Copyright © 2012: Letitia Van Herck. All Rights Reserved.
When Love Runs Red
Chapter Eighteen
Days had gone by since Charlotte and Dante’s mishap and neither had seen much of the other. At first Charlotte had not minded, finding her time away from the brutish solider and ambassador rather peaceful. She too had found that she had not once been rendered unconscious. However as time had proceeded she had begun to miss his presence. Despite his wild tempered outburst and tendency to hinder all emotion there was something in the way he held himself that made her crave his company – like it was the very air she breathed. She too felt oddly safe with him.
Another pressing issue, however, had been forced upon Charlotte: The ball. Charlotte had always found balls to be stiflingly uncomfortable – even back home. The prospect of smiling and waving and being forced to tolerate men’s prudish attempts of flattery was all rather terrible in Charlotte’s opinion. She very much hoped things would be different here.
Charlotte had spent the days not only learning more about vampire conduct, but also preparing her own self for the ball. Though she had not personally seen the Queen again, proper attire had been requested for her. Education in manners hadn’t needed to be taught – much to her dismay – as her mothers tiring rambles about what a ‘Lady must do’ tumbled through her mind. For the most part it was simply to smile and wave along with addressing everyone in the correct fashion. Most importantly, however, it was to never show displeasure – for it was considered a great insult to do so.
The ball itself was to be held tomorrow at the prompt time of 6pm – no sooner, no later. It was safe to presume Charlotte held an inkling of nervousness and she too wondered if the vampires in attendance would notice her ‘otherness’.
With a suppressed sigh Charlotte rest back against the smooth bathtub, gently running the wash clothe across her skin - removing all dirt. Her hair bound up again, tightly on her head in a messy bun she had at first revelled in the comfort the warm water had given her. However over time the cold had started to chill the water and her bones. Her maid – Primrose – stood near by, towels resting in her arms. For the last few days the young girl had begun to grow indifferent with Charlotte; simply answering in very curt, shortened sentences not within her normal nature.
Raising her hand Charlotte signalled for her to approach, just as small goose bumps had formed against her pale skin. The cold was slowly becoming overbearing and sank through her skin till it made her very bones ache. Rising gently from the tub, she waited for Primrose to advance before she was assisted out of the tub and a towel was wrapped around her. It was soft against her skin, an odd comfort in what was growing to be dark days.
Outside rain poured tapping like an excessive drumming against the windowpane. It indeed was dreadfully grim weather. Charlotte stood in silence as Primrose proceeded to dry her and then dressing her. Gaze lingering to the window she began to watch the rainfall like tiny tears and found her mind wondering to home. She had started to grow dreadfully homesick.
The sight of the sun – a brilliant glowing orb – had surely become a distinct memory. She found herself longing for the gentle warmth against her skin – though England itself held very little in the way of sunshine. Though the moon held a shining brilliance the sun could not achieve and too was highly interesting, it didn’t hold the same comfort the sun had.
A soft sigh escaped her lips as Primrose continued to dress her. Once the corset, bloomers and petticoat was on it was simply left for a light golden dress to be slipped on next. Charlotte had an arranged dinner with the Queen tonight – a treat some would consider. It had been a while since her last meeting with the Queen and so much had seemed to change since then. Not only had Dante almost died but also Charlotte’s mood had soured considerably. However she wouldn’t show her differ in mood in case it was perceived as an insult.
When fully dressed, Charlotte stepped forward resting her hands against the smooth fabric of her dress. Flattening it down, she then proceeds to do a light twirl; watching as the golden fabric follow her elegant movements. Giving Primrose a quiet smile of gratitude she made her way to her dressing table, knowing full well her hair was to be Primrose’s next focus. Charlotte sat down on the chair before it, only to be met by her almost flawless reflection.
The only indication that something was indeed out of the ordinary was the sadness that tainted her large eyes. Casting her gaze down, she could not bear to see the change. The rain continued to pour, drowning the air in a grim façade. Primrose unbound Charlotte’s hair, before running a comb through the honey brown strands and untangling the knots. Charlotte winced as the comb tugged against her hair; finding Primrose’s force far too rough.
“Be more careful, I fear you are tugging too hard,” Charlotte muttered, fighting back a scowl.
“Sorry, My Lady,” Primrose muttered, though upon looking in the mirror Charlotte could tell she was undoubtedly distracted. Bringing her head forward she ended all contact with her hair, before turning and facing Primrose directly; a look of enquiry on her face.
“You seem to be troubled; would you care to talk about it?” Charlotte asked. It was a polite enquiry but it seemed to shock Primrose into grim silence. Her face went blank; her eyes dull as she went stock-still. Bowing her head in acknowledgment, she gripped onto the comb before answering.
“It is nothing, My Lady. You need not concern yourself with my welfare,” She replied curtly, before resuming with Charlotte’s hair. After some time – and a considerable amount of tugging on Primrose’s part – Charlotte was prepped and ready for supper with the Queen. Her hair was neatly bound, her dress set and her skin perfectly clear.
Collecting herself, she rose and clutching the golden folds of her dress, made her way to her chamber’s door. Twisting the handle she opened the door and stepped out – Primrose close behind. Making the prolonged trek from her room to the dinning hall was never pleasant. The palace’s walls seemed to enclose around her, the cracks and corners echoing with forbidding whispers.
The palace held an eeriness, that wasn’t to be desired. Charlotte often had the sense of being watched whenever she trotted through the soulless hallways. Taking in a deep breath, she tried to ignore the subtle unease that trickled through her body, until her mind began to wonder to him once more: Dante. She wondered now if he would be present at supper, knowing he occasionally sat in attendance with the Queen.
She soon arrived at the dining hall. Standing before the large gold embedded double doors, she took a small intake of breath. Time pressed down against her, her lips trembling at the prospect of seeing him behind the door. Putting her nervousness aside, however, she lifted her head before Primrose opened the door – admitting her attendance into the room.
The room was lit with candles, illuminating the large space in an amber glow. The flames danced endlessly, like timeless spirits. The wood too took a fiery tone, like the flames were swallowing the wood whole. Long swirling shadows cast against the walls; taking on twisted deformed shapes and captivating Charlotte’s attention briefly.
“Lady Watson, so glad you could finally join us,” The Queen said, bringing Charlotte’s attention away from the twisting shadows. The Queen once again was a sight to be seen; a swirling form of pure power. Dressed in a lavishing red gown – a popular item for the Queen – it made her look ever the paler. The Queen gave Charlotte a slight smile, though she was certain she saw a tinge of a sneer in it. Her attention was then brought about to the man also present in the room. He was not Dante. No rather a blonde hair gentlemen that too held an air of power.
“There is something sinister in the way he held himself,” Charlotte thought quaintly to herself, but continued to greet him with a subtle smile.
“I must apologise for the delay, your highness.” Charlotte replied, taking her seat at the large wooden table. The table was already laid with warm food from roast meat, to cooked vegetables and fresh fruit. Red wine had been lain down too. The male sitting to the right of the Queen, bowed his head in polite acknowledgment – his blue eyes glistening with an otherworld mischief. Verily she found herself still beneath his gaze.
“I would like to introduce you to Sir Michael Cranford, a fine business man. One of which I have the pleasure of knowing. Sir Cranford this is Lady Charlotte Elizabeth Watson,” The Queen declared, raising her hand; signalling one of the serving staff to approach. They approached on signal picking up the flagon of wine and pouring them each a glass.
“It is a pleasure to meet you Sir Cranford.” Charlotte muttered, resting her hands unto her lap – a rather delicate gesture. She felt oddly insecure beneath their overbearing gazes, as though she was a lamb being put to the slaughter.
“I concur the pleasure is all mine, Lady Watson.” he retorted a sense of knowingness in his voice. Indeed, there was something oddly strange about the man sitting opposite her. He was unconventionally alert and took a far greater interest in her than she would have liked. Bowing her head in silent acknowledge, she grasped her glass in her hand and took a sip of the red wine, before going on to consume the meal prepared. Charlotte didn’t mutter a single word the entire time.
Rain poured endlessly. Large puddles had started to build, like great lakes, out the damp stable grounds. Though holey, creaky and tattered Dante was silently thankful for the roof that shielded his head from the rampant storm. Thunder crackled in the sky, the storm brewing fiercely – no doubt going to be the cause of a considerable quantity of calamities.
With very little mind, the brooding solider, leaned against the splintered wood of a stable door. The putrid smell of hay and manure wafted through the air – a smell so distinct it often lingered on ones clothes for a hefty length of time. Dante found great comfort in the silent confounds of the stables. The horses, rather timid creatures, always appeared to hold some profound logic Dante found comforting. Indeed their presence in turn was simply a comfort for him.
Unlocking the stable door, he stepped into the square confinement of a mares stable. The mare made a sound of reorganisation as Dante stepped in, bobbing its head curiously in greeting. Reaching out, he pet its head; running his rough fingers against its short black fur, then mane. Its mane was laced with streaks of pure white, like snow, a stark contrast to the midnight black.
Despite the late hour Dante found he was plagued with restless; rendering all notions of sleep utterly foolish. Leaving his room he had trekked through the blistering storm, to the stables located outside the Palace. He had gotten drenched. In fact he was still drenched now. His dark hair stuck to his skin and his boots dampened from the rain. His clothes too were uncomfortably stuck to his body, leaving him feeling humid and muggy.
Lightening crackled outside, causing the horse to stir considerably out of fright. Dante furrowed his brow and raised his hands before him – trying to calm the beast. He had little to no success, for the horse was too frantic. Shadows twisted behind him, the other horses beginning to stir too, for they were all nervous of such harsh weather. He would be too if he hadn’t grown so accustomed to it. Once living in the streets had given him a hard edge that even living with royalty could not hinder.
“Steady girl, steady,” Dante muttered reaching out and stroking the mares’ long snout. It seemed to calm the beast considerably, or rather enough for Dante to feel it would not harm him. With a slow sigh Dante continued to stroke the horse, his mind casting to what he was at present evaded. He had been invited for supper with the Queen and Charlotte. However after he had acted so un-gentlemanly before her, he found himself too ashamed to be in her presence. It seemed some of the nobles’ etiquette had subverted onto him. Though his stomach clenched in undesired hunger, there had been another reason he had eluded the ordeal for Michael would be present. He found the man to needlessly prudish, horribly greedy and subsequently unpleasant to be around.
No doubt they would all be in transfixed conversation over the upcoming ball. Charlotte was indeed apart of that world after all; used to grand demeanour and lavishing parties. She was no doubt relishing in the idea of the event. Dante wasn’t however. He always felt indifference towards him when in attendance; though of course he seldom showed it. There were many speculations into his direct origin; he though continued to let him speculate – as disrespect would be granted at the truth. Fighting a scowl he let the now still of the night and gentle patting of rain ease his troubles.
A certain silence had fallen. Dante found he now could distantly hear the low thudding of boots and clicking of hooves. Raising his head he eased himself into the shadows of the stall – his back pressed against the hard wood and hay – watching as a lone dark figure entered the stable. The figure appeared to be creeping, a sense of rebelliousness about him. He darted his head around, inspecting for any unsuspecting visitors. It was perhaps the stranger’s downfall Dante was present that night.
“This way, this way,” the stranger ushered, tugging at what appeared to be the horse’s reins. The horse made a sound of protest but complied regardless. As the stranger grew closer, tones and shapes were gathering; transforming him from a single shadowed orb to a man. As he became more known, reorganisation came across Dante. The stranger was not a stranger at all but rather one of his fine guards; a young man whom went by the name of Gerard.
Gerard had always been a quiet, reserved man, often overshadowed and seldom noticed until recently. He too had aided in finding Charlotte. It came as a surprise to find him sneaking about in the blistering storm, so uncertain of his movements and so secretive in posture. In fact it went against the guard’s very nature.
Curiosity rippled through Dante. He wondered adamantly about Gerard’s odd behaviour. As he led the horse to an empty stall – a factor Dante had failed to notice – he stepped out the shadows. His large build filled the space, and he no doubt looked like a menacing force. His face once more was unreadable; a blank mask in some sense.
Noticing his sudden company, Gerard spun around with a start. The horse – whose reins he still gripped tightly – stirred in surprise. Eyes going wide, the young guard seemed to trip over his own self in sheer awkwardness. There was no doubt he knew he had been caught in the act. Though Dante was still not certain to what this ‘act’ was.
“It is rather late, is it not, to go out for a ride?” Dante enquired, approaching him. Gerard stilled then, his eyes darting as though contemplating an answer. There was a clear sense of fear flushed upon his face.
“Indeed, Sir, it is,” Gerard replied, however there was a nervous quake in his voice.
“Now where would one be at such a late hour?” Dante enquired further, bringing himself closer so he now towered, dauntingly, above the male. The fear all but wafted from Gerard’s very essence as he swallowed back once again considering his answer. “It would be wise if you told me the truth,”
“I was just visiting my family, Sir. My sister, she lives in poverty and I have a duty to protect her,” He answered hastily. A sense of knowingness, of a deep rich understanding, overcame Dante. It was forbidden however for a guard to have any contact with any relations – poor or otherwise – when entering the Queen’s service.
“It too is my duty to report any conduct that goes against the Queen’s orders,” Dante started, causing Gerard to pale considerably, “However that is only if I hear of such things. Let us pretend you have said naught to me, lad. That you went out to improve your riding and certainly not to go against direct orders.”
There was the longest pause, before an inkling of relief seemed to drown Gerard’s futures. He bowed, before bringing rising and giving an easy smile.
“Thank you, Sir!” He stated.
“Now what are you thanking me for? Now I suggest you attend to the horse before retiring for the night,” Dante replied giving him a knowing look. A smile quirked at the corner of Dante’s lips as he turned around leaving the young guard alone and dumbfounded.
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The chapter has yet to be edited, so sorry for any mistakes.