The Countess (BWWM)

~Countess 3~

"Once again, you've done an excellent job."

This praise came stiffly from the Royal Duke, as we did not use each other Christian names. None had called me by name since I'd dawned the title Countess. I nodded to him, as I reached his side. The Royal Duke had been turned years before me, he was one of Caifir, a born vampire...who'd surprisingly taken his father's title chosen when he'd died. Rumors stated he'd been ill prepared, being a bastard of human nature, he'd been living into his thirties believing he was alone.

Until a well-placed knife had brought him into this world. As most Royals, his outwards appearance was handsome. His had the traditional British looks, with a high roman nose. His black eyes were sharper than most, and his chin was often raised as he looked down upon the rest of them. His clothing still spoke of the 17th century, the thing he refused to relinquish was the style of  a gentlemen.

He sniffed often at my own choice  of wearing the trend of Neo-victorian gowns. "I expected no less of course."

"Of course," I repeated. Long having grown accustomed to his stiff mannerisms, removing my gloves I brushed a hand along my velvet skirt. "Have the others arrived yet?'

He nodded, turning his eyes down the hall to the door that stood ominously at the end. "They have, but I assure you much of what they wished to say will be the same as it was last year."

"I would think you would have learned some optimism over the years, Duke." The amusement was clear in the voice that intterrupted. Both he and I turned, to find the Baron approaching us. His long legs eating up the ground easily. His grin wide and bright with humor.

His windswept dark locks, and tanned skin, were lethal to human and vampire woman alike. His garb reflected that of metal bands and not one person could declare it did not suite him. He approached me, and leaned forward to press his lips against my raised cheek. "Hello, mother."

I delicately rolled my eyes, "Will you tire of ever calling me that." I asked, as I shifted aside so that he could stand between the duke and I.

"Never," he said with a precocious grin, "Not even when you're over a thousand."

I sighed, this is what comes from being a processor...once. Sending him a look full of annoyance, "You were far older than me when you died, I've hardly been a mother to you."

He shook head, giving me a wolfish smile. "None would help me, as you've done mother, and you are the only one aside for stiff neck over there who'll invite me over for dinner." He motioned to the duke with his thumb, "And he only calls when he wants me to deal with the shifters."

"Because, that is all you are good for." Duke said smartly, only to earn himself a snarl. As Baron turned on him, "What? Are you going to pounce on me, like a shifter?" He sneered.

Baron's knuckles cracked a he curled his hand into fist, "Do ye think ye could handle it English?" He growled. His Scottish brogue coming out along with his temper.

"Enough," I said coolly, seeing the door was now opened I walked towards it. "Baron, didn't we talk about this. You will no longer be invited, if you continue to clash with Duke. He is higher rank than you," I paused, half-turning giving him a chiding look. "No matter the old wars, he is now your higher-up."

Wilting in the face of my displeasure, he sent another  nasty look Duke's way , before he drew back. "As always, mother protects yer noble features."

"I'm sure," Duke said, before he stiffly turned away making his way towards the door, passing me. Waves of annoyance and held back anger rolling off him.