A silence seemed to fall in the audience hall as everyone turned to the doorway where Carmilla Ansaac stood. She was alone, I noticed, with Cecilion nowhere to be seen. But despite this, she stood tall, her posture elegant, and her chin tilted upward in pride. Her bloodred eyes regarded her father fearlessly.
"You-you?!" Earl Ansaac said, turning to Carmilla. "Are you...my Carmilla?"
Carmilla strode through the doors. The men surrounding Earl Ansaac parted slightly, as though the sight of Carmilla's silver hair and bloodred eyes frightened them. And, in this case, it probably did. Up on the dais, Aamon stared at Carmilla as she approached. He appeared wary, his arctic eyes jumping from Carmilla to Earl Ansaac and his men.
"She isn't supposed to be here," Berith whispered to me. Beside him, Sable growled softly, his hackles raised as he stared at Carmilla Ansaac. "Diana, if things get out of control, it's best if you leave. At once. Should Ansaac attack, I've no doubt Carmilla's mate, Cecilion, will make an entrance."
"But-" I began.
Berith shook his head. "Aamon gave me explicit orders to get you out of here should Ansaac try anything," he said quietly. "Aamon will be able to act better if he knows you aren't in danger."
I wanted to protest, but I felt eyes on me. I turned to the dais were Aamon was. He was staring at me, that intense look in his narrowed eyes as he subtly shook his head. Telling me, without words, to listen to Berith. I bit my lip and nodded at him.
"Here I am, father," Carmilla announced as she stood before Earl Ansaac. She stood tall and proud, her shoulders thrown back-the picture of elegant nobility. She stood an arm's length away from him, utterly fearless as she stared him down.
Ansaac flinched as though she had inflicted a wound on him. And then...very slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out a hand and lightly brushed his knuckles against her cheek.
At once, he withdrew his hand, as though he had been scorched. "Cold," he breathed. "Like the dead. My Carmilla-what has happened to you?"
"I fell in love, father," Carmilla said simply, as though it were the most important thing in the world. And it was-her eyes looked at him with warmth. Not for her father, but the thought of that love she kept close to her heart. The love she shared with Cecilion.
But it was apparently the wrong answer in Ansaac's mind. "In love," he repeated, his voice shaking. I saw Aamon frowning at him, saw Vas clench the handle on his sword-preparing.
"You fell in love with a lowborn abomination!" Ansaac roared, and Carmilla subtly flinched. "An opera singer with nothing but his pretty face to commend him! An impoverished artist, with no name and no means, Carmilla! Baron Tawill-no, Duke Paxley would have been a fine match for you, you ungrateful wretch! And now, you bring shame to our family! To my name!"
Carmilla stood tall, but I saw the way her eyes glistened, how her lower lip quivered.
That bastard.
"You-!" Before Ansaac could fire off another insult, Vassago was suddenly before them. He held his sword between them, as though to shield Carmilla from her father's wrath.
Ansaac gasped, and his men immediately pulled out their swords, aiming them all at Vas. Beside me, Berith clutched my hand in his, ready to run.
But my eyes were fixed on Aamon-Aamon who stared at Ansaac's men with narrowed eyes.
"You dare draw your swords in Castle Aberleen-at my brother?" Aamon asked, amused.
And it was that cold amusement that seemed to make Ansaac hesitate. His men stared at him for orders, and he shook his head.
"You know," Vas began, keeping his sword in between Carmilla and the Earl. "I don't like it when men berate women like that-father or no. You will talk to her with respect."
"Thank you, Vassago, but I believe..."
Everyone turned to the doorway where a figure strode through the open doors. Shadows of night seemed to wrap themselves around him as he walked, bloodred eyes fixed on Carmilla, and Carmilla alone. With each step he took, Ansaac and his men seemed to hesitate, stepping away from Carmilla with trepidation. The figure stopped before Carmilla and her father, eyes narrowed menacingly at Ansaac.
"...you stole my line," Cecilion finished.
A faint hint of red colored Carmilla's cheeks as Cecilion stood protectively before her. Vas shrugged his shoulders and withdrew his sword.
Up on the dais, Aamon's eyes found mine, and I could almost make out the silent warning in them. The warning to run if Ansaac tried to attack-and if Cecilion would retaliate.
"You!" Ansaac roared, glaring at Cecilion. There was nothing but cold, paternal fury in his voice. "Monster! You stole my child from me!"
Cecilion draped an arm protectively around Carmilla as though to shield her from her father's harsh words. "I am a monster by birth only," Cecilion said coldly, staring at Ansaac. "But riddle me this, human-who killed Carmilla? Me, or...you?"
Ansaac spluttered. "You dare-you dare kidnap my child and claim this-this hearsay?!" He placed his hand on the hilt of his own sword and glared.
Cecilion stared at him with nothing but rage in his bloodred eyes. "Kidnap her? I saved her," he hissed. "I wanted to stay away, Ansaac! I loved her enough to know that I could never give her the life she deserved. I wanted her to live as the privileged wife of a baron, or even a duke-if it made her happy. I would set her free if it meant that. I would break my own heart if it meant giving Carmilla the life she deserved. But no-I was wrong. I was foolish to make that decision on my own without taking her wishes into consideration. I'll not make the mistake of abandoning Carmilla again. I would rather die."
"Then maybe you will," Ansaac hissed as his men drew their swords. The sound metal sighing echoed throughout the cavernous hall as blades were drawn from their scabbards. My Heart raced, eyes staring at the dais.
Aamon immediately stood from his seat, glaring down at Ansaac with venom in his eyes; Vassago's sword was drawn at the ready. "One more move, Ansaac," Aamon said dangerously, his voice ringing with authority. "Raise a blade to either Carmilla or Cecilion-raise a blade in my halls, and an enemy of House Paxley you shall make."
At that moment soldiers appeared seemingly out of nowhere, all dressed in black armor. They seemed to appear from the shadows among the walls, silent, deadly, their own swords drawn.
Berith's hand closed around mine. "Time to go, Diana," he whispered to me.
"Aamon," I protested.
"He'll be fine," Berith reassured me. He was about to say more, but a voice suddenly spoke up.
"Is this how low House Paxley has fallen, Your Grace?" Ansaac asked, meeting Aamon's glare head on. "Rumors claim that your fiancée was saved by the monster, Cecilion, in exchange for her soul. They say she is a damned woman. Does the Head of House Paxley deign to make bargains with spawns of the Abyss now? You've executed the elders of House Paxley, claiming they nearly killed your future duchess. Or was that merely an excuse to wield the full might of House Paxley without a force to keep you in check?"
Why that oily, greasy...
I made a move to stand, but Berith pulled me back down. "Stay here," he said firmly. "Aamon won't be able to think well if you're in danger, so keep out of it."
Shards of light flared around Aamon, slithering about him like deadly serpents. Vassago raised his sword and pointed it at Ansaac. "I could have your head for that," Vas said softly, his voice filled with menace.
"Mention my fiancée again," Aamon said in a voice filled with equal venom. "And I will not hesitate, Ansaac. You have my word as Head of House Paxley."
"Stop this, father," Carmilla Ansaac said. Her voice was loud and firm-the voice of a confident noblewoman. She stepped out from behind Cecilion, nothing but determination in her blood-red eyes. "Enough! You would risk bloodshed all because of your slighted pride? All this just to see me in chains again?"
Earl Ansaac tore his eyes away from Aamon, turning to Carmilla with a look of disbelief. "Chains, my rose? Chains? I would never chain you!"
"But you did!" Carmilla cried. She sounded both forlorn and furious. "When you forced me to wed another, you chained me to a life of misery and heartbreak. You took away my freedom to choose, to follow my heart. Do you think I would live such a life? No! I would have rather died. And I did."
So saying, she raised her right wrist-where the scar of a cut remained. I unconsciously fingered the scar at my own wrist that Vargas had inflicted.
A look of understanding seemed to dawn on Earl Ansaac. His eyes widened as he stared at Carmilla as realization hit him. The realization that Carmilla had chosen death to be free.
"You didn't," Earl Ansaac whispered.
"I died," Carmilla said softly. "You stole my freedom to choose my own life and my own love. But I was still left with the freedom to choose blessed death. I would rather die than live a false life in shackles." She paused and then turned to Cecilion. "But Cecilion-he came for me. Gave me his blood."
"He made you a monster," Ansaac hissed.
"No," Carmilla said, her voice strong. "He saved my life, and my heart-after you broke me and drove me to despair. It was Cecilion who saved my life and my sanity. And I ask that you respect my choice-and my love. Set me free, father. Let me go and find my own happiness in the world."
I stared at Carmilla. Her face was set, and a look of determination shone in her blood-red eyes. Ansaac regarded his daughter with a look of disbelief. "You are my only child!" Ansaac snapped. "You are the crown of House Ansaac, the envy of all the noblewomen in the Empire! The most beautiful jewel in my treasury, Carmilla. How dare you throw it all away?"
"To throw it all away was my choice," Carmilla said slowly. "I understand you had lofty ambitions for me, father. You wanted me wed to Duke Paxley, and barring that, to the general of the Imperial Army. I am grateful for your ambitions, for wanting the best for me. But please, understand-it was not my choice, not my happiness. In Cecilion, I found joy. I found love. I found freedom. So, please-let me go. Let me be free to live with my Cecilion."
"A life of being a monster, of being persecuted, and scorned-is that the life you want, my rose?" Earl Ansaac's voice was soft and sorrowful. "Are you so eager to throw away the name of Ansaac? The name of our mighty house in exchange for this...monster? This pauper of no birth and no background?"
"Are you so eager to throw away your own daughter, father?" Carmilla retorted. Her voice was low but there was no mistaking the sadness in her eyes. "Just because I long to follow my heart-you would rather toss me out than accept my choice?"
At this Ansaac paused. Carmilla's words seemed to have touched a nerve in him because he stared at his daughter as if seeing her for the first time. "I only want what's best for you," Ansaac said quietly.
"Only I can determine what's best for me, father," Carmilla said firmly. "And Cecilion is my choice-he is my love, my heart. And if you cannot accept that, then...perhaps I no longer wish to bear the name 'Ansaac' after all."
You tell him girl.
I stared between Carmilla and her father. The tension in the room was palpable. Carmilla had laid down her ultimatum. And if Earl Ansaac refused her ultimatum...
Berith's hand enclosed gently around mine, as though getting ready to drag me out.
Up on the dais, Aamon stared down at Ansaac and his men, shards of light slithering around him. He exchanged a swift glance with Vas who stood at the bottom of the dais steps, sword held by his side. Aamon's eyes drifted towards me. There was warning in his eyes, as if he was telling me to run should things turn sour.
I didn't want to. I didn't want to leave him should a fight break out. He must have seen the hesitation in my eyes since he gave me a minuscule shake of the head in warning.
"Is that your final choice, Carmilla?" Earl Ansaac asked, his voice a swift whisper that carried throughout the chamber. The soldiers stationed near the wall seemed to tense, as though readying themselves for Ansaac's answer.
Carmilla stood firm. And then she grasped Cecilion's hand in her own, determination in her eyes as she stood her ground beside the man she loved. Cecilion looked down at her, nothing but love and determination his eyes. Even from where I sat, I could feel the intensity of his feelings for her, the love that had sustained them, that had brought Carmilla back from the jaws of death...
"It is, father," Carmilla said, tilting her chin up. "Cecilion is my choice. And I pray you will honor my decisions. Please, father. Set me free."
Ansaac gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, as though he were about to protest. And then he let out a sigh.
"Thus, let it be known that I, the Head of House Ansaac, hereby banish my only daughter, the Lady Carmilla Ansaac from our great house. No longer shall she be allowed to set foot within Ansaac Manor. No longer will she be welcome within our halls. No longer shall she know the love of her kin, and the protection of her family." Ansaac paused, as though his words caused him physical pain. But Carmilla stood taller, her faith in her love not once wavering.
"And no longer shall I call her 'daughter'," Ansaac said with a heavy sigh. He stared at Carmilla, and there was longing and sadness in his eyes. "I banish you, Carmilla. No longer shall you set foot within Aberleen and our manor again."
"That," Aamon interrupted, his tone imperious as he stared at Ansaac. "Is not up to you, Earl. You forget yourself. As duke and master of House Paxley, Carmilla and Cecilion are welcome in Aberleen should they choose. Banish her from your own manor as you see fit, but you've no right to banish her from my duchy."
For some reason, this statement brought an almost imperceptible smile to Earl Ansaac's lips as he placed a hand over his breast and offered Aamon a bow from the waist. "As you wish, Your Grace," he declared.
Carmilla and Cecilion glanced at one another. There was no mistaking the sorrow in Carmilla's eyes as her father disowned her. But Cecilion brushed the back of his hand lightly against her cheek in comfort, and she leaned into this touch.
Ansaac regarded them for a moment, before he gestured to his men. One by one, the soldiers of House Ansaac exited the chamber, until only Earl Ansaac remained, standing before Carmilla with a heavy look in his eyes.
"Goodbye, my daughter," Ansaac said quietly.
"Thank you, father," Carmilla said with a nod. "And goodbye."
Ansaac stared from her to Cecilion, before he slowly turned and left, following his soldiers out of the great double doors and into the sunlit corridors beyond.
-----
Carmilla and Cecilion left Aberleen that very same night.
They left when the sun had set, and the stars shone in the night sky. Aamon, Gusion, and Berith had sent them off but not before Aamon had sent me off to my rooms to rest. Cecilion had mentioned that my body was still recovering energy from being forced to produce so much blood in such a short amount of time and that I shouldn't overexert myself. I had thanked them from the bottom of my heart for saving me and wished them all the best.
Amy and Sitri had stopped by to keep my company while Aamon sent off Carmilla and Cecilion. After a round of cards-which I was bad at-I had felt the exhaustion Cecilion mentioned creeping up on me and I decided to turn in early.
But despite the exhaustion I felt, I just couldn't sleep.
I lay on bed in my room, on my side. My arm was splayed out beside me, my eyes fixed on the scar at my wrist from where Vargas's dagger had stabbed me to take my blood. I shuddered. I tried to push the thoughts and the memories from my mind, but every time I closed my eyes, I saw them-I saw the Elders looming over me, felt them pinning my wrist to the stone cold altar beneath me, felt the sharp edge of Vargas's dagger piercing my skin as he stabbed at my wrist. And the blood...
I could see it in my mind's eye. My blood spurting from the wound, a deep crimson as it seeped onto the floor and onto the altar, staining my dress a deep dark red.
And the darkness...
The heavy oppressive darkness of near death.
Silly. I was a surgeon in my world. Death was no stranger to me. How many times had I resuscitated people from its brink, saving them from the maw of death? I knew how to keep a patient from dying, I knew death. I knew what the body went through the moment one died...And yet...yet...
That deep darkness had scared me so much.
I hated it.
The dark...I hated it. Or rather, it scared me.
I glanced at the raw red gash on my wrist. I hated touching my wrist. I wore my engagement ring, I wore the necklace that Aamon had given me...But I didn't wear the bracelet Mila had given me. I kept it tucked safely away in the pocket of my skirts. I hated anything touching my wrists.
Gingerly, I tried lightly touching my wrist with the tip of my finger. I flinched. It didn't hurt, not really. I just...couldn't stand it.
I tucked my arm under the pillow. I lay on my side, facing the window. Outside, I could see the the gentle glow of the moonlight and the twinkling stars.
If I turned around, my bedroom was dark. The fire had gone out earlier, and I didn't want to brave the dark to light it again.
I tried to close my eyes. I was no stranger to insomnia. But this was different. When I closed my eyes, the faceless Elders loomed in my mind. I'd rather be awake.
Sighing, I sat up, careful to face the window instead of the darkness of the room. I slipped out of bed, threw on a shawl over my shift and moved towards the window. I threw it open, letting the cool night air into the room. And the starlight.
Seeing the gentle light of the moon and stars on the carpeted floor, I felt a bit better. There, it wasn't so dark anymore. I leaned against the sill, staring up the starry sky. I lived in New York City, and the stars never shone as beautifully there as they did here.
It didn't even look like I was staring up at the Milky Way. The stars and the moon were just scattered everywhere. I liked it. The stars in the Land of Dawn were so bright, they lit up the night sky even without the moon.
A pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around my waist from behind me, and I shrieked. I spun around, ready to throw a punch, only to find Aamon smirking mischievously behind me. He wore a loose tunic tucked lazily into a pair of black trousers.
"You scared me!" I snapped.
He snickered then leaned his head against my shoulder. He drew me even closer to him, utterly unapologetic for the mini heart attack he'd given me.
"Did I?" He sounded amused and unrepentant.
I huffed, and turned back towards the window, not wanting to face him when he was this close. "What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be sleeping?" I asked.
"You aren't sleeping either. Besides, I was serious, Diana, about spending the nights in your bed," he said as he began to nuzzle my neck, his nose skimming across my skin.
I blushed violently, my cheeks burning. "You're the duke of Aberleen, stop saying such vulgar things!" I said. I squirmed in his arms, wanting to get away, but he held me even tighter to prevent my escape.
"I am the duke, that is true," he conceded. "I am expected to show proper decorum and etiquette at all times. But when I am alone with you, my darling fiancée, I am a man."
Somehow, that statement made me even redder than I already was.
I jumped as he started kissing the crook of my neck, soft gentle kisses against my skin.
"A-A-Aamon," I gasped, shuddering from both desire and trepidation.
He gently spun me around to face him. The moonlight bathed him in its silver glow, and in its light, I could see the lust in his eyes. Keeping his eyes on mine, he raised my hand to his mouth and brushed his lips against the scar on my wrist.
A different panic gripped me. I snatched my wrist from him with more force than I intended, and he stared at me.
"I...I'm sorry," I said, clutching my arm in my hand as a I took a step away from him. I felt the wall pressing against my back. "I...that wrist just...hurts. I mean, not really, it's just...uncomfortable for me. I don't like...touching it."
I looked down at the carpeted floor, not wanting to meet his eyes. For some reason...I felt ashamed to admit it. I felt ashamed to admit to myself that ever since Vargas Paxley and the Elders abducted me two days ago, I'd been steadily ticking off each criteria on the DSM for PTSD. I wasn't quite there yet, but the recurring nightmares, the avoidance of anything that reminded of that night...I wasn't quite there, but I would be. And I hated it.
In the warm sunshine, surrounded by company, it was easy to forget all about that night. But alone, in my bed, surrounded by the dark, all the memories, the feelings, the sensations came flooding back. Especially the sensation of a sharp blade piercing my skin.
Aamon reached out and drew me against him. He tucked my head underneath his chin, and sighed. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "That night was my fault entirely. I shouldn't have lowered my guard."
"No, it wasn't your-"
But before I could say anything else, he lifted me into his arms and carried me towards the bed. He lay me down and got on top of me, supporting himself on his elbows as he looked down at me with eyes filled with regret and longing.
My breath hitched as he lowered his head to mine, capturing my lips with his own. My eyes widened in surprise, and the urge to both push him away and draw him closer was overpowering.
All thoughts of darkness, blades, and blood flew out the window as his tongue brushed the seam of my lips. I parted my lips for him, and his tongue clashed against mine. My hands tangled in his hair, and I gasped as he hitched one of my thighs around his waist. He deepened the kiss and I moaned softly against his mouth. We pulled away for air, panting, and he regarded me with unbridled lust and desire in his eyes.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my cheeks flushed. "Isn't this against the rules?" I whispered softly. "Sneaking into your fiancée's bed like this before the actual wedding?"
"I make the rules," he said, his voice hoarse with need. And then he bent his lips back to mine, his kisses more urgent now.
I gasped as he slid his tongue into my mouth, exploring and tasting me. I wrapped both my thighs around his waist. My Heart was beating so fast, it nearly hurt. And then he ran his hand slowly against my arm until he reached the scar on my wrist.
I pulled my lips away from him as he pinned my wrist against the bed, beside my head.
"N-no," I said as I tried to pull it away from his grasp. In my mind's eye, a different set of hands pinned my wrist to a cold, stone altar and I started to panic, expecting a sharp blade to pierce my skin.
I tried pulling my arm away from him, but he pinned it firmly to the bed. "Aamon," I protested.
"I refuse to let you think of Vargas when I touch you," he whispered, looking down at me with burning eyes. "The only man you should be thinking of right now is me."
And with that, he bent his lips towards mine again. As he kissed me passionately, I tried wrenching my wrist away from his grip, but he was unyielding. His lips lips trailed burning kisses down my neck, and unlike the gentle kisses earlier, he sucked and licked at the skin of my throat.
Oh, God.
Oh, God.
"W-wait, Aamon," I gasped as his nose skimmed against my collarbone.
"I've waited quite a while to have you, Diana. My patience is stretched thin," he said matter-of-factly.
He paused then looked up at me, at my blushing face, my wide eyes. "Beautiful," he whispered before he bent his head, his mouth enclosing around one of my breasts.
My eyes widened, and I could feel his tongue teasing my nipple through the thin shift I wore.
"Aamon!" I protested breathlessly. My back arched and I moaned. And all the while he kept my wrist pinned to the bed.
He pulled his mouth away from my breast, a lazy smirk on his lips. His thumb brushed against the scar on my wrist and, at the same time, he lowered his mouth to my other breast, brushing his tongue lightly against my nipple through the shift I wore.
"From now on," he whispered, putting a little more pressure on my arm. "I want you to think of me when I touch your wrist. Me, and only me." So saying, he lowered his head back down to my breasts, teasing and suckling on them through my nightgown.
"Wait, Aamon, please," I moaned, panting. My body was a contradiction. I felt so aroused, but so shy. I wanted to push him away, and I wanted draw him even closer...
Having finished with my breasts, his mouth moved even lower, and he released my wrist as he kissed my belly, trailing hot kisses along my waist and hips through my shift.
Aamon ran his hands along my waist slowly, as though he wanted to commit my outline to memory. And then he moved them lower, down my thighs, lingering on my knees. Oh, God, was he going to go down on...
My Heart was going to explode.
"S-stop!" I gasped as he made a move to hitch my legs onto his shoulders.
Aamon paused and glanced up at me. His eyes, normally so cold and aloof, were burning with undisguised lust. "What is it?" he asked. His breathing was heavy.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. "I...I've never..." I glanced away from him, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I've never...had..I've never done it with...Goddamit, Aamon, I'm a virgin."
He froze, looking up at me. And then he grinned. "I'll be gentle," he promised me.
"No, I don't...I'm not ready!"
I was a surgeon. Human anatomy and physiology were something I had extensively studied on. It was ironic then that though I understood the physiology of sex very well, the thought of actually doing it made me bristle with nerves.
He considered me for a moment before he crawled back up to me. And then he kissed me again, gentler now, with none of the passion and fire he had earlier.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his lips brushing against my ear. I shivered. "For being rather...eager."
I blushed and wrapped my arms around his torso reassuringly. "It's all right," I said as my breathing slowed down. I gladly returned his gentle kisses. "I should have told you that from the start. But then again, I never knew the the proud, cold, and aloof Aamon Paxley could be so...amorous."
I grinned teasingly at him. He chuckled as he pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. "When it comes to you, my darling Diana, I get quite...wild."
My cheeks burned. "Stop teasing me," I said as I glared up at him.
He chuckled then lowered his lips to my ear. "Then, shall I show you right now? How wild you make me?"
"No!"
He snickered and then rolled off me. He drew me gently into his arms, pressing me tightly against him. He pressed a soft kiss against my forehead.
"Sleep," he murmured, kissing my lips lightly.
Through the thin fabric of the tunic he wore, I could feel the rapid beat of his heart. I looked up at him.
"Sorry," I said, blushing.
He cocked an elegant eyebrow at me. "Whatever for?" he asked, amused, as he started playing with my hair. "When you're ready. I suppose this is a good thing. Sitri and Amy wanted to see the town with you tomorrow, and I cannot guarantee how well you will be able to walk when I am through with you."
My eyes widened and my cheeks went through ten different shades of red. I smacked his chest. "Stop being so vulgar, Your Grace!"
"I like it when you call me 'Your Grace'," he said, smirking at me. "I admit, it drives me...wild."
My eyes widened in indignation, and he laughed as he pressed a gentle kiss against the top of my head. "Good night, my Diana," he whispered quietly.
I snuggled closer to him, content in the warmth of his embrace.
"Good night, Your Grace."