, there were many ragged, thin people wearing old, and torn clothes, old shoes with holes and no soles, or simply no shoes at all. They were covered in dirt and other filth, and looked to be very ill. Even the dogs and cats along the streets were thin, matted and ragged, and even feral. As I watched the sight of the vulnerable people, my heart sank and ached for them. The air was far too chilly to brave the streets unprotected. What had frightened me more, was that winter was not yet upon us, and that when it came, most of these people would die alone and out in the snow, unloved and unknown.

“Yes, it is a sad thing to see, isn’t it?” My father asked. I turned from the sad sight outside and looked at him. “So many people without a home, no family, no friends, no food... that, is hell.”

Turning my face back to the village, I looked out and mentally nodded. Yes, this village was hell. How could there be so much pain and suffering in the world? Was there no one to care?

An angry urchin saw the coming of our carriage and took it upon himself to hurl a rotten tomato at us. It splattered in a mess of chucks and juice as it slid slowly down the window and back to the ground. Curious to see why this man had shown us this sporadic act of violence, I turned my head and looked to the narrow glass window at the back of the carriage, and saw that young children not much older than I scrambling and fighting over who would win the rights to eat the splattered rotten fruit. Yes, I felt as though I were riding through hell.

“I want to get out of here.” I answered as the sadness and empathy for these people was quickly overwhelming me.

My mother slid her arm comfortingly around my shoulders and gently drew me to her. The warmth of her body, and the sweet scent of her perfume was still clinging to her skin, and it calmed me.

“I know it hurts when you see people struggling to stay alive, when there are people like us who live comfortably not too far by, who could ease their suffering.” My mother consoled as she stroked my hair softly.

“That it why we receive hostility like that.” My father added sombrely.

It was then that I wished I had a basket full of bread. Christmas was nearing, and I believed that they deserved to have something in their lives worth looking forward to. It saddened me greatly to know that, currently, they did not. They cared little if they lived or died. In fact, I believed that many of them wished they could die to save themselves from their own lives. In all the books that I had read about poverty and human suffering, none had prepared me for seeing such things first-hand.

As the carriage rolled on, and an exit was in sight, I could not have been more relieved. I remember, that at that time, I had hoped never to see such sights for as long as my life was lived. It had, of course, been a sincere hope, and was not by any means, a reality.

After departing from the village, the interior of the carriage was silent and still, each of us preoccupied by our own thoughts. Try as I might, I could not rid my mind of the boy who had preemptively thrown the rotten fruit at us. His emotions, though hostile, were raw and honest. Was there cause for it? I believed so. For if the social statuses were reversed, I was certain that I would have behaved in the same manner. In fact, I found myself appalled at the blatant disregard for the underprivileged by the lords and ladies of the region.

“Caelan,” My mother called quietly. I was broken out of my rage. “Do not let it get to you so.”

“But, it irks me that there is no support for them. In most cases, it is by no fault of theirs that they end up on the streets. We have more than enough money, so why do we not help them out?” I asked as my brows knitted together.

“Because there are those who would take advantage of that charity to indulge, rather than to help themselves.” My father added.

“But there are some that would not.” I challenged.

“You would be correct, but it is difficult, if not impossible, to know which people you would be right to help. Each one tells you that they desire money for food, water, or medicine. Who is telling you the truth, and who is not? It is impossible to know.”

Though my father’s words were logical and wise, they were unacceptable to me. ‘It is better to have tried and failed, than to have not tried at all.’ Grudgingly, I left the disagreement alone. I did not like confrontation of any form, and I knew better than to cause it.

For the duration of the journey, we remained mute and reserved.

Finally, after what had indeed felt like a lifelong carriage ride, we had moved off to the right, and slowed to a halt before a large and wide cast-iron gate.

“The Stone family are here at the request of His Majesty, sir Piper and family.” The driver called to the gatekeeper who moved along the closed gate to get a better view of us, and, satisfied that we were indeed the stated family, moved to open the gates.

"His Majesty...?” I thought, completely and utterly dumbstruck.

This ‘Sir Piper and family’ were royalty? My father was friend to a king? I found myself staring disbelievingly to my father, who simply gazed at me and smiled warmly, absolutely comfortable. I then turned my face up to my mother, but she too was calm and collected. I, however, was unravelling slightly.

With the gates now fully open, the driver cracked the horses onward and we moved off with another uncomfortable jerk.

The sound of the horses hooves pattering on the dirt road beneath us, and the rickety sound of the wooden wheels could not have been louder as these sounds drew us closer to the royal family.

Curious to see what kind of a place a royal family inhabited, I pulled away from my mother and peer out of the small windows. The expanse of land that was rolling passed us was awe-inspiring. There were beautiful, tall and old trees, perfectly tended shrubs and plants, and pretty little flowerbeds.

My awe was heightened when the mansion itself rolled in to view. It was building that could only be described as a castle. Its masonry was dark and ominous, the manor was at least double the size of ours.

The carriage took another right turn and slowed to a halt before the porch.

“We have arrived.” My father announced as he pulled down the small handle, and pushed open the door. I leaned forward passed my mother to get a better view of the manor. Small lamps had lit the way to the entrance like a bridge of light. The doors were tall and heavy-looking like our own, and there were two plant-pots on either side of the doors, probably to add some colour to the otherwise dreary place.

Fresh out of the carriage, my father paced back and forth for a time, trying to get the blood to flow back into his legs after all that sitting.

He was lending his assistance to mother as she too descended the carriage, when a tall, and frightfully thin man emerged from beyond the heavy doors to greet us. He was elderly, but well dressed, wearing a black shirt buttoned close to the neck, and deep grey trousers, with clean and polished black leather shoes.

“His Majesty welcomes the Stone family to his abode, and hopes that you will have a pleasant stay.” He greeted with a deep bow as my mother lifted me from the carriage and placed me gently on the ground before her.

I was immensely relieved to be free of the contraption, taking greedy lungfuls of the fresh night air, and tried to move my legs inconspicuously as they were stiff and complaining.

“Where is the delightful fellow?” My father laughed, look passed the man and toward the door.

“He and Lady Regan are currently away, fulfilling some... needs, sir. They should be back within the hour.”

“Have we arrived too soon?” My mother asked.

“Oh, no Mum. I have been instructed to invite you indoors so that you may wait in warmth and comfort.”

The man bowed deeply once again as he outstretched his arm toward the door. My father smiled kindly at the man and led my mother and I down the bridge of lamps toward the manor. He pushed back the wooden doors and stepped inside.

Inside, the manor was as dreary as it had looked on the outside. Small candles, and oil lamps were lit in an attempt to light the otherwise dim and dark interior. The first and most obvious thing I had noticed was the large, wooden staircase in the middle of the room. It was a grand staircase, fitting in the house of a king. At either side of the staircase sat two flat-leaved plants, probably there to an some colour to the otherwise dark and dull room.

To the left and right side of the room sat two dark, velvet, heart-shaped settees, with small square wooden tables next to them. On each little table sat a cluster of small, lit candles.

Around the room, I noticed that there were several portraits of a dark-haired family, or of the young children, and even one of a dark-haired couple. These people were unrecognisable to me.

I did, however, find myself staring at a portrait of the fair-haired young girl, who, in the painting, was around my age, as was the young male I had seen in another painting. He had looked mischievous, bratty, and arrogant. But the young girl had looked shy, but kind. She had oval-shaped, steel grey eyes, thick, but well-defined light brown brows, her lips were full, but innocent, her nose small but well structured, high cheekbones and a small chin. Her fair hair, that looked to be quite thick and heavy, was woven into a wide braid and brought over her shoulder. It had streaks of light brown through it, and I assumed it to be quite long because the ends were not seen in the portrait, nor was what she was wearing, beyond a black lace collar around her neck. I thought that she had looked like a porcelain doll.

“Do you like her?” My father asked as he moved to stand beside me. I looked from the pretty girl to him. He gave me an amused smile.

“Of course not!” I spat, tossing my head away from him, burning with embarrassment.

“Her name is Princess Leslie Faye Piper.” He added. “She looks like her father, but she got her finer features from her mother of course.”

“Yes,” My mother agreed as she too had suddenly appeared. “She will have many men swooning over her when she grows into a woman.”

To my surprise, I felt my heart sink at the thought as I stared up into those grey eyes, and to the face that was gently smiling at me.

The creaking of the door hinges behind us alerted us to the presence of other people and we turned toward the noise to find a broadly built, fair-haired man dressed entirely in black, and a small, slender woman with hair as dark as the night itself, bound in a singular braid around her head, walk through the door, bringing with them the cool air, and a slight smell of blood.

“My goodness, did you see the old man running like he had seen the bowels of hell?” The lady laughed as she allowed her husband to remove her coat for her. Under it, she had sported a sky blue gown, similar in design to my mother’s, only her gown was silken, and her sleeves ended at her elbows with white lace trimming.

“Poor man.” He male laughed loudly.

Turning to head up the staircase, they noticed us and stopped in their tracks. As I looked at these powerful people, and saw that both of their lips were tinted red with what I could only have assumed to be blood. It was not a sight I was frightened of, however, because on the nights that my own parents would return after being away for hours, they too sported this look.

“Ah, Finley! Lady Elise! You have arrived.”

“That we have, Solomon.” My father replied as shifted around me and took the lord’s hand.

“Elise!” Cried the lady happily as she stepped passed her husband to hug her friend affectionately. “We do not see enough of one another.”

“I fear not.” My mother laughed as she returned the affection willingly.

“And who is this strapping young man?” The lady inquired as she sank down to my level. I could smell no perfume coming from her, only the faint smell of blood. It had smelled divine.

“I am Caelan, Lady.” I replied timidly. These people that my parents seemed to be friends with, had frightened me with their outgoing, loud attitudes.

“I am Lady Piper.” She answered with a gentle smile. “I had the misfortune of marrying that man over there.”

“The woman lies young one.” The man laughed as he turned his grey eyes to me. “Take a lesson: women are horrid creatures, who, with one look can sap your soul!”

I could not have disagreed more, but I dared not voice my thoughts to this man who frightened me so.

“Speaking of women, where are my children?” He asked the man who had entered indoors and was standing at the far end of the stairs.

“Young Sebastian is in the library with the Governess, and Miss Piper has not yet risen, sir.”

“Is she still ailed?” He asked as his smile fell.

“Yes, sir, though her fever has broken.”

“Ah, that’s my girl.” He replied with a wide smile, clearly relieved by this news.

“Your daughter is unwell, Solomon?” My mother asked, full of concern.

“She has been for many days, Elise.” He answered, all manner of jest gone. “The girl loves horses, you see. She went out riding with the stable-boy during the rains, staying out until sunrise. She returned to us soaked to the bone and burning up.”

I found myself deeply disappointed that I would not get to see Miss Piper during this visit. I had very much looked forward to meeting the girl in the painting.

“Oh my.” My mother gasped as she covered her mouth.

“We hope for her swift recovery.” My father added solemnly.

“Thank you.”

There was a short but heavy silence as every mind in the room rested on the ailing Princess. I, too, hoped for her recovery.

“Come, my dear.” Lady Piper chimed, breaking the silence. “Our guests have travelled some way, and are no doubt hungry.”

“Oh, of course!” He agreed, as if to remember that we had needs. “Come, the eating room is upstairs.”

The king led all of us up the carpeted stairs, and guided us to the large open room on the right. This room had no door, but a wide wooden archway. There was a long narrow table with many chairs around it in the middle of the room, before a lit fire in the stone hearth that was built into the left wall.

Two large glass doors were left wide and open. Beyond them lay an arched balcony with stone fencing, and some cast iron furniture either side of the stone staircase that led down into the endless expanse of garden. A cobbled pathway was laid out so that you could walk the gardens if it had pleased you to do so. I found myself wondering just how much garden there really was to explore.

The king sat at the head of the table, his back to the doors, his wife sat to his left, followed by my father, then my mother, and at the end of the table, myself.

Conversation fluttered about the the table, which had included many things I was unable to understand, so I had taken the time to examine the finely decorated china dinner sets, and to stew on how positively starving I was.

“My son!” The Lord greeted happily. Conversation had momentarily ceased as the young prince had entered the room. “Come, greet our guests!”

I received a cold and hateful glare as the dark-haired prince passed me to stand by the fire to chase away the chill of the house. He had looked to be around the same age as I was, and like his father, he too wore dark clothes. He had worn a dark tie under his stripped vest and over his dark shirt. His skin was pale, his eyes were dark and hard, his lips, small and narrow, his nose, was long and defined. His hair was thick and curly, hanging about his collarbone.

As I watched him, I sensed that he was a person of aggression and hostility.

“I hope you enjoy your stay.” He said, rather rudely. I had been right as I looked upon his portrait. This boy was arrogant and bratty indeed. I found myself hoping that he would mellow out as he grew. “I am certain an introduction is unnecessary.”

“There is one person present that does not know you, Sebastian.” His father told him sternly. “Introduce yourself properly.”

Sighing and rolling his eyes, the boy turned to me.

“My name is Sebastian. I have a younger sister who is currently delirious with fever. Who are you?”

“My name is Caelan.” I replied politely with a low dip of my head.

“I am pleased to have met you.”

“That is better.” Sebastian’s father said with approval. “Now, come and sup with us.”

Sebastian bowed deep and straight at his father before complying. I had hoped that he would not choose to sit next to me, but alas, my hope was not granted. I fought the urge to shift away from him, but I did not, out of sheer politeness.

With Sebastian comfortably seated, conversation resumed post-haste. I took to watching the embers of the fire rise and burn out. I found this to be exponentially relaxing.

“Are you not going to talk?” The young prince asked. There was an irritation in his voice, and I supposed that it could only come from his dislike of being ignored.

“Preferably not.” I replied nonchalantly.

“Why not?” He probed. “Do you not know how to commune? Are you an invalid?”

A dangerously violent anger boiled inside me as the young prince flung insults at me. This boy was being inconceivably rude, and I was deeply insulted. I wondered at whether his manners were still in his mother’s womb, or if they had not even been conceived at all.

It seemed, however, that luck had been on the prince’s side this night, as the introduction of food saved him from hearing my retort.

As the plate was placed in front of me, I saw that it was a large piece of beef cooked rare, as there was a wonderful puddle of blood around the meat. Next to it, sat three boiled potatoes cut like a lotus with a dollop of soured cream in each one, and an assortment of garden vegetables.

“I took the liberty of telling my cooks that you enjoyed your beef rare.” The king told me. “I hope this decision does not displease you, Caelan.”

“Oh, no, not at all. Thank you for the courtesy.” I replied earnestly.

To my surprise, a goblet filled with what looked and smelled like blood was placed before me. All children who had not grown both of their fangs were often given blood in this manner, for the desire of blood begins at birth, and continues on until the minute of your demise.

It took an enormous amount of effort not to pick up the glass and pour its contents down my throat in three large gulps. This blood had not come from my parents, so I felt hesitant and nervous about accepting such a charity from somebody else.

“You look confused, Caelan.” The young prince laughed menacingly.

“Caelan,” Came the quiet voice of my mother on my other side. “It is alright. You may drink the blood if you are thirsty.”

“I do not wish to drain another family’s supply.” I replied, feeling very much torn. The blood sat neatly and still in the goblet, taunting me with its delicious smell and promise of good taste.

“Elise, is there a problem with your son?” Asked the king. “He has gone very pale.”

“He is hesitant to drink the blood, Sire.” My mother answered.

“Whatever for?” He was taken aback by my hesitancy.

“Because it has not come from our home, and he does not wish to accept such a charity outside of it.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “I give you permission as your King, to drink the blood, Caelan. Our donors are willing ones. They do not die from blood loss.”

I looked reassuringly toward my mother once more, who gave me an inconspicuous nod. Taking the goblet in my hand, I took it to my lips and sampled the blood. It was warm, bitter and slippery on my tongue, obviously freshly donated. As the first mouthful slid down my throat, it was as if the taste had woken a ravenous beast inside me, and I desired more. With each new swallow, I felt the tension I did not know I felt, slowly evaporate, and a sense of satisfied happiness take me. At the end of the glass, I felt calm, light, satisfied, and pleased.

Next to me, the prince had also received a glass, with which he took no manners in consuming, he had scooped it up and wolfed it down with great gulping sounds.

Feeling every eye on him, he lowered his glass, blood smeared all around his top lip and noted his parents’ bitterly disapproving looks. He seemed not to care, as he lifted his glass, and drained the rest.

It was by sheer and utter absent-mindedness that I had picked up my serviette and offered it to him, which he took and wiped his mouth clean and offered to give it back.

I shook my head and waved my hand. He shrugged and placed it under his dinner plate, away from view.

Light and pleasing conversation bounced about the table once more as meals were eaten, and dessert, of a chocolate cheesecake was enjoyed. Maids came in soon afterward and cleared the table of dirty dishes.

“That was delightful!” Lady Piper announced happily. “I shall personally go and thank Grace when our guests return home.”

My meal was also delicious and satisfying, and I too, wanted to find this Grace and thank her.

“I believe that Elise and I shall go and wander the gardens. I am sure the adult males around the table will go and discuss whatever it is you men discuss.”

She turned toward the prince and I.

“Caelan, dear.” She smiled. “I shall leave you in the care of my son. Is that a bother to you?”

I shook my head, though being left in his care had bothered me greatly. He too, for I heard a disapproving growl burst from his throat. Lady Piper replied simply by tilting her head to the side slightly and raising her eyebrows threateningly. The prince sighed and had lost the battle.

As if to follow in the actions of lady Piper, those left still sitting pushed back their own chairs. My father and the king departed up the singular staircase to the right, my mother and the lady, talking amongst themselves, walked through the glass doors and down the stone staircase, leaving me to struggle with the awkwardness of dislike, alone.

A long, heavy silence descended as we sat at the table, the crackling of the fire served as our only distraction.

“So...” The prince began awkwardly. “Since I have to entertain you like a random mutt, we may as well converse, or something...”

“You have a lovely home.” I said nonchalantly after a short silence. I had not wanted to ‘converse’ at all. I had wanted to find a good book and read until we were ready to go home.

“Eh,” He replied with a shrug. “I think that it is too big for the four of us and the servants. It grows rather silent here.”

I sighed inwardly. This was going to be a long, disagreeable conversation. I abhorred such things.

“So...” He repeated after another silence. “You will be staying here for a few days, then?”

“Most likely.”

It would be asking too much of my mother and I to travel here and home again in one night, given that the journey had lasted several hours.

“You know what?” He snapped after another bout of silence passed us. “I cannot be the only person trying at a conversation! If you do not wish to talk to me, so be it! You are lost!”

With that, he pushed back his chair and stomped through the room, up the stairs, and out of sight. Relief flooded through me. I was not interested in pretending to be friendly with a person I did not like. It was hypocritical and manipulative. I was neither of those things.

Just as I was debating what to do next, a maid had wandered into the room with a damp cloth and bucket.

“Excuse me, ” I began as I pulled my hair from my eyes with my hand. “but is there a place I can go to read?”

“Oh yes!” She replied enthusiastically. “The Piper manor has an extensive library. It is just up those stairs, and is behind the door on the back wall. It is unmissable.”

“Thank you.” I said as I turned and moved up the stairs.

The third floor was, unsurprisingly like the parts of the manor that I had already seen. Dark and dreary. On this floor, there were large wooden doors standing from roof to floor in the middle of the wall. There were no windows, nor other doors on that wall, so I had found myself quietly wondering what room could be so big that it took up that much room.

As I moved along the floor, I found that there were two doors on end walls behind which could be a library. There was the door directly in front of me, or there was the door down the hallway to the left. Taking a gamble, I chose the door directly in front of me.

Nervously, I rested my hand on the iron handle and turned it slowly. I expected it to be entirely the wrong door, ending up in someone’s bedchambers, but, as the door clicked, and I gingerly pushed it open, I noticed that there was a wall-sized bookcase to the right of the door. Confident that I did, in fact, choose the right door, I opened it fully.

It was as though I had simply died of joy and was now floating around in the spirit world. The walls were completely and entirely covered with books. There were small windows for some natural light of course, but bookcases had been made to fit around them. There were candles lit on iron stands about the corners of the rooms to offer more light. The room itself was minimal in furniture, having only two large settees facing each other in the middle of the room, and a small desk and stool under the back window.

I had been so engrossed in my glee at the room, that I had failed to notice the presence of another being. Their back was shown to me, so features were not seen, but this person was wearing white, had pale skin, and fair hair.

“I am so sorry!” I fumbled as a deep embarrassment took hold. “I did not see you here!”

“Wait.” The person said softly. Their voice was a whisper, and barely audible. “Who are you?”

“My name is Caelan Stone.” I answered as I straightened. “I am visiting this manor.”

“I see...” They replied thoughtfully, but not before falling into a fit of coughs that had sounded like the bark of a dog.

“I am sorry,” They said, gasping for air when the fit had passed. “I am ill, you see...I did a foolish thing, and am now paying the price. Is that not awful?”

The person did not move to look at me, but slid down the settee just enough for me to see that the white item of clothing was a nightgown, worn by women. My heart bounced in my chest like a large ball, and I fought with my facial muscles, as they wanted to smile with glee. It was her!

“Perhaps your bed should be the place for you to be.” I offered, though I did not want her to leave at all. I wanted her to remain, so that I could finally meet the girl in the portrait.

“I have spent four days in the blasted thing. If I spend one more, I will lose my mind.” She said as she shook her head carefully.

“Why are you in the library?” I asked, unable to fight my curiosity.

“Because this is the coolest room in the manor. I feel like I am on fire.”

It was only as she said it that I realised, she was indeed correct. Air seemed to flow cooler in this room than any other. I wondered why this was.

To my great discomfort, a long silence passed by us. I was not accustomed to making conversation, and was scraping my mind for conversational topics, but could come up with none. I had not wanted to talk about myself, largely because that was a topic I disliked.

“I would sit up and face you, Mister Stone, but I am terribly dizzy, and my body aches as though I am a hundred years old...”

“Do not trouble yourself.” I said earnestly as I closed the door behind me, finally realising that I had been standing there like an oaf with the thing wide open.

“There is another settee over there.” She said as she weakly pointed toward the other settee in front of hers. It fell limply to her side, as if the sheer effort of pointing had been exhausting. “Please, sit.”

I could do nothing but oblige.

As I moved to the seat, I could feel her eyes watching me. Turning to sit, I saw that the girl was indeed Miss Piper, and that her steel grey eyes were watching me with a severity that had made me mightily uncomfortable. I also saw that her pale skin was covered in a feverish dew, and that her lips were badly cracked and dried. I was correct in thinking that her hair was very long, however, for it sat in a thick braid over her shoulder and looked like a long snake as it rested down her front.

“I look hideous.” She laughed weakly, before fighting the urge to cough once more. “You can admit it.”

“You just look sick.” I replied honestly. I did not think she was hideous at all.

“And you look like an exact replica of your mother.” She retorted with a smile.

“You know my mother?” I asked curiously.

“Oh, yes. Your Father too. They come here often.”

“I see...”

“So tell me. Why did you come here?”

“Because my parents whisked me along.” I answered.

“I know that.” She laughed weakly. “Why did you come here... to the library?”

I felt like a fool. Of course she had meant the library. Though I was thoroughly enjoying this conversation with her, I felt myself intelligence and wit slowly leaving me. When it was time for this to end, I truly felt that I would leave the room a blubbering simpleton.

“I was hoping to catch a read.” I admitted.

“Oh, well, do not let my presence hinder you.” She said as she waved a hand toward the bookcases in front of her.

“My mother has built this library to quite an extensive length. I am sure you will find many books to pique your interest.”

I stood and moved toward the indicated bookshelf, and scanned the spines. Miss Piper was right in saying that the library was extensive. There were many books, ranging any topic or genre.

“So, what do you do for entertainment?” I asked, scanning the bookshelf.

“Lie about and become ill, it seems.” Once again, she tried to laugh, but this it came as a series of dog-like barks.

Leaving the bookcase, I moved to step toward her, to help her sit up so that she did not choke on the filth rubbishing her lungs, but she had already pushed herself up, and raised a hand to halt me and continued to cough. This time, this coughing fit lasted longer than the one before. When it was over, she fell back weakly, and tried to take in big breaths, but as she exhaled each time, her breath came out in shallow wheezes. I frowned slightly. Her lungs were in a bad condition.

“You look frightened.” She observed.

I had chosen to remain silent after her statement, lest I confirm what she had already known to be true.

“I shall answer your question... I like to draw... whether or not I am actually good at it is another conversation entirely.”

She stopped and looked at me, as if waiting for a response. Feeling under pressure and mightily uncomfortable, I wondered if she was waiting for some form of validation. I saw no need for that.

“You are not a conversationalist, are you?” She asked with an amused smile after another silence.

“I am sorry.” I apologised with a shrug. “Truthfully, I am a very boring person.”

“On the contrary!” She argued. “I have been watching your body language closely, and it has told me many things about you. You may not say much, but your body speaks volumes.”

Once again, I saw no need to comment, and turned back to the bookcase behind me in search of a distraction, more so than a read.

“I am making you very uncomfortable.” She continued. “And you are unsure of how to act.”

“You are a very good people reader.” I replied, as she had been very right.

“I have to be. I am royalty. While we are highly respected by most, there are some that would disagree with our methods, and would do us harm. Reading people is the best way to discover one’s true intentions.”

The royal family of our kind was, in all ways, the law. Keeping the rest of us in line, and honourable toward the humankind was their sole role. Most adhered to, and respected them greatly. Any who did not, or broke the rules, were dealt with accordingly.

Feeling that she was watching me closely once more, I bent down and selected a factual book about vampires. ′The Truth About the Shadow Lurkers.′ Shadow lurkers? How curious.

Shrugging, I turned and sat back on the settee, before beginning the book.

Several hours slipped by, and I continued to read the book I had officially named as ‘The Book of Utter Nonsense.’

In it, the writer had described my kind as never aging, and immortal. He had validated this statement, saying that one can be ‘turned’, and that any human turned would remain as he was for all of eternity. In another chapter that supposedly contained facts about our behaviour and other mannerisms, he had explained that we were a violent and unpredictable race that possessed an inability to care about the ’fragility of humans., and, because we were technically ‘dead’, we lacked the ability to reproduce, and so, to expand our people, we would victimise humans, and bite them. They would then suffer a long and painful transition. He had also written that we were night walkers, simply because we would burn to ash if the sun caught us unawares.

In actual fact,our race and could do none of those things. We were not never aging and immortal, we did, in fact age at the same rate as a human, and we were certainly not immortal. There was an end to our timeline, just like any other living organism.

One also could not be ‘turned’. There was no such term. Vampires were conceived in the exact same manner as humans, and by vampirirc parents who loved each other. Therefore, we did not lack the ability to reproduce by any means. Nor were we dead. We were warm-blooded creatures just like humans, and other mammals. Our hearts beat, pumping normal, red blood through us, and we possessed emotions, once again, just like all humans and animals. We suffered in life, just like they did.

As for our inability to function during the day, it too, was a fallacy. One thing was known, we certainly did not turn to dust in the sun. All vampires could function during the day, if they so desired. It was simply an excruciatingly slow torture. The sun could do no worse then burn our pale skin, blind us, cause migraines and dizziness which would lead to becoming violently ill. Since no being desires slow torture, or being ill for all time, we chose to live during the night, when we can function without hindrances. Dying from simply being caught by the sun was an impossibility, unless it was by dehydration, or third-degree burns. Even humans could die from that.

The only thing that could not be explained, was our need for blood. No vampire really knew why this was the case. It was never really questioned or researched either. After all, why question something that simply is?

Lastly, vampires were not once humans. Our race has existed alongside the humans since the dawning of time.

“You are frowning so deeply, Mr Stone.” Said the weakened voice of Miss Piper. “Does the book offend you so?”

“It is full of lies and fallacies.” I spat as I closed the book and tossed it onto the settee.

“What was the title?”

"‘The Truth of the Shadow Lurkers.’" I replied, feeling disgusted by the title alone.

“Oh... that book.” She laughed. “That one is funny, isn’t it?”

“I found no amusement in it.” I replied with solemnly.

“It was given to Mother as a gift. She was curious about it too, read it, and laughed the entire way through. She keeps it for a small pick-me-up now.”

“It is an awful read, and a colossal waste of time.” I spat, angry that I had wasted several hours reading something that had not only contained untruths and insults, but that the author, whomever he be, had written it to begin with. Many trees were killed in the making of the Book of Lies. Trees, that I would have left standing.

A soft knock on the door gave this conversation a reprieve that I could not have been more pleased about. I had wanted to forget about the damned book and its awfully incorrect contents as soon as was possible.

“Oh!” Came the relieved sigh of a female housemaid. “There you are, Miss. I have been looking high and low for you!”

“Phoebe, you unbelievably rude maid, can you not see that I am with a guest?” Miss Piper snapped. It was an anger I had not expected.

“I am sorry,” The maid replied earnestly. “but dawn is almost upon us, and you must return to your chambers for your medicine...”

Surprised by what had seemed like a sudden change in time, I looked toward the window, and found that the sky was indeed brightening. Time had passed us by, and we had not even noticed.

The maid moved into the room to assist Miss Piper, and I stood, reached for the book I had discarded and placed it back in its gap, hoping never to see it, or others like it, again.

As I turned back, the maid’s arm was securely around Miss Piper’s waist as she was assisted to stand, but a bout of dizziness took her, and legs collapsed under her. The maid too, suffered recoil. Fearing that both would be sprawled on the floor in an unseemly manner, I moved to stand beside Miss Piper, ducking my head under her arm, and resting my own hand below the maid’s.

“Thank you, Mister Stone.” The maid said, obviously grateful for my assistance.

Together, we walked Miss Piper from the room. Passing the doorway, however, I became parallel with a furious and glaring prince, leaning casually against the wall. I wondered how long he had been standing there.

As we attempted to move by him, he reached out, seized my arm, and yanked me backwards. All were stumbled by this action, as Miss Piper’s arm had rested on my shoulders. If it were not for the quick-thinking Phoebe, who had taken on the entire weight of Miss Piper, both would have fallen to the floor.

“That was dangerous!” I growled, confronting the foolish boy. A dark rage took me, following his blatant disregard for the safety of others.

“Get away from my sister.” He replied darkly as he moved to his sister, aiding her along in my place.

Our roles were reversed. I stood watching them move away from me, my rage whirling inside me like a tornado. With nothing else left for me to do, I turned and headed toward the staircase.

“Caelan.” Her weak voice called.

I turned to face the caller of my name and found the princess standing on her own and bowing from the waist.

“Do not bow to the likes of him, sister!” Her brother hissed. “You are royalty!”

“I would like to thank you for the pleasant evening.”

Surprised to be given such a low bow from someone on a much better social standing then I, I returned the deep bow, and did not rise again until she was long since gone.

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