It was an hour before dawn, but the sitting room of Augustine's old chambers remained abuzz with activity and conversation. Frankie continued to nurse yet another glass of blood – she had lost count after a while, especially when Vladislaus continued to insist on refilling her glass every time she neared the dregs; whether it was out of worry or mere consideration, she wasn't quite sure – but her eyes continued to dance about the room, taking in the scene before her.
She could barely recall the last time her entire family had been gathered like this – her mother and father, her aunt and uncle, brother and sister, her cousins, their spouses, even her maker... but what made this all the sweeter was seeing them interact and blend with her new family, the Dracul Sânge. While there were still losses to be felt – it was still so strange to not have the sound of Danny's voice or Carmen's distinct laughter anywhere in the room – Frankie could not deny that this little scene, the mere privilege of being surrounded by the most important people in her life...
It was a miracle.
A tender mercy.
Something out of a dream.
Though he had yet to confess as much, she knew that Vlad felt very similar – cognizant of those still missing, but privately overwhelmed by the gratitude he felt to have not only his dearest friend, but his children, all of them, at his side once more.
After everything they had endured – separately and together – the likelihood of such an unfathomable gift had never even crossed Dracula's mind. And yet here they were, living that miracle. She watched him, her blood-bound husband, as he and the Bernardini's conversed, noting how Vlad's eyes would occasionally scan the room as if to reassure himself that this was real, that this wasn't a dream. He'd look at Alessia and Hal, his gaze lingering on them the longest, before his eyes would then find hers, and wave after wave of love and veneration would then wash down their shared bond, warming her veins, filling her.
"How are you feeling?" Frankie heard her father inquire, Louis making his way to sit down at his daughter's side on the sofa where she had taken up residence.
She looked over at him, blood-stained lips curving gently into a serene smile. It was still so strange seeing him again, hearing his voice, feeling his energy... as if he had never been absent in the first place, as if the last two hundred years had never taken place, even if some part of her would always remember that it had.
"Much better," she answered.
Louis nodded once and then in unison, their gazes turned back to those in the room, quietly observing the scene, taking in the expressions, the conversations.
"It's strange," he said after a while, his attention still lingering safely on his wife, though Frankie could tell that he was keeping an eye on Dracula in his periphery.
"What is?"
"This," and he motioned with his hand to their present company. "When that witch marked you all those years ago," and their eyes both diverted to Mariella for a moment, "I never would have believed I'd live to see this... Dracul and his children, mingling with my family. My own daughter his queen." His gaze fell on her, a meaningful look in his eyes. "So much has changed," he explained. "You most of all."
"Not in a bad way, I hope?"
He immediately shook his head.
"Not remotely," he said with a tender smile. "I've never seen you so whole before, so content."
Frankie smiled back, but wasn't sure how to even reply to such a statement. Fortunately, Louis continued before she could even sort that out.
"Still though... it's Dracula. That's going to take some getting used to."
"Coronation is in three days. I guess that gives you a little bit of time to adjust to the idea," she replied with a sly smirk, raising her glass back to her lips. Louis snorted quietly.
"Tongue still sharp, I see," he noted with a false sense of disapproval, a single thick brow arched. Frankie's grin widened as she leaned to the side so she could rest her head on his shoulder.
"Sharper than ever. Though I have fond memories of you constantly blaming that on Maman," she said, earning a chuckle from him.
"I still do. Your tongue and your bullheadedness are definitely her fault."
"We both know I got the latter from you – don't try to deny it now."
That earned another laugh.
Oh, how she had missed the sound of it – that deep, resonating baritone that warmed her from the inside out.
An easy silence settled between them for a spell, and as Frankie eventually straightened once more to refill her glass, she noticed out of the corner of her eye the way in which her father was now carefully watching Vlad as he was pulled into conversation with her aunt, uncle, and Eduardo. There was an easiness between them that Frankie suspected her father didn't know what to make of.
"He's not at all what we were led to believe, you know," she mentioned in lower tones, not wishing to be overheard. Louis offered no reply other than some a vague gesture of acknowledgement, but that's when she felt it – that old familiar need for her father's approval, something most daughters never fully grew out of, she least of all, she was now realizing.
"The man has his demons," Louis replied a little gruffly, though his expression otherwise remained sphinxlike, betraying nothing, "and a reputation..."
"I'm no saint either, Papa, as you well know. As for his demons... well... let's just say I had my share of them too, and would still have to this day were it not for him," she answered in turn, her response earning her his full attention then. She could see without him even needing to utter a word that her father had so many unspoken questions at that, and concerns. But instead of trying to pass off his own fears onto her, he asked,
"Are you happy with him, ma fille? I could not bear for you to be trapped in another loveless marriage, to watch you endure another Alphonse..."
Frankie immediately reached for his hand and squeezed it, her eyes already welling with tears, moved by his gentleness, his concern. She had missed it. Oh, she had missed him so much, it nearly shattered her heart just thinking about it.
"I love him, Papa, with everything that I am," she whispered, voice trembling with emotion as she poured her whole soul into the words. "And he loves me. I have no reason to doubt that."
Louis impenetrable expression fractured just a little as the corner of his lip twitched, his attention diverting for just an instant to steal yet another quick glance at Dracula. Pleased by whatever it was he saw, the Duke sighed and turned his hand over in Francesca's so he could squeeze her fingers back in reassurance.
"Then I am content."
----
The three evenings came and went, and soon Francesca found herself hours away from her coronation, wide-awake, rest evading her. It was early afternoon, which meant the vast majority of the palace and the city was already fast asleep, but Frankie continued to wander the halls, haunting the meandering corridors, silent as a specter, lost in the mire of her own thoughts.
Her wanderings inevitably led her to the source of her restlessness – the throne room.
She paused in the center of the spacious chamber, quietly studying the formidable structure that was Dracula's oversized throne – the tall back, the head of a horned dragon carved into the crest rail, its sapphire studded eyes studying her in turn. It would have been an intimidating spectacle on its own, but at its side was its equally impressive companion – but instead of a dragon seemingly sitting atop the dais there was a lion with amethysts for eyes, framed by a kingly mane, it's curling tail carved around the back leg of the seat.
Frankie almost couldn't believe that this was to be her life, that come midnight tonight she would undergo the sacred rite that would not only formally make her queen, but would bind her to Vladislaus in an entirely new and unprecedented way as she would forever after bear the mantle of responsibility over their kind with him – not just in word, but in blood as well. It was a daunting thing. In truth, the anxiety sometimes had left her feeling a little nauseated from time to time over the last couple of days. She had thought that being surrounded by her family and friends would help ease her nerves, but that lingering apprehension as she faced the unknown remained.
In a few hours, she would be cleansed and moisturized, perfumed and prepped before then being dressed in the most grand and borderline ostentatious get-up she had ever seen.
The her of two years ago would have laughed riotously at what laid before her, would have considered it a farce, an impossibility.
But when Louise, Tempest, and Alessia had presented their gift to her as their formal queen-mother – the gown and robe and jeweled accessories – it had all become alarmingly real to her.
And what an odd thing that it had been the dress that had done it to her.
It hadn't been the endless number of meetings with the new council or other representatives from neighboring nations, factions, or races. It hadn't been the weeks of reconstruction efforts, or the trials of the remnants of Marcus Augustine's court.
It had been a goddamn dress.
Frankie hugged herself as she continued to stand in the center of that vast and empty throne room, a chill of insecurity suddenly wafting through her body as those amethyst and sapphire eyes perched above the ominous thrones continued to stare unblinkingly at her with anticipation.
"They're gaudy looking things, aren't they?" Mariella Bernardini called out from somewhere behind her.
Frankie turned to glance back at the woman briefly before returning her attention to the pair of thrones, ears naturally tuning to the newly resurrected witch's nearly imperceptible footfall.
"I used to give him such a hard time about it when he first had it constructed," the woman continued. "He didn't need the ornamentation, but he used to always insist that it was the symbolism of the thing that was important. The dragon was as much for his subjects as it was for him. For the vampire, the werewolf, and the human, it was a reminder of who he was, who they were dealing with – a being of inordinate, arcane, and legendary power."
"And for him?" Frankie asked as Mariella paused to stand beside her.
"They had called him a dragon in both life and in death as a way to demean and belittle him, to strip him of his humanity. Leaning into that imagery was his way of reclaiming, I think. I remember when Tempest and Hal were children, he would tell them what it truly meant to be a dragon. That it was more than just the power and the capacity for destruction and monstrousness, the dominance. Dragons at their core had hearts of fire. They were noble beings; wise, loyal, and ruthless in their defense against those that would threaten what they loved."
Frankie could feel Mariella's eyes on her as she continued to stand there, her own gaze still resting on the pair of thrones on the dais in front of them. Still, the witch's attention was penetrating.
"Lions are very similar, I understand."
Frankie's lips twitched at the suggestion.
"I suppose in a way they are," she conceded.
"Evenly matched, then... in all the ways that matter, anyway," Mariella added with a sidelong glance.
Frankie said nothing, but instead gave way to the smile she had been resisting.
"If it's any consolation," the witch continued, "I can't think of a better person to rule at Vladislaus' side. You are precisely what he needs, what your people need," and she curled her arm around one of Frankie's, forcing the woman to release her hold on herself. Mariella then patted Francesca's hand reassuringly, offering her a tender smile. "You needn't be nervous, my dear. You were born for this."
"To own the truth, I don't know why I'm so nervous," Frankie admitted. "Honestly, I've been feeling a little nauseated on and off the last couple of days and I can't tell if it's nerves or something else. It must be nerves. What else could it be?"
That seemed to pique the woman's interest.
"Oh?"
"I thought at first that maybe I had overdone it the other night when Jacob and I managed to bring all of you back, but ever since – and it's always around the same times during the day and in the evening – I just feel this wave of nausea and anxiety wash over me... like... like I can feel something coming, but I have no idea what."
Mariella's eyes narrowed as she moved to properly face Frankie as they continued to talk, the witch resting the back of her hand over the woman's brow, eyes scrutinizing.
"You're feeding normally?"
"More than normal, actually. It's the only thing that seems to abate the nausea long enough for me to feel stable. Well... that, and..."
She sent the witch a meaningful look and Mariella snorted back a laugh.
"Oxytocin is magical thing."
Vladislaus' tongue and fingers and cock are magical things, Frankie thought to herself in reply, and while she didn't utter the words aloud, her expression communicated the sentiment well enough. Mariella Bernardini laughed openly that time.
"Well then, your majesty – might I suggest you return to bed and see if that husband of yours can help ease your nerves a bit? Hmm? Unless..."
The pair of women looked up and into the direction of the main entry as if they sensed his approach at the same time, and not three seconds later, Dracula entered the room. Mariella's grin turned mischievous.
"Ah! There you are... I had wondered where you had wandered off to," he called out. "Good afternoon, Mariella."
The witch nodded her head in acknowledgement before whispering to Frankie, "Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Don't let him keep you up too much longer. You do need to get some rest. You have a big night ahead of you."
And then she excused herself and departed from the room.
Vlad finished his approach, eyes attentive as he reached to caress Francesca's cheek tenderly.
"Unable to sleep again?"
She nodded, reaching for him in turn and sighing in relief as her whole being seemed to instinctually relax the moment he pulled her into his arms.
"Is it the nervousness or something else?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," she answered, resting her head in that favorite place where his collar and shoulder met his neck. "It's probably just nerves."
"Anything I can do?"
She smiled at his consideration and leaned further into him.
"If you have any suggestions, I'm open to hearing them."
His hold around her waist tightened a little. She could feel him searching the room and surrounding corridors for any signs of life – undead or otherwise – and when she heard the main doors to the throne room slowly beginning to close of their own volition, she knew exactly what he had in mind.
Her smile deepened.
"It's the throne that frightens you, isn't it?" he asked mischievously, and while they both knew that wasn't it, she was willing to play along.
"It is a rather imposing looking dragon," she conceded with a false degree of innocence.
"Perhaps I should get you two better acquainted," and he kissed her temple lightly. "Then you'll see there's nothing to be afraid of," and his lips traveled breathlessly down her hairline to her ear. His tongue peeked out from between his lips and he ran its tip along the edge of her lobe. "Tell me what you want, dragă," he purred softly, nibbling the soft flesh of her ear before moving his lips to that sensitive place just behind it. Then down the column of her neck he travelled – slowly. Oh so slowly. All tongue and lips and the bare caress of fang.
Her entire body quivered as he stoked her desire anew, that familiar heat of want swelling in her womb, honeying her sex. Frankie whimpered.
Normally, she'd draw this out a little longer – his methods of torture were always her favorite. The way he could make her yearn was unparalleled. But she didn't want slow. She didn't want merciless edging. She wanted – no, needed – his greed, his ruthlessness. She needed to be dominated, emptied out and filled by a king.
"Fuck me," she whispered, eyes glowing violet in the darkness, excited by her own use of profanity. "Fuck me on the dais. Bend me over your throne and fuck me senseless." He groaned at her words, growing hard at their utterance. Her fingers were raking through his hair as she led his lips to hers. "Only you can empty my head of all these needless thoughts and worries, Vlad. I need you to take me. Take me as hard as you can. Don't be gentle. Hollow me out so the only thing that remains is you," and she kissed him deeply, caressing her tongue against his.
"Oh, how I love that filthy mouth of yours," he growled, kissing her again, claiming her with deep, mocking thrusts between her lips. "Dorința ta este porunca mea, iubito." (*)
Somewhere amidst the kissing and disrobing, Dracula swept her up into his arms, carrying her across the short distance to the dais where he then quickly got to work.
And as he wound her up into a moaning, keening frenzy, something amazing began to take place inside of her, something unfurling, unfolding. With every slap of his hand to her ass, every maddening lap of his tongue on her clit, every delicious, surging, rolling wave of pleasure as his glorious heat and hardness and softness and force pushed her to the brink, he wound her tighter and tighter and tighter still...
As requested, he had her bent over his throne near the finish, her hands gripping the arm rests of that ridiculously ostentatious seat, eyes fixed on the sapphire-eyed dragon looking down at her, the beast taking in every inch of her pleasure with a twinkling delight. Vlad's fingers played in the silken channel of her cunt, rubbing furiously at her g-spot as his cock filled her ass – the dual pressure and stimulation so intense, so damn-near perfect, she soon found herself on the verge of tears.
He could sense her dancing on the edge of oblivion in no time, could taste her pleasure through their shared bond, could feel her in his blood, just underneath his skin. And it was heaven, even as the build felt like hell – the pressure mounting, promising an earth-shattering release.
Frankie was so overwhelmed by how quickly and thoroughly he had built her up, she found herself stuck at the edge, desperate to tumble over, but her body was too overcome to vault over the crest into the realm of completion. As if he had sensed it in her, the thrusting of his fingers took on a more brutal pace, the heel of his palm grinding into her clit mercilessly, even as his hips continued to slam home into the cushion of her ass.
"Come on, dragă," he panted against her back when he finally felt her inching closer to the brink. He leaned forward to rest his brow between her shoulder blades where the binding marks of his children resided, relieved. He wasn't sure he would be able to hold on much longer himself. "Breathe deep and let go."
"Fuck!"
"Let go... let go...that's it..."
At last, she shattered beneath him.
And then she was falling, screaming her release as she gushed around his fingers and all over his hand, so beside herself she could barely hear him as he followed just seconds after her. The entire room, the entire palace, all of Budapest seemed to roll and hum and move with her pleasure. She felt almost iridescent as he poured his heart, his power, his seed – everything that he was and would be into her, just as she gave back with the backward thrust of her hips, meeting his offering and returning it in kind.
Time stretched out, pouring, bending, gliding as she quivered there beneath him, her arms only just barely sustaining her. But soon enough, they too gave out, and before she could crumple forward into his throne in front of her, Frankie felt a small rush of cold air around her naked limbs as Vlad abruptly materialized them out of the room and back to their private chambers. She was only partially aware of him lifting her up and onto the bed, still floating, every muscle beneath her skin quivering with the aftershocks, even as she sank into the mattress.
Dracula covered them both before taking her into his arms, holding her close as she ever so slowly returned back to herself, a little at a time. And then like a miracle from above, she felt the coveted exhaustion set in at long last; that delirious, delicious weightlessness that left her eyes growing heavy.
"I love you," she murmured with relief into his naked chest, lips lightly brushing against the lion shaped scar forever branded into his flesh.
His chest rumbled with his amusement against her cheek, but she missed his reply as sleep finally took her.
As the daylight hours passed, Frankie drifted away into dreams of dark-haired twins with piercing blue eyes.
Their angelic faces made her heart ache.
But before the sorrow could lay claim of her, a vaguely familiar voice whispered soothingly in the back of her mind –
Soon.
----
(*) Translations courtesy of Google Translate:"Dorința ta este porunca mea, iubito." = Romanian for "Your wish is my command, darling."