RP:The Orchestrina

Fancier Room for Rent

The sun was setting over the Dark Land, the forest surrounding the Adelstein estate dark with long shadows and fading orange light. Haakon was speaking to his driver, ensuring that his trunks had been secured to the large, dark four horse carriage. The amount of baggage he’d carried with him was nearly doubled to how a vampire usually traveled, yet he’d seemed to have collected a number of gifts for Cesaria. One of his mothers pashmina shawls, a heavy mink coat, a few other pieces of winter clothing and a more simple coat, jewelry. It was a madness, truly. He could no longer look at a single beautiful thing and not think of her, not want to possess it only to lay it at her feet. And perhaps because the movers had mentioned the lightness of the work he’d paid them to do when he’d sent them to move her belongings, Haakon had thought that she might appreciate more than most his materialism. Of course, a woman who moved as often as she must have would travel light. Though the chill would not touch him, he was buttoning a handsome coat when Silas’ letter arrived. It was worse, somehow worse than the last, the fear that rocked him now to read the words penned there. How could it be when this one stated she was out of harm's way? The fierce, primal possessiveness that took him sent his cold eyes to liquid amber. He barked quick orders to the grounds keeper, the driver, then took off into the night on his own horse without bothering to saddle it. He rode again as if the end followed him. He cursed in his mind, thinking that she might be plagued with another hex that caused her to be surrounded by blood sucking creatures like flies. Lamented that he was just another that circled her. And when he arrived at Cenril he nearly took her door down again, as he’d jokingly said he might in one of his last letters, with his fist as he pounded into it in the latest hour of the night.

On the appointed day, Cesaria woke up restless. Like a child on the yule’s eve, she could not sleep, disturbed by the fizzy anticipation that bubbled throughout her body. He would not arrive until after dark. As she paced in the wintry sunlight that poured through her large, south-facing windows, she resented the slow turn of the clock’s hands. Nothing could distract from her excitement and impatience. No book captured her attention. She reread the same sentence over and over as her thoughts drifted to Haakon’s imminent arrival (though not imminent enough). She spent an outrageous amount of time perfecting her hair, her face, her outfit, buffing every inch of skin that Haakon was unlikely to touch thanks to her mother’s curse which felt increasingly like the world’s most complicated contraceptive. Despite the length of her grooming and pruning, Cesaria was ready over an hour before the appointed time, which was just when someone banged loudly on her door. Her heart leapt into her throat. Haakon? Or maybe that vampire that followed her earlier today? She hesitated, unsure of who it could be, but took her cue from the fact that Haakon’s hired man did not intervene. Must be Haakon, then. As she opened the door her heart raced with a nervousness she did not expect, split between feverish desire and alarm at the abrupt, energetic pounding. “Haakon?” she said breathlessly.

Haakon pushed himself into her home and collected her in his arms quickly. Even as he trusted the words that were sent to him were true he needed to see, to touch and know that Cesaria hadn’t been touched. Hadn’t been harmed. The amber hadn’t yet faded from his eyes as he drank her in, as he fisted his hands in those dark curls and tilted her to face him. “What is it, Cesaria, that has my kind circling you like moths to flame?” His tone was clipped, angry, possessive. And what was an Elder doing in Cenril? What were the odds that he’d find her? Again, he thought it might be yet another curse, one upon her or one more that hounded him he did not know. But she was like a balm to him, forever easing the poison of anger that burned through him. He noted that she was lovely, as always, but in the way of women who used little tricks and an inherently feminine magic to ready herself for a man. This also distracted him. Pleased him. He stole a kiss, quick and deep, but backed off of her after a heartbeat to give her space he guessed she might need. Perhaps he needed a moment himself. “He didn’t touch you then? Silas sent word to me that Leodarkheart was in Cenril.” The vampire moved about her home restlessly, as if he were hunting for the Elder in all of its shadows, and attempted to admire how she’d hung the painting. Cesaria was a lovely distraction though and he found her again quickly. “I’ll have someone move your things again while we are away. You can not stay here.” As always, he expected a fight from her and his face closed into a mask of cold authority.

Cesaria yielded to Haakon’s embrace and hid her broken smile against the crook of his neck. She had recovered by the time he turned her face to him, her chin complaint under his control. But she would not be able to keep her mother’s demons at bay for long. Everything about him pleased her, his anger, his possessiveness, his naked desire, the way he kissed her and backed off before the curse frustrated them both. She had only ever demanded one thing of him, for him to respect the limits of her curse, and his deference to that boundary moved her precisely because he was not a man who had to. “No, he did not touch me,” she said as he stalked her spacious apartment — or is it his spacious apartment? The difference did not matter to her. She watched him move through her apartment with his sure, long steps and fluid movements. Gone was the awkwardness and false presumptions of their first encounters. Now that she knew him better, he became more gorgeous and elegant to her. He declared she would be moving again and she nodded without hesitation. “Of course, Haakon.” Her arms slipped around his waist to help him settle. “Maybe all those vampires aren’t drawn to me but simply covet what is yours,” she teased, not believing her playful theory. It’s just a coincidence, of that she was sure.

Haakon felt pleasure again, with guilt following closely behind, when she agreed to him so readily. The vampire settled into her embrace easily, wrapping his long arms around her. He took a moment then to bury his face in her hair, to press his lips to the top of her head as everything inside of him screamed: Mine, mine, mine. When he collected himself he said, “Perhaps a nice home in the Dark Land, that way the vampires that have been pulled into your orbit will not have to trouble themselves with traveling so far,” There was a bitterness undercurrenting the tease, a thickness to his voice. “And I will have an easier time hunting them all down.” He pushed at his wind tossed hair, the last of his frustration leaving his body on an exhale. With her, he seemed to forget all that he could not be. Found it easier and easier to slip into what he once was. He was eager for the carriage to arrive, to lay more at her feet and see how it pleased her in real time. Would the curse steal her smile, or would the fear of it quell any happiness she felt before she could even express it? He wanted to know and was greedy for another piece of her. While they waited, Haakon fought with his control. He wanted his hands on her again. Wanted to take her to bed and explore her body, her mind. Instead, he was a gentleman and busied them both with talk of how she liked the paintings. If she’d had time to bury herself into any of the books. How was her work? Would she be able to find, or want, more in Vailkrin? He posed those questions carefully, considering now how his need to move her might be something against her wishes. With precious few hours to spare until daylight, the carriage arrived and the driver came to call on them with the trunk meant for her in tow. He waited for her to pick through the gifts, asked her for simple honesty regarding the choices he’d made in clothing, before they would set out for Frostmaw. Because he’d anticipated the hour and because he simply refused to travel in any other way, the carriage was large, as comfortable as his considerable fortune could offer, and very dark.

Path to the Mountain

Haakon’s seething about other vampires made Cesaria grin behind her delicate knuckles. As he raked his fingers through his hair she cupped his face lovingly, her gaze communicating all the intensity of her ardor which shined brightly whenever he hissed at her foes, real or imagined. She was not quite convinced Leodarkheart was much of a threat, but also did not care to defend him, either. The elder was nothing to her, just another thing that went bump in the night. She asked questions about the paintings, spoke of the second book she had begun to read from his collection, gave her honest opinions of both (the heroine in this book was quite annoying to Cesaria, a shrieking and scared girl, but she loved the authoritative male lead, no surprise there). She shrugged softly at the mention of work. All she needed in Vailkrin was a library and access to the magically-inclined to help her obliterate her damned curse, and his. As for paid work, yes, she would do it if it was available, but it wasn’t something that motivated her currently. She had never settled anywhere long enough to think of career. In the afterglow of their long-anticipated reunion, she did not balk at the idea of moving to Vailkrin, her mind still humming with the promise of a honeyed dream. The carriage arrived and as the driver pulled out trunk after trunk, and Haakon brought her gift after gift, her curse spread quickly from her mouth to her hair and shoulders and below. She turned away abruptly to try and compose herself, her arms already shriveled and gray as she clutched at her own astonished face. When her youth returned to her flesh, she turned slowly and very deliberately, hands trembling a little with the effort to stay grounded as she picked through the gorgeous things. His taste was impeccable, or perhaps, more likely, she was too young to have developed a refined taste of her own and thus it was simple, easy, for him to pour into her pliant, young character the edges he preferred in a woman. She focused on a deep plunging, ruby pendant first, then the pashmina shawl, then a long slinky and sparkly gown, then the fur coat and matching fine-crafted boots, followed by brilliant, studded earrings that winked through the playful bounce of her curls. Nothing was to her disliking, but then again, she was too young to have developed material distastes. In the carriage, the first hour was easily spent in conversation. She asked him particulars about his business, asked about his mother who owned the shawl before her (a fact that wooed Cesaria in no small measure). But some time during the second hour, the bumps on the road and the crunch of wagon wheels on dried grass distracted Cesaria. She longed to look out the window, but doing so would expose Haakon to sunlight. Is she to miss the scenery of a new continent, a new enchanted land? One of the only pleasures of her curse was that it forced her to travel and see the marvels this planet had to offer. Are they in a plain? A forest? Among mountains? It dawned on her for the first time what a life devoid of sunlight truly meant, and suddenly the differences between them came into sharp relief despite the lack of light in the carriage. Not even a lantern, she noted for the first time. Yet the sky was surely blue just beyond these heavy curtains. He asked her a question. “Hmm?” She did not hear it. Her mind was far away. As he asked the question again, she cut him off with a question of her own, not rudely but simply unable to hear him over the doubts that boomed in her mind. “Is it always dark in Vailkrin?”

Haakon had offered her privacy, smartly sending the driver away, so that she could have her moment. As long as he had control of himself he would never again push her into revealing what he knew caused her pain. And her pleasure brought his own. He admitted to having hired help with the clothing, save for the shawl that was deeply personal, for he had little mind for women’s fashion. He told her what he could remember of his mother and her brightness, her colorful culture. The ride was filled with another kind of tourture for him. So close to her, so surrounded by her he felt the stir of bitter thirst take him. The burning in his throat threatening to show in the depths of his eyes. He sat carefully sprawled, long legs stretched out in the ample room and the stubborn line of his lips hidden behind a fist. But it was a poor facade, less a man at his leisure and more a lion in wait. So just as the absence of sunlight reminded Cesaria of the truth that would forever seperate them, Haakon’s blood lust brought him back to himself. He fought to continue the conversation, though he thought she might sleep, but sensed when the awareness came to her and lingered like a poor guest. He doesn’t answer her for a while, letting the sounds of their travel fill the space between them, before he nods. “It is the Dark Land,” His voice was dark, tense. “Forever in shadow, as I am.” Again, a pregnant silence separates them. He watches her carefully, easily making out the lines of her in the darkness, and wonders again how he’d let himself come this far. Selfish, impulsive to have spirited her away on a holiday that she’d likely not even enjoy for having to spend all of it in darkness. “Are you missing the sunlight?” His tone was careful. “You could pull back a drape. Mind direct light doesn’t reach me, that is all.” He hid his pain carefully, no sign of it coming to his voice or the handsome lines of his sharp face.

Cesaria did not miss Haakon’s white-knuckled restraint, and yet, for reasons as mysterious as their intense and instant attraction, or perhaps for reasons plainly stupid, she did not fear him. She trusted his will, his enormous capacity for self-discipline. The pain in his response gutted her. He knew her mind already, and there was no point trying to soothe his ego with empty, ornamental words. Instead she lifted his hand that had not felt the warmth of the sun for several centuries, and pressed a lingering, devoted kiss to his knuckles. She slid closer to the window and carefully peeled back the curtain, her gaze following the refraction of the perilous sunlight into the carriage, then settling on his long form in the shadow, taking the measure of him, making sure he was safe. When she finally looked out the window, she gaped at the lush, enchanted greenery of the western Sage Forest, and the oncoming rocky facade of the stunning Xalious Mountains with the white peaks and proud, sturdy, stone bases that flared across the horizon like titans. It occurred to her that as he accommodated her curse, she too could accommodate his. With the light of the sun in her deep brown eyes, hope returned to her. This was doable. “You’ve never seen this land in sunlight, have you? You came to Lithrydel after you were cursed? Here’s what I see.” She took her time describing to him the scenery like a vivid, breathing painting, as the sunlight painted her tanned, olive skin and flushed her cheeks. “Was there snow in your homeland? There was only a little in mine, on the tallest mountains, but they did not look like this. My mountains were round and covered in a carpet of enormous trees with dense canopies. The Xalious Mountains are sharp, dry, their trees and shrubs skeletal and dwarfed by the mighty stone cliffs. The snow extends down a third of their peaks and they glisten gold in the sun.” Once she had had her fill of this sight, she closed the curtain and nestled up against Haakon’s side to rest. Sleep took her in short naps. A light sleeper, she woke when the carriage jostled, spoke with him and caressed him between naps. Even so she could not fully escape the doubt that had crept into her mind early in the trip. Other differences disrupted her fantasy. At the Hunter’s Lodge she requested a stop. She had to eat, daily, and use the loo, more than daily and the pressure was getting unbearable. He could not accompany her into the queer little inn, could not laugh at the bizarre taxidermy that decorated every square inch of the lodge. She described it to him, but it wasn’t the same. Had he ever visited it at night? No? Ah, maybe next time... Every hour or so she peeked out the curtain again to see if the scenery had changed, and described to him any significant developments. By the time the sun was setting anew, they were cresting the highest peak to Frostmaw.

Haakon was touched, undone, by the gentle brush of her lips. The understanding that it carried. Because he did not know what his face would reveal he looked away and clenched the fist at his chin tighter. He looked back to her only when he sensed the light and felt the oppression of its heat crowding him in the cabin. And if his heart had beat in his chest it might have stopped looking at her then. The light set her eyes on fire, turned the lovely dark depths there into pools of precious gold and honey. The fall of her dark hair was alive and vibrant in the searing light, her skin dark and kissed with it enchantingly. And he ached. Again, something he’d long buried rose within him and threatened to burn him, the world he’d created, to ash. “Cesaria,” He whispered her name like a prayer, the word thick and heavy with his accent. But he collected himself quickly, hid the vulnerability and longing with a dry smile. “Pull the curtain just a little to the left,” He amends, nodding to the shining line of light that neared the edge of his boot. Haakon was moved again, enraptured by her telling of the scenes that scrolled by in the window as much as he was the lines of her sun drenched face as she told it. He made small comments, asked questions when he thought of them or wanted to hear her speak more about her home, and answered about his own. “When I lived and I was very young, I traveled often and saw my fill of worlds.” This was said casually, offered as a poor bandage to stanch the bleeding they both felt from the wound his curse inflicted. “My mother and my father came from different areas but because they were wealthy it was easy enough to keep a foot in both cultures, both lands. There was snow and mountains, like you see here in Xalious, where my father’s family rose up from. But there were warmer seasons in my mother’s homeland and I prefered the heat,” He paused, considering himself carefully. “The sunlight.” The vampire moved forward then, carefully, and plucked a strand of sunwarm hair that had rested just inside the shadow. So near the sun, it felt like holding his hand just too close to an open flame, he did not flinch. He toyed with the curl for a moment before letting it fall again. He listened to her as she painted worlds with her words and saw them vividly pass by trapped in the darkness. Haakon pressed gentle, gracious kisses to the top of her head when she settled back into him so that he could put his arms around her. The vampire didn’t seem to mind overmuch when she needed to stop, carefully hiding his annoyance that she would have to go escorted by the driver lest she attract more danger even here. He was both blessing and cursing all the gods he knew when he could finally sense the sun dipping below the horizon. “We’re close,” He informs her, even as she draws back the curtain again. When the carriage finally came to a blessed halt, Haakon unfolded himself quickly and offered Cesaria his hand to help her down and into the cold.

Frostmaw

Cesaria sighed dreamily whenever Haakon kissed the top of her head. It was a habit of his that charmed her, an unexpected sweetness in a man who took care to perform bitterness. That he would share that part of himself with her made her all the more enamoured, and she sought that tenderness from time to time as proof of the depth of his affection. The carriage drew up the the most expensive hotel in Frostmaw, naturally. Before leaving the carriage, Cesaria donned her veil, just in case. One never knows when happiness may descend as swift as a vampire hunting in the night. In the hotel lobby, she followed Haakon’s lead and drifted sleepily behind him, yawning into the black of her gloved hand. Titans of Winter banners and merchandise was everywhere. The current champion’s face was even painted as a mural on the mirror behind the check-in desk. By the look of it, the annual tournament practically sustained Frostmaw’s tourism industry. As Haakon spoke to the check-in clerk, Cesaria’s gaze settled on the most peculiar decoration sitting on the check-in desk: an ornament of two small, taxidermied, yellow frogs engaged in a fencing match on a scrap of dirt and seashells under a glass dome, one frog lunging forward and stabbing the second in the chest as it collapsed backwards dramatically, its own sword thrust up into the air. Cesaria laughed suddenly and the curse gripped her face near instantly. Perhaps because of her exhaustion, she failed to stop the comic, embalmed frogs from tickling her to her core. She laughed and laughed as the curse spread down her jaw to her throat and arms. She fled suddenly to the ladies’ room in the lobby and hid there for several minutes until she was sure she would not laugh again at the mere thought of the frogs. Hiding in that bathroom she was struck with a thought. It could be the case that it was her curse, not his, that placed the greatest limits on what they could be to each other. He couldn’t even take her to a hotel lobby for 5 minutes without being embarrassed! Angry with herself for losing control, and equally ashamed, she let those emotions fuel her as she re-emerged from the bathroom and joined Haakon silently in the lobby and refused to meet his gaze until they were alone again, which would not be for several minutes more as the bellhop took his sweet time carrying luggage, making small talk, introducing them to the amenities of the room, oblivious to Cesaria’s forced smiles and icey cordiality. In the hotel room, she finally spoke to Haakon and said, a little bitterly, “I’m sorry.”

Haakon inwardly cursed that at the veil and its hindrance to his stolen glances of her. He could still see the basic lines of her, the curve of her lips and the shape of her eyes, but he could not see all of her and for that the veil was an enemy. He heard her sleepy yawn and was careful to hide his endearment of it, slipping into the veneer of cold severity that he dropped only in private with her or in his home. He walked quickly and with purpose, a possessive hand at her elbow as they went, and busied himself with checking in. When he’d booked the hotel he thought the price tag would have bought them a little less tackiness than the banners and merchandise that papered the lobby but he hoped it pleased Cesaria all the same, as he was truly indifferent to the tournament and only interested in continuing his game of mental gymnastics that allowed him to continue plaguing her with his existence. He was just handing over his identification when her laughter tumbled over him. It was as stunning as the sunlight had been in her eyes, just as lovely and warm. He stood straight, careful not to turn too quickly and draw more attention to either of them in the quiet lobby. It came to him as she ran toward the public bathrooms and he looked at the odd frog contraption in wonder, that he’d never truly heard such a deep laugh from her. He finished his business and, though he was oblivious to Cesaria’s internal cursing of the slowness of the bellhop, damned the help as he dawdled and made small talk showing them to the room. Haakon tipped generously, strong-arming the man out of the room as he did and his patience had worn thin. It seemed she was apologizing as soon as the door clicked home behind him. A frown stole the glint of humor from his eyes. “Dont,” He says sharply. “Why should you apologize for laughter?” Temper pushed him toward her, had him moving forward to rid them both of the damned veil and to tilt her chin up gently so that he could look into her eyes. “You have a beautiful laugh. I’ll hear it again one day and you won't have to run, hide or apologize.” There was a fierceness to him. “And that is a promise.”

Cesaria looked up into Haakon’s determined face and felt something give deep within her. “Haakon,” she protested weakly. “You know better than I that some curses can’t be lifted.” She caressed his cheek to smooth the tension out of it. “I’m touched by your dedication, but I don’t want my curse to become yours. ...Maybe you’ll find a way, but...” She glanced away. This was not how she wanted their trip to go. “Look,” she nodded out the window. “You can see the colosseum from here. According to the flyer, the best fighters in the lands compete here every year. Though I must say, the current champion doesn’t strike a very imposing figure in the pictures. You’d make for a much more impressive champion.” Cesaria disentangled herself from him, still weary-hearted from the weight of her curse. To distract herself, she focused on what this holiday ought to be and busied herself with a pamphlet outlining tourist attractions. Number one on the list was the Titans of Winter Tournament. All guests of this esteemed hotel were invited to the ball that would be held before the tournament began, at night. She flipped through the pamphlet to look for other tourism/date ideas. Thermal hot springs, best enjoyed at night! A tour of the forgotten catacombs under Frostmaw’s Bank, with night tours for the ultimate fright! A tour of the moonshine distillery, with live music at night! Cesaria’s heart sank as her revelation in the bathroom hardened into fact. Haakon’s vampirism was not the problem. Her curse was. There was plenty to do at night, and yet she could do none of it so long as this curse threatened to mutilate her body. A darkness settled on Cesaria’s brow as she sat on the arm of an expensive, decorative chair. How could she enjoy a hot spring with Haakon and not become a ghoul before the terrified looks of other couples? The Forgotten Catacombs should pay her, not the other way around. Nothing down there could scare a crowd worse than Cesaria at her happiest. This wasn’t fair to Haakon. Already he couldn’t touch her as they both desired, but now he couldn’t even have her on his arm at a ball. She felt foolish for thinking she could learn to live with a curse designed to be unlivable. About a year into her curse (five years ago now), Cesaria had despaired so completely that she attempted to end her life. She had meticulously and lovingly planned it, too. She picked the music she wanted to listen to, the drugs that would make the release sweet and painless. At the time she didn’t think of it as suicide, but as self-administered euthanasia. She survived only because she measured the dose wrong, and a family lifted her from the corn field and nursed her back to health. She wondered if Haakon ever thought of killing himself after he was turned? She dared not ask. She did not want to die anymore, of that she was sure. But as she stared at the ad of the distillery with the live music, she wondered what exactly she was living for? “You should go to the ball,” she said flatly. “It would be good for your business. It says here the Queen of Frostmaw will be there.”

Haakon yielded to the sound of his name falling from her lips. How could he not? He wouldn’t argue with her on this, wouldn’t want her quick and clever mind to spend long studying the picture of it, as he preferred that his intentions regarding her mother might remain hidden for longer. Deliberately, the vampire shifts the tone of the room by flashing her a mischievous half smile as he moves to pull her in at the waist. “Maybe?” He asks with mock incredulity. “Your lack of faith wounds me terribly.” In a rare show of playfulness he trails a quick, nipping kisses from her jaw to the curve of her neck. He was quick to step away, suddenly very busy with arranging their things. Haakon’s smile stayed as he watched her adapt quickly and move toward the window. He snorted then, when she mentioned he would make any kind of champion. “I’m afraid I’ve misrepresented myself terribly if you think I would be anyone's champion.” He watches her as she studies the pamphlet for a moment before following her across the room to toy with an enchanting curl of her hair. “I’m more likely to be the villain, the charlatan, the blackguard…” He pressed a quick kiss to her temple and moved away again to deal with the trunks in more earnest. Haakon knew she might need sleep, or perhaps a real meal first, and was considering what they might do to end the first night while oblivious to the inner turmoil that plagued Cesaria. He’d forgotten his own pain, his own curse, now that they were out of the bloody carriage and the sun had sank below the horizon. He hung his coat and hers, draped his jacket and tie over the back of a pretty vanity table’s chair. When he was satisfied that things were in order he found the minibar and helped himself to the whiskey. Leaning lazily against the dresser, he nearly choked on it when she spoke again. Haakon’s laughter filled the room and was as genuine as hers had been in the lobby. “A ball?” Setting aside his drink, the vampire crosses the room easily. “Would you like for me to take you then?” Curiosity flashed in his bright eyes. “I’d thought… Well I hadn’t planned on taking you there because…” Though he was not a man for delicate speaking, he was careful with her and so he merely gestured toward the veil he’d thrown on the foot of the bed.

His playfulness enchanted her, briefly drew her out of her gloom. Yes, she was sure of it, he was most handsome when he’d shed himself of the hard shell of his curse. Freed of that burden, he dazzled and seemed convincingly human. Only the chill in his kiss gave his secret away. But the gloom couldn’t stay away from Cesaria for long. The cheerful pamphlet underscored the ways in which she lacked. “A poor villain you make. Didn’t you just promise to move mountains for me?” she teased, her tone light but her expression cheerless and undisturbed by her curse. She was a poor performer even without the curse. Not even his delightful laughter would pierce through the darkness of her thoughts. ”No, Haakon, of course I cannot go,” she said too briskly, rising from the chair too quickly as he approached and evading whatever caress he intended to bestow upon her. She walked to the dresser to sip his whisky. Her face pinched in disgust, body shuddered from crown to toe. She didn’t like whiskey. Why did she do that? She set the tumbler down and stalked towards the closet he’d just arranged, kneeled before her trunk and she searched for something. “Why would you miss an opportunity to rub elbows with royalty on my behalf?” she asked with a false lightness that was weighed down by with frustration. She turned over dress after dress, sweater after sweater, evidently not finding whatever it was she sought.

Haakon had been too slow to catch on, had turned too far inward to see the shift in her mood until she moved away from him. His brow wings in amused confusion as he watches her drink from his glass, his keen eyes intent on her subtle movement as the strong drink shudders through her. “Right, of course.” He echos her, bewilderment coloring his tone. “Certainly the world would spin right off its axis if you donned a pretty dress and happened to smile in some unsuspecting stranger’s presence. It’s the most unforgivable crime, isn’t it, to be ugly?” He’d followed her anyway, his temper spreading like a wildfire, and let the anger turn his tongue into a weapon. Haakon towered over her, crowded her. “I have to wonder, does this vanity extend to the world or have you only beaten yourself down with it? Do you think so poorly of the poor ugly bastard whose scowl is as rotten as a smile?” His tone was cold, clipped and condescending.

“Vanity,” she repeated in a tone of incensed incredulity. Still she did not look at him, even as her eyes flashed with irritation. She opened a second trunk and pawed through it for something she had misplaced. Her movements sharpened as her own temper rose and impatience set in. “Rich coming from you. How many homely women have you fallen for, I wonder? I’d wager none.” From the first trunk she opened she lifted a slinky, sexy dress that he had bought for her and held it for him to see. It was a dress that could only be worn by a woman who was already a knockout, no equal opportunity dress from this sudden champion of the disfigured. She gestured at his own attire, the room, then finally his face, the final ta-da! “Your entire life is perfectly manicured.” She threw a pair of leather pants on the ground, then heels, as she continued to look for the lost item. “You couldn’t even leave the coats strewn across the bed, and I’m on trial for being vain?” She overturned the entire trunk onto the floor, its content worth more than all the gold she had ever earned in her entire life. “Where is it,” she hissed under her breath, to herself.

Haakon nearly took a step back, momentarily at a loss for words as she aimed back at him and stuck true. Because he could not argue it, instead he snatched the dress from her and tossed it across the room. “An unfair question,” He finally managed, “Because I do not ‘fall’ for women. I enjoy them. I-” His mouth snapped shut in astonishment as she cut him off. His head turned to the coats when she mentioned them. “My control is not vanity, Cesaria. It’s necessary.” His voice was dark, heavy with accent as he lost himself in his temper. “I am not a man. What's underneath my mask doesn’t wound me, doesn’t shame me.” At least, he would never admit that it might. The anger that darkened his face from handsome to predatory flashed to confusion when she dumped the trunk at his feet. “What the blooding f-” Someone in the room beside the pounded loudly on the wall, nearly drowning out what he’d said, “-ing hell are you doing?” He moved toward her again, knelt down to take her arms into his hands and still her for a moment. “Cesaria, stop.”

Rage ignited deep in her gut as Haakon explained he ‘enjoyed’ women. The flame had a plume of green to it, an irrational jealousy that made the rage burn hotter. It made her deaf to everything he said after. All she could hear was what she wanted to shout back. She did not want to stop, but his grip was too compelling. Shaking with fury, she met his glare in kind and said, “Well you can’t enjoy me, can you?” She attempted to tear her arms out of his hands, and if able to, she would storm to the bathroom and slam the door behind her.

Haakon let her go. He was too stunned to have kept her. He was rooted to the floor, the mess of the trunk at his feet, for a long time after she slammed the door. When he finally moved again it was to cross the room and finish off the whiskey he’d poured. Embarrassment threatened him, even with the temper that hadn’t quite faded, and bewilderment too. How is it they were already arguing so bitterly when they’d only just gotten to the hotel? And there was a sick sort of satisfaction within him too, under currenting everything. Perversely, he felt himself even more attracted to Cesaria. Had enjoyed the flush of temper on her cheeks, the anger in her eyes. A creature made of centuries of habit, Haakon righted the room again before he knocked on the bathroom door. “Cesaria?” He called her name. “Are you ready to come out yet?”

Cesaria gripped the edge of the vanity and bent her head over the sink, taking deep breaths to steady herself and stop the tears that threatened her. Aware of his keen hearing, she did her best to mask her sobs which came out jagged and abruptly. She swore under her breath. How did this happen so quickly? She ignored the answer she already knew. As Haakon tidied the room, Cesaria splashed her face with water and gently dabbed at her skin with a towel until it looked dewy and not sad. By the time he knocked on the door, only a trace amount of redness outlined her dry eyes. She smoothed her dress and opened the door. Standing there in the door frame, she met his gaze but said nothing.

Haakon’s jaw was set and tight as he looked down at her. He’d committed a number of sins in his life but he’d never been as sorry for any of them as he was for his part in making her cry. The little noises he tried not to hear opened a new wound in him with each sob, the redness that lingered in her eyes a twist of the blade. Regret darkened his eyes but he left it unspoken. “Are you hungry?” He leaned over her, arm stretched above them to rest against the door frame that she filled. The soft enchanted light of the hotel bathroom haloed her and he was reminded of the way the sunlight had played with her hair. The memory made the artificial light seem as pale and distant as the moon. He moved to cup her cheek in his hand and brush his thumb beneath her eyes. “Or would you prefer I take you to bed?”

Cesaria turned her lips towards his palm and kissed it then settled her cheek back in his hand. “I’m not hungry.” She had been, but the argument and anger then bitterness had sapped her of her appetite. “I need to find the thing,” she said as she slipped past him, sliding her hand over his abdomen as she moved towards the closet again. “The, um,” the word escaped her. It was on the tip of her tongue a moment ago. She waved a hand in tight circles in the air as if to conjure the lost word from nothing. She looked through two more gift boxes quickly, though she already knew it wouldn’t be in there. She said the word in her native tongue as her mind fumbled for the translation. As last she said, “Orchestrina!” Her little music box. It was nowhere to be found among their things. She paced as her mind tried to imagine the last place she saw it. “Could you have the driver check the carriage? And the men in Cenril, could they look in the apartment? I’m sure I brought it, but...” She covered her mouth as she paced, anxiety settling into her eyes as the specter of having lost her orchestrina looms. Suddenly she ran to her purse and sifted through its contents. Nothing. Could it have…? “Can someone go back to the Hunter’s Lodge and see if I dropped it there?”

Haakon felt concern, as humans were fragile things and he’d do well to be careful with her needs, when the hand she trailed over him emptied all thoughts from his head. He wanted very fiercely in that moment to pull her from her feet and tangle himself around her on the wide hotel bed. “What thing?” He asked distractedly, watching her with a need that had nothing to do with her heartbeat pulsing through him. “Orchestrina?” He repeated, the concern finally returning, with his sense, as her growing upset became clear. He moved to her as she paced. “Yes, sure. Yes, all of it but let's go through our things one more time?” Haakon’s voice was calm, low and appeasing. He moved away from her to look through their things, his movements neat and efficient. When it became clear the music box was not in the room the vampire shoved into his coat quickly and kissed the top of her head. “One moment, I’ll be back.” And in a blink he was out of the room. He woke the driver, who had been fast asleep in a smaller, less extravagant room below them. He sent word to his contacts in Cenril. While he was in the lobby he ordered food be sent to the room in hopes that Cesaria might eat while he searched the freezing carriage yard himself.

Cesaria nodded as Haakon took control. It felt so easy, despite their argument, to slip back into being cared for by him. He was efficient, clear-headed, and devoted in his deeds even if his words often bit hard. An investment. Something to enjoy. A vain thing. She paced until the expensive food arrived, then picked at half of it, the gamey meat rare and bleeding on the plate. She changed into a silky, sumptuous cream slip he had bought for her and waited on an ornamental chair, her knees bent to her chest, feet on the seat. Haakon would eventually find the little stone box in the gutter in front of the hotel. It had fallen from the trunks into the cargo hold during gift giving, then slid out of the cargo hold as they unloaded the caravan of luxurious clothing. Her gaze dropped to his hand when he returned and she sighed with audible relief, as if he’d just found a lost pet. “Thank goodness,” she said breathily as she crossed to him on quick, bare feet. Holding the orchestrina against her chest, she embraced him tightly. “Thank you, thank you,” she whispered, her face over his shoulder as the curse briefly marred her features. “Where was it?” She cleaned the orchestrina in the bathroom sink and left the door open for Haakon. As she towel dried the stone box, she sat on the edge of the bed. “Did I ever tell you what this is? Before my father left for war, the last war that would take him from us — from me,” she corrected, bristling at the idea that there could still be an ‘us’ with her mother. “He gave this to my mother. It’s a collection of his favorite love songs, dedicated to her. One of the recordings is of him singing their wedding song to her. It’s called—” She stopped herself and looked at Haakon sidelong. The song was named after her mother; she was not yet sure if she should arm this dangerous man with that name. She continued, “After my mother cursed me, I stole this from her and ran away. She didn’t deserve his love.” Her teeth worked against her lips as she considered whether or not to say more. “You know, I still loved her until that night on the beach when we learned of the twixting. Now I am not so sure that I do.”

Haakon was happy to see she was still awake and had eaten when he returned with the music box, though his mood was still foul from the snow that had melted in the lobby of the hotel and drenched him through. Sure, he was an eternal being and no longer susceptible to the frigid climate of Frostmaw, but that didn’t mean he appreciated the sensation of clinging wet hair or a wool coat heavy with water. Still, the smile he knew she hid, made ugly by her curse, made it worth any bit of annoyance he could have felt. He returned her embrace and pressed his lips to her temple. “Think nothing of it,” He answered gently to her gratitude. Then he quickly told her where the box had been found. He was glad too that she started explaining the significance to him without prompting. Not that it would have mattered. If she had been upset over losing a hairpin that she’d found in the street he would have fetched that for her as well, which was a testament to how tightly wound the vampire was around her finger. His worst kept secret. He listened intently as she explained the significance of the clever box and felt a turbulence of emotion to learn its origins were tied so closely to the faceless, nameless woman he’d come to loathe as he had perhaps only one other in his annoyingly endless existence. He tried to imagine what kind of woman would inspire such a gift and recoiled when an image much like Cesaria came to his mind. As she spoke he moved about the room, hanging the drenched coat to dry, discarding the damp jacket beneath it. Haakon was making short work of the buttons on his shirt when he noticed she had caught herself in naming a song and though she’d already had his attention he felt a sharper focus take him. He crossed the room to perch himself on the end of the bed next to her. He smiled at her, sweet but predatory as he asked, “You were telling me the name of the song? I’d like to know it. It seems special to you,” His shirt was open, his hair damp and free. Undone as he was he looked roguish, dangerous without the refinement he wore as a mask. In habit now, he reached out to tug gently on a strand of her hair. “I’m amazed at your capacity to love, Cesaria.” There was no anger in him yet, the ice of his eyes bright with some unnamed emotion. “No one would begrudge you the absence of it toward a woman that’s caused you so much misery.” He watched her a moment more, reading her face carefully, before he stood again to discard the damp shirt. “If it soothes you to any degree, my relationship with my mother was strained,” He offered another piece of himself to her casually. “She’s a bit like you, actually. Dark of hair, quick of wit. Horrible temper.” He removed his belt, unbuttoned his slacks. “Not all together as cruel as your own mother, as it were.” In a matter of seconds Haakon was naked as the day he was born and strolling toward the bathroom. He left the door open as he started the enchanted shower. “That garment suits you,” He called over the sound of water.

Cesaria ran her fingers through Haakon’s wet hair when he came to her, once again struck by the shape of his brow, his slope of his nose, his fullness of his lips. The predatory glint in his eye confirmed what Cesaria already suspected. She hesitated, unsure of whether or not she could throw her mother to this beautiful, deadly wolf. Cesaria had wished for her mother’s death countless times, but the fantasy was always bloodless and blameless, serendipitous, even, like a bolt of lightning from the heavens or a sudden chasm opening beneath her mother’s feet. Even now, Cesaria was unsure if she could wield the threads that would twist and snap her mother’s fate. When Haakon praised her capacity to love, Cesaria laughed sharply through her nose. “My mother said that to me, too, though her tone was quite different,” she murmured ruefully. She watched him undress and hid her rotting lips behind her fingers. At times like these, when her desire for Haakon reached a fever pitch, she imagined herself capable of anything, even killing her mother in cold blood. But this was just more fantasies. Her heart had not settled on the matter, and her hand would never be so steady against the woman who raised her. “Oh, my temper is horrible, is it?” she teased, sending the accusation back at him as the end of winged, knowing glance. Then he was naked and walking away as the curse coursed down her limbs. Immediately she knew two things to be true. He was trying to seduce information out of her, and it would absolutely work. After regaining her composure, she crept into the bathroom and resisted the urge to join him in the shower. What good would it do to pretend the curse won’t take her immediately and completely? Instead she sat on a decorative bench and fiddled with the orchestrina until she reached a particular song. A drum, then a piano, then a brass section filled the room. Soon a man’s voice echoed against the expensive tiles in the bathroom. “That’s my father,” Cesaria explained, wrestling with the curse that fought to claim her face. The man’s voice was rich, sonorous, enchanting, with a tenor that belonged to the angels and a baritone that moved the soul. The lyrics were in Cesaria’s native tongue, and she watched Haakon to see if he could pick the syllables of a name from the melodious string of other amorous lyrics. In this way Cesaria obfuscated her blame, hid behind a veneer of plausible deniability that would in future years and decades fail to convince her. But in that moment, as the song played, she entertained that idea with some satisfaction that she did not tell him her mother’s name, she simply played a song. If he figured it out with his clever mind, then what could she have done? But could he hear it? Could his ear tease out the sigh of a besotted man uttering his lover’s name? Fa-ti-ma. Fa-ti-ma. Fatima.

Haakon laughed easily at her tease and sent her a long, puckish look. “As I am well versed in handling women of temper, I know good and well that it’s now I start apologizing for even suggesting such a thing.” He listened carefully for her as the water sluiced over his body, pleased that she’d followed him in even if he knew it would be impossible for her to join him. “He has a gifted voice,” He offered carefully, even as he listened to the notes, the beautifully and lovingly sung words that were foreign and intriguing. The vampire might have even enjoyed it, as he could appreciate the artistry of it, if only he’d been listening under different circumstances. He had washed and was stepping out by the time the song ended. He dried quickly, wrapped the thick, plush towel around his waist. His face was carefully blank, gave no hint that he might have guessed at her clever game or plucked from it any information that he might use to further his efforts at ending her curse. It was careful game they played, him pretending he did not plan to murder her mother while she pretended that she might not know. He preferred to keep it that way, a nameless entity between them, until he had more control over the situation. Haakon crossed the small room, knelt before her to offer a shameless smile. “Now tell me,” He began, his hand moving to touch the neckline of the silk slip she wore, “Would you like for me to take you to bed and begin working down all of the apologies I still owe you? I’m afraid after tonight I owe you several thousand more,” He tugged at the silk, “I could whisper them sweetly into your ear until you fall asleep, or perhaps I’ll make promises I can’t keep instead. Whatever suits you,” Without truly waiting for a reply, Haakon stood and collected her in his arms as he went. It was a testament to the skill of his hands that the towel never fell from his body as he carried her to the bed and fell into it with her. The bed clothes were fine, decadent and comfortable. The pillows were down and abundant. He led them into something like the game of careful exploration that they’d shared before, only this time he was selfish and greedy. Instead leading, pushing until he met the hard line of her curse. And he whispered apologies, sometimes murmured salacious fantasy when the line was met and his hands ached bitterly to cross it. With the heavy curtains drawn over the wide windows, he took and promised until the sun roused the kingdom around them and the fire burned down to embers. When she finally slept, he counted her heartbeats until he followed her into dreams.

Lost track of the hours spent blissfully with Haakon, or as blissfully as her curse permitted. Initially she heard only the game in his apologies, but eventually through repetition she heard his supplication and it nearly broke her heart. How could he carry so much guilt for how his curse has misshapen his character when her own curse had, in her opinion, more palpably and grotesquely misshapen everything about her, both within and without? She made sure to answer each of his entreaties with an ardent yes, an erotic demand, a submissive touch or a breathless kiss. She did not know if it was day or night outside when her body demanded food. She crossed the room to the small table and chair and picked up the room service menu which was tucked behind the tourism pamphlet. The ad for the hot springs reawakened her own guilt and doubts. Aside from the carnal, how else was she holding him back? She rang the bell to call for service, then dressed in a brilliantly patterned kimono he had bought for her so that she wouldn’t be completely indecent when the waitstaff arrived. She lay back in bed alongside Haakon and walked her fingers down his spine. “What would you be doing if you hadn’t met me? What is it that you want most? Aside from me,” she teased, beating him to the line before he said it. “What’s important to you?”

Haakon could not remember a time when he shared a bed in genuine and earnest sleep in all of his afterlife. It might have been just as long that he’d slept soundly enough to dream. But dream he did. It was a strange series of images, flashes of light and shadow. He might have heard his sires voice, the screams of a woman he’d once loved. It all faded away when Cesaria moved from the bed. He watched her without moving, laid back against a mountain of pillows with an arm behind his head and the blanket riding low on his hips. She was lovely and enchanting in the low light, the curves of her body and the softness of her tawny skin evoking the desire that coiled in his belly like the serpent inked on his arm. Dark, dangerous and waiting. He rolled when she slipped on the kimono, moving so that he could still watch her as she came back to him. She traced fire down his spine and the answering smile he gave her was sleepy and charming in a way he seldomly ever could manage when fully awake. “Only you, darling,” He replied teasingly, even as she stole the words from him. Was it a joke anymore? He did not know. Haakon had been, and was, a man of great ambition. With Cesaria though, he seemed to have misplaced the darker parts of himself. Replaced them with wishes that could not be. He considered for a moment, his mind waking up to the conversation as he moved to sit up with her and push his hair away from him. “The usual, I suppose. Money. Power. Infamy.”

Cesaria smiled as he said the line anyway, not bothering to hide the brief flicker of deformity that sprinted across her face. She had been getting better at repressing the curse, and could even beat it back without thinking of tragic things. Through him she had found a serene contentment that seemed immune to the curse. Was it a loophole, an oversight, or had her mother intended this? The question disturbed her because it opened up the possibility that her mother did, still, in her own twisted way, love Cesaria. Was this the lesson, then? She regretted playing the song for Haakon and wondered if he had teased the name from her father’s voice, but dared not ask. “Oh is that all?” she laughed. The curse galloped across her mouth. “The money I understand. What do you want the power and infamy for? To what end?” There was a knock at the door and Cesaria pulled the sheet up Haakon’s body in mock chastity as she whispered, “No one but me deserves to see this.” She smoothed a hand over his chest then went to the door in her robe to place her order. She returned to the bed and the conversation, straddling him with the blanket between them. “So?”

Haakon’s laughter was bouncing around the room when Cersaria opened the door for the hotel service. When she found her way back to him, boldy sat atop him. His hands reached up to steady her, to touch the softness at her hips. “So?” He echos distractedly, his eyes roaming her in this new angle. He admired the fall of her dark hair the way he admired the priceless art that filled his homes. Studied the shape of her the way he’d studied haunting notes in a masterful symphony. But she waited expectantly for an answer from him and he’d become quite eager to please her. With herculean will Haakon walked himself back, pulling the conversation toward the front of his mind to consider his answer. What had she asked him again? Right yes, ambition, power, glory and gold etc.. “Well, money is a type of power, isn’t it?” This was a nonanswer, a stall. Why was it he could no longer remember what he’d wanted before her? Had his life before her really been so dull? The answer was uncomfortable. Even still, he knew that when the shine of this wore off he would be as he ever was. Alone, undying. Cesaria would change, and gods willing, grow old. She would want a life, a real one with sunlight and promises that were not empty, perhaps one day wish to raise children. Settle into a home, build a life. These were things he could not give her. Simple things that he himself could never attain. So he would fill his dark world up with luxury, with money and the power that it afforded him. With more, if he could take it, because it was something new that he’d not yet attempted in his life. His face had hardened again by the time he was ready to answer her, the softness burned away like mist in slanted morning light. He gives her a long, slow shrug. “I’ve nothing better to do with my time, as I’ve yet to see an end to it. I enjoy comfort, control. I also enjoy a challenge, a change. Eternity is tedious and often very boring.”

Cesaria could see the effect her provocation had on him and was satisfied. This time she did hide her disfigurement, briefly, by turning her head towards the window to hide behind her luscious curls. He focused on the question and she focused on him. His equivocations were so unlike him. She had never seen him at a loss for direction, she didn’t think it possible. As he described the boredom of immortality she pitied him a little, a feeling she was careful to keep off her face. It never occurred to her that someone so successful and self-possessed could also be so lost. “We’ll change that,” she said, a little startled by how easily the word ‘we’, thick with intimacy and promise, slipped past her lips. “We’ll make sure everyone knows your name.” She kissed his jaw then his lips as deeply and for as long as she could, using the pity she felt moments ago as a shield against the curse. She got two precious seconds extra for her effort before the curse won, her lust lost. It was getting unbearable. Maybe she didn’t regret playing the song for him. She couldn’t make up her mind.

Whatever darkness had taken Haakon was stolen from him with the newness of her confidence. It was enthralling, captivating, intoxicating… Words and thoughts fell away as need and desire burned through him viciously, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of her and demanding him to take more. He begged whatever higher power that might be listening to his damned soul give him the control that was slipping away from him like water in an opened palm. He could feel her pulse, heard it pounding through him loud as a war drum as bloodlust and pleasure tilted toward yearning pain. He lost the battle of will then. He broke the kiss to brush his fangs against the pulse that beat erratically at her throat, delicate as a butterfly’s wings against his lips. It was impossible to stop. Unforgivable to continue. Blessedly, his hold on her released so that she could roll away from him. He felt the sudden absence of her painfully, the entirety of him aching like a bad tooth for wanting her. He responded to her wordlessly, groaning as he shut his eyes to the world and pushed a frustrated hand through his hair. In the silence that bloomed between them Haakon stood and poured himself another drink and shot it back quickly. Poured another before turning back to her. The vampire leaned back against the bar and sent Cesaria a pained, wicked smile. “You might want to dress,” He said, just as a knock sounded at the door signaling that the all but forgotten room service that she’d ordered had finally arrived. Within moments, he’d disappeared into the bathroom, this time shutting the door behind him.