Word count: 3,481
Rating: T
Warnings: slight mature content at the end
AN: Day 6 is little late but I couldn't really help it. This time the theme was Bellarke + masquerade ball + Bellamy is the Dracula... kinda. Mind you, this is supposed to be Medieval AU and the characters will most probably be OOC. But yeah, I tried my best.

Chessboard

The first time he saw her she was too young for him, safely tucked against her father's frame as they bore bravely through the snow storm.

Her winter coat covered her slender frame too well for Bellamy to catch a glimpse of her face but her heartbeat was steady and strong and the wind carried the sweet beckoning scent of her blood.

It was intoxicating like nothing he had ever tasted before and that more than anything else intrigued him.

He was The Vampire, he was the Sire of generations of fledglings, some of them more dead than others, he had travelled all across the world, he had hunted and had quenched his thirst for blood with young and old, rich and poor, royalty and peasants, males and females.

Yet, this little girl, barely on the edge of womanhood demanded his attention like she had the right to do so.

And the best part was that she did so unconsciously; her innocence, her pureness, and her blood called him like a siren's call to take from her, to ravish her, to pluck her red flower and ruin her for anyone else.

But he refused to become a slave to her blood, to her song, he refused to become a mindless beast ready to prey on her flesh; but oh, how much he loved a challenge.

The father said something and his temptress laughed despite the freezing temperatures. The happy sound washed over his sensitive hearing and Bellamy committed it to his memory.

He would give her time to grow up and become the woman she was shaping to be.

And then, then he was going to take her world apart until there was nothing left of it but the memory of him.

His fangs elongated and Bellamy smiled a sharp smirk around them.

He could wait to prey on her unsuspecting soul.

And if she proved to be more than he had anticipated maybe then he would make her only his.

The shadows gathered around him and the night swallowed him whole.

Curious blue eyes looked in his general directions but saw nothing.

The board was set.

It was time to play.

Clarke hurried her pace.

The night was still young but the winter sky was quickly darkening and Clarke was cautious of the creatures and men who chose to wonder after dark; they bide her no good.

Her basket was heavy with the numerous herbs she had gathered. After her father's death and then her mother's imprisonment, Clarke was left with nothing else but their healer legacy. She barely sold enough remedies to make it from day to day.

Still, it could have been worse. Much worse.

The wind picked up and brushed with chilling force against her loose clothing. Clarke pulled the flimsy scarf tighter around her neck and blew hot air onto her pale hands. This year, the winter came sooner than usual, and was more ruthless than ever.

Truth to be told, Clarke wasn't sure she would able to make it until spring. She was already low on firewood and none of the other villagers wanted to do anything with her unless they were in dire need of her skills. A day spent chopping wood would be a day wasted for gathering more herbs. And in the end the herbs were the things that brought the small nickel and silver coins.

The dilemma was too depressing for a dark night like this, so Clarke pushed it back and took a sharp left turn. The houses on both sides of the cobblestone pavement were silent and lightless and the depressing mood send shivers of fear down her back, goose-bumps rising under her thin clothes.

She was just few steps away from the safety of her tiny house when a figure materialized seemingly out of the darkness and Clarke collided with it. Her feet slipped on the cold cobbles and her basket fell in her attempt to keep her balance.

A hand shot out and caught her around the waist, holding her securely against a broad firm chest.

Clarke looked up and for one brief moment she could swear she was staring at a pair of gleaming red eyes but then the person – the man – moved forward and the moonlight shone upon his dark hair and when Clarke blinked she was looking at dark brown eyes.

"Pardon my manners, my fair lady. I mean no harm."

Clarke reluctantly stepped back and his warm hand fell from its place on her back. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dark curls rested on top of his head and his face was beautiful in that cold jaded way that always demanded a second look. He was young, probably few years older than Clarke, dressed in warm, rich colours of heavy material that betrayed his bloodline.

What was a man of his status doing in outer edges of the village?

She bent down to gather her spilled herbs and he did the same, his knuckles grazing her cold hands every time he put some of the herbs in the basket.

Clarke was about to protest – she needed ne favours from the rich – but he smiled disarmingly and paid no mind to her half-formed words.

She wanted to scowl and get away from him; there was something in his presence that made her feel vulnerable and at danger, like a frozen deer staring at the eyes of a wolf.

He was carrying something dark and sinister beneath his beautiful visage.

And Clarke had no intention of finding out what.

The rest of the herbs were too spread apart for Clarke to gather, so she clenched the basket in her hands and stood up, ready to continue on her way.

"Wait." The stranger's deep voice interrupted her escape and she found herself obeying his command.

He made no move to touch her again and Clarke had to wonder – was that disappointment she was feeling or relief?

"I'm Lord Blake." An involuntary gasp let her rosy lips and he smiled, pleased with the fact that she had heard of him. "I'm hosting a Ball tomorrow night and I was hoping you'd be willing to attend."

Clarke's eyes narrowed and she brought the basket in front of her like shield.

It was unheard of such a thing – a person from her upbringing could never mingle in the crowd that was the Royal Court, and the Blakes were one of the oldest bloodlines to have ever lived in Transylvania. They had been around even before the Dracula legend was created.

"I'm afraid I'll have to refuse your kind offer, Lord Blake. I'll simply bore you to death."

He chuckled and her hands nearly shook from the force with which she was clenching at the basket handle. Somehow she had the feeling that laugh meant nothing good for her.

"Please, Miss Griffin, I cannot accept that excuse."

Her blood felt raw and raging, a tempestuous wave ready to colour the ground in her living essence, be it for life or death.

"How do you know my name?"

He picked one of the purple blossoms still scattered on the cobbles and carefully tucked it behind her ear.

"You're the only healer this village has. Allow me to express my gratitude for keeping my people healthy and safe."

She knew it was a reasonable request – her mother once went to a village a week's travel away when the Duchess there asked for help – but nonetheless her logic battled with her instincts; there was something more to Lord Blake that he was allowing her to see.

"I'd only serve to embarrass you; I don't own appropriate attire for a ball." Especially not for a notorious one like the one Lord Blake was rumoured to hold annually on All Hallows Eve.

With that, despite her unease, she turned around and continued forward.

"I'll be waiting for you, princess." The words whispered with the wind and she whirled around but the lord was gone.

Hear beating a wild pace, Clarke gathered the ends of her long skirt and ran home. There she jammed the door shut and lit the fire until the happy warm flames chased away the darkness and the cold from her very soul.

That last sentence, she had imagined it, that she was sure.

It took a while for her to fall asleep but in the end exhaustion took over and she gave in.

But maybe she shouldn't have.

Because the morning brought new surprises.

The dress was a dark green colour, made of the silkiest fabric she had ever encountered; the bodice was embroidered with black and red threads that formed swirls which glinted under the candle light, the sleeves ended bellow her elbows, sheer black lace covered the rest of her arms. The underskirt was thick enough to keep her warm but also thin enough not so disturb the flow of the dress. Her shoulders were bare but a deep red woollen scarf hid them from the rest of the people and kept the winter air away. The green mask, the same colour as her dress, covered half her face; the delicate lines brought out her fine features and made her blue eyes pop. The red and black feathers attached on the left side of the mask moved with every puff of the wind. Her blond hair was braided and the put into a high bun, leaving her neck completely exposed.

It was that last request that made her nervous.

When she woke up, Clarke completed her morning ritual as usual.

She ground some of the herbs, left the others to dry, made some tea blends and visited her few patients. It was a tiresome day especially when she found some left-over strength to chop some wood.

It was completely unexpected then when somebody knocked on her door.

A lackey bearing Blake's badge came bearing gifts and the request she was to attend the ball tonight.

It had gotten too personal for Clarke to even think of refusal, a disrespect of such level could get her killed if not worse.

So here she was, bathed and dressed in clothes that fir her almost too well, attending a ball, the Ball, and not having the slightest idea what she was supposed to do now. Lord Blake had requested her presence personally but that might as well mean nothing.

The heavy doors of the castle opened and another lackey bowed to her.

Then again, maybe it meant something too much.

She took her first step into what seemed like a new life.

Over the years, despite his initial plan, Bellamy had watched over her.

He watched as her father succumbed to an illness her mother couldn't heal.

He watched as her mother refused a fellow villager's offer and got accused of witchcraft.

He watched as his sweet little Clarke slowly grew up to be the cautious but fierce woman she was today.

And with her change, he changed too.

He no longer wanted to have her only to discard her afterwards.

No, now he wanted that passion, that intelligence by his side. Bellamy wanted to have her defiance; he wanted to see her struggle, to see her fight against him and for him. He wanted to know what made her tick, what made her so irresistible to his senses, to his other half.

Bellamy simply wanted all of her.

And he had no intention of ever letting her go of his sight.

His coat swished behind him as he ascended the stairs and made his way to her. The ballroom fell silent but with a wave of his hand the music was back again and the people's whispers turned to talks.

She didn't see him but he took great delight when she felt him close to her and her body tensed even as her back straightened and she turned around to grace him with a smile.

"Lord Blake." Her curtsy was flawless and he gave a little bow in return. "Thank you for the lovely dress. I must admit you don't look to bad yourself."

A lady next to her gasped at her boldness but Bellamy merely laughed in return. He was starting to appreciate her passive-aggressive sass.

But a wary smile from her lips was not enough.

"A dance?" he offered his glove covered palm and she accepted, neatly covering her hesitance with a giggle.

"How can I refuse such an offer?"

The music was slow and Bellamy pulled her flush against his body, discarding any form of etiquette, his palm spread wide against her back as his other hand clasped her fingers and held them against his chest. Her blood called him from the artery in her neck but he held strong and relished in her clean flowery scent.

She glared at him and tried to pull away but he simply moved with her in time with the music making the move seem deliberate on his part. Bellamy smiled, his brown eyes glowing behind the mask, and he hungrily took in the different expressions on her face.

"I do not appreciate your lack of understanding what personal space is, Lord Blake."

"But I quite like you when you're like this."

She smiled in return but there was a cold glint in her eyes and in the next moment he had to hide a wince when she stepped on his foot harshly, the small revenge hidden by the skirt of her dress.

"I'm not a trophy." She hissed through clenched teeth and Bellamy twirled her away from his body and then caught her again.

"I imagine not. Your fire burns too brightly; it would be a shame if you let somebody tame it."

It would be a shame if you fail my expectations.

"I'm sorry to disappoint but I'm quite happy leading the life I have."

"Oh?" The song changed and Bellamy let her pull back a bit. "I would imagine its little boring and unsatisfying. Tell me, how many people seek your skills?"

She pushed her lips together and Bellamy knew he had hit a sore spot.

"Why am I here, Lord Blake?" Not beating around the bush; his woman had the strength some of his men were still lacking.

What a refreshing change from the usual air-headed ladies he had to appease his hunger with.

He put a stop to their charade and nestled her hand in the crook of his elbow, leading her away from the curious and envious gazes of his guests.

"I've been watching you for a while now." Bellamy kept his tone neutral and low even when his ears picked the faster beat of her heart. "You intrigue me and I want to know more."

There was a barely audible hitch in her next inhale. "Am I nothing but a passing fancy to pass your time?"

The corridor was empty and he stirred her towards one of the secret passages, low torches lighting their way.

"At first, I believed so." He turned to look at her and she met his gaze boldly despite the fear she was feeling. "But then you proved to be more alluring than I had given you credit."

Bellamy pushed one of the doors on the left and they started climbing the stairs that were hidden behind it.

They were silent until they reached his private room.

And then things got intense.

Clarke knew that he had no intention of ever letting her leave.

His words were proof enough of that and even though his hold on her had been nothing but gentle, she could feel the power shimmering just beneath the surface.

Lord Blake had an obsession with her, a dangerous fixation she had no idea how to get away from.

But at the same time taking in the consideration the length he had gotten to get her here and the way he had treated her with utmost respect, their banter and his flexibility around her acid tongue – it spoke well of him in a way Clarke wasn't sure she was ready to accept.

He was a dangerous man she had no doubts about it.

Yet he brought something out of her that made her feel strong but vulnerable, defiant but brave, innocent but wicked. Never before had anyone given her the freedom to be truly herself from the lightest parts of her heart to the darkest desires of her soul.

He made her feel.

That scared her more than the red tint of his eyes, more than the lingering glances on her neck, more than his infatuation with her.

"Why?" Why me, why now, why am I here?

"Because," he moved forward, she moved back, "you've been calling me ever since I saw you that first time so many years ago and you need me as much as I need you." Her back hit the stone wall and he caged her with in arms.

He leaned closer and dragged his lips over her neck and white-hot pleasure shot down her spine.

"Because you want this as much as I do."

Then he kissed her, harsh and bitingly at first, prying her lips apart with his skilful tongue. She moved against him, pushing against his hold to rise up on her toes so that she could close the gap between their bodies and feel him against her. He groaned deep in his chest, it was an animal sound, honest and savage and asking for more. His fingers found their way to her mask and took it off, messing her hair and sinking in the soft blond tresses.

He deepened the kiss, tasting her with the same demanding enthusiasm that was burning through her body, that made her forget all rational thought, that made her want to touch the heat of his skin, the feel the weight on his body on top of hers.

Clarke pulled back for air and he rested his forehead against hers, satisfaction and arousal making his brown eyes change to red.

"What are you?" Her question held more curiosity than fear.

"I'm the monster people fear."

She reached a hand and laid it over his cheek, smiling timidly when he leaned into her touch, feeling the warmth beneath the skin and gently brushing over his kiss-bruised lips. Her fingers caught on something sharp and she hissed when a line of red appeared on her thumb. She was still staring frozen at where his sharp fangs were poking out when he took her wounded finger in his mouth and licked the blood from the wound, sucking on it until it closed.

Her heartbeat was deafening in her ears as her mind made all the connections.

Would it really be so weird if vampires really did exist?

And she knew with sudden clarity that he would have her one way or another. But why fight something that made her feel alive?

Why fight him when he was offering her everything she had dreamed of?

"I will not become one of yours." It was her only concern. She wouldn't survive being a creature of the night; the hunt was not for her.

He released her finger and kissed the centre of her palm.

"I like you just the way you are." He kissed her lips, her cheeks; he nibbled on her ear and sucked bruises on her neck.

She felt hot, feverishly so, and as her hands tugged him closer she admitted to herself that she knew what he was from the beginning. And yet, she still thrived in his embrace.

His touch was only a temporary solution to the fire in her veins. She needed more, wanted more.

"Say yes."

He ripped her skirt and pushed the underskirt up and away, fitting one of his legs between hers, rubbing at the heat between her thighs and only making it worse.

She kissed him again, all of her frustration with being unable to express her wishes pouring into the kiss and making her moan when he responded with the same desire.

He buried his face in her neck and she arched back to give him more space.

"Bellamy." It was a plea and permission.

With one last kiss against her unblemished skin, Bellamy sank his fangs and drank her blood.

It was rich and heavenly in this mouth. Her silky skin and her flowery scent, her blood powering his body – it was an aphrodisiac he couldn't say no to.

When she began to tremble in his arms, he drew back, licking at the two puncture wounds until they were clean and started closing.

It was then, when she was on the brick of pleasure, that he claimed her lips for his forever and whispered in her ear. "Mine."

The Queen took the King, enchanted him in her embrace.

But one would argue.

It was all part of the King's plan he would say.

Ahh, young bloody love.

Somebody get me a Bellamy please.

- M.