Greenery festoons the great hall, scattered rose petals adorn the floor, and delicious delicacies stack high on the tables. Musicians play in one corner, entertainers perform in another, and a magician confounds in the third.
"Have you ever seen anything so wonderful? I will dance until morning." Margit disappears into the crowd, her mask's tall feathers moving above the sea of heads like a dorsal fin.
Nobody notices me. I am lost in a whirl of color and noise. Invisible amid the spectacle of glittering fabric and colorful feathers. Unseen among the whimsical masks and elaborate costumes that encourage flirtation and seduction.
Then I see him.
Prince Vlad wears a tall red-patterned turban adorned with a large oval gem and a single white ostrich plume. His mask is striking, its black cruel-angled lines an intimidating bit of sculpted clay.
Prince Vlad casts his gaze my way and I move forward, my grin concealed under the yasmak.
He turns his back.
His obvious disgust at my costume twists like a blade in my gut. Blinking back tears, I pivot on my heels. What is wrong with me? What does it matter what he thinks of my costume? I am betrothed. Unavailable. I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and look for family and friends.
I join several ladies gushing over Aunt Orsulya's costume.
"It's scandalous," purrs Zsazsa as she casts an admiring eye towards the men's breeches complete with over-sized leather codpiece.
"It's wonderful." I tug on the false beard glued to Aunt Orsulya's masculine mask.
That evening, Prince Vlad avoids me. His rejection hangs like a heavy cloak from my shoulders, weighing down my feet as I dance with nobles and dignitaries. I recall Bernádett's cautionary words about Prince Vlad and his toying with young maidens' affections. Tonight I am inclined to believe her.
"Your costume is bewitching," a familiar voice says behind me. "There is nothing more alluring than lips that can only be kissed by a lover brave enough to lift the veil."
My heart leaps but I neither move nor reply.
"Have I mistaken the wearer of this costume?" Vlad Dracula circles around me, his fingers brushing my kaftan.
With burning cheeks, I lift my gaze to his, find his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. The heated thread of longing tugs at my flesh. He feels it too, because he looks at me like I am the only one in the room.
"I am betrothed to Luigi della Scala." My confession tumbles out.
"My deepest sympathies." His lips twitch as though suppressing a grin.
I scan the crowd. "Aunt Erzsébet will see us together. She's already chastised me. She knows you sent the letter."
Vlad Dracula drags a finger across his full bottom lip. "Do you think I am afraid of an old woman?"
"Of course not but—"
"Are you afraid of her?"
I square my shoulders. "I prefer avoiding her wrath."
"Dance with me." Vlad's voice is a challenge.
"You know I cannot." I scan the crowd in search of Aunt Erzsébet.
Behind the mask, his eyes glimmer with amusement. "At Visegrád you appeared a maiden of courage and intelligence."
"My aunt..." My chin drops and I shake my head.
"Then we won't dance." Prince Vlad steps close. "We will leave the castle."
My head jerks up. "What? I can't. I mustn't. It's..."
Prince Vlad whispers in my ear. "It's the perfect time. The guests are drunk or too busy flirting and dancing to notice our departure. Come with me. See Buda with new eyes."
The heavy cloak of depression slips off my shoulders, replaced by the chill of excitement. It is risky. Too risky. But every fiber of my being sings with the thrill of it. If I am caught without a chaperone my virtue is compromised. Possibly destroyed.
I lower my eyes. The tips of my slippers reach to the marble tile's edge. It's a line I dare not cross. Virtue or adventure? A few hours of fun or a lifetime of regret? The edge blurs under my indecisive stare. The two slabs become one. My slipper slides over the thin line of its own accord.
"We cannot walk out the front door," I say.
"We will leave through the tunnels."
My mouth drops open. "You know the way through the labyrinth?"
"The question, Lady Ilona, is do you?"
"It's been years." I lower my voice as a pharaoh-costumed courtier strolls much too slowly past us.
Prince Vlad studies the room as though assessing an escape route. "Change clothes. I will wait by the chapel." Vlad bows, turns on his heel, and disappears into the crowd.
Excitement gushes over me. Waves of anticipation surge through my limbs. I want to squeal, to clap, to dance. But I can only smile, glad for my mouth-covering yasmak.
Only one problem stands in my way.
I slink cat-like from the great hall and dart to my chambers.
"Bring me a servant's clothes," I say the moment I close my chamber door.
Bernádett, wrapped in a wool blanket, looks up from her darning. "Yes, my lady, but why do you need them?"
I fling theyasmakonto the bed. "I'm changing costumes. Bring a simple frock, kerchief, and shawl. Please hurry."
Face scrunched with puzzlement, Bernadette scurries from the room.
I shed the Turkish costume in haste, shivers of excitement prickling my skin. Rubbing my arms for warmth, a single cold twinge makes me reconsider my hasty decision. Will I be safe alone with Prince Vlad? He has always been a perfect gentleman. I pace back and forth, each minute an eternity.
Bernádett, a drab wool skirt, coarse linen blouse, sash, and kerchief draped over her arms, returns and shuts the door. "Is this what you want, my lady?"
I hold the rough wool to my body. "Perfect."
"Seems more like a disguise than a costume." Bernádett's brows skew in puzzled curiosity as she helps me into the blouse.
"Is there a difference?"
"I suppose not." Bernádett braids my hair, ties the ends with a red ribbon, and wraps the kerchief around my head. "Are you leaving the castle tonight?"
"What an outrageous suggestion." The lie slips like butter from my tongue. "Why do you think that?"
Bernádett's face creases with worry. "I know you are smitten by Dracula, who I have heard enjoys disguising himself as a commoner in order to mingle with his people."
"Smitten?" I laugh too loudly. "I'm changing costume. Nothing more." I lift my hawking boots from the chest and wiggle into them.
"Curious footwear for a party." Bernádett wraps the leather straps around my ankle. "Do be careful, my lady. Dracula is skilled in the art of flattery. The man—"
"The prince." I slide off my rings and drop them into her hand.
"Begging your pardon. The prince you are acquainted with is a fantasy. He's a wolf in sheep's clothing. He committed horrific acts against God. You do not know the true man."
I stand tall and look down at her slight form. "And you do?"
"No, but I know you, and the torch you carry for him is no match for the hellfire consuming his soul."
"Tonight is not the time to discuss political rumors." I flap my hand. "Do not wait up for me. I plan to dance all night."
Vlad waits in front of the chapel in a merchant's long robe, fur cap, and wolf-lined coat. His curls are brushed out and his mustache unwaxed. All noble affectations are gone, and yet his presence is not diminished. I find his rugged appearance more appealing and must stop myself from reaching out to touch his wavy hair.
Prince Vlad's mouth curves into a mischievous grin and he bows low with a gallant flourish. "I believe there is a tunnel entrance inside the chapel." He opens the carved wood door.
Inside, sconces cast flickering shadows against the chapel walls, and frankincense perfumes the air. Matthias insists the sconces remain lit as a tribute to Jesus lighting our path to goodness.
I avert my gaze from the holy relics, afraid the marble Virgin Mother, Stations of the Cross, and wooden crucified Jesus will convict me of immodesty.
"Here." Behind the altar, I tap the floorboard, which but for a tiny indentation looks like all the others. "Are you clever enough to open it?" I cross my arms and step back.
Prince Vlad chuckles, drops to one knee, and traces the edges. "Child's play." His fingernail flicks the thin mechanism hidden in the seam and the floorboard yawns open.
"You already knew!"
"Not at all." Prince Vlad lifts a lantern from off the wall hook and dangles it over the black maw. "Shall I lead the way?" He holds out his hand.
The warmth of his fingers shoots up my arm and nestles in my heart, his touch more exciting than our descent into the bowels of the palace.
"Are you frightened?" His eyes flicker gold and green in the lantern's flame.
"Does a wolf fear a sheep?"
My answer must please him because he gives a quick squeeze to my fingers.
The labyrinth beneath Buda castle is a dank vast maze of dark tunnels, rocky caves, and sealed grottos stocked with weapons, armor, and provisions.
"I haven't been down here for a long time." I pull my hand from his and stare into the black tunnel, my fingers clutching the wool skirt. "Father only showed Margit and I one way out."
Prince Vlad lifts the lantern. "Rumor has it there is an entrance under Matthias's bed."
"I don't know about that. But I do know only a few are privy to the maze's secrets." I rub my arms to ward off the chill. "Father said the Steward of the Labyrinth keeps the exit route lit. Supposedly—I've never seen him—he is very old, disfigured by fire, and missing his tongue—hacked off during battle. He knows every tunnel, grotto, cleft, and rock." I gesture to the narrow dimly lit tunnel. "Shall we?"
Prince Vlad squints into a different tunnel, one without benefit of a single lantern. "Let's go this way. I have King Matthias's beautiful cousin all to myself. A hasty exit is not my intention."
I stare wide-eyed at Prince Vlad as icy prickles bite at the nape of the neck.