This story will be a mixture of elements from Hellsing, Bram Stoker's Dracula, and historical facts about Vlad III Dracul, Prince of Wallachia also known as Vlad Dracula or Vlad the Impaler. The inspiration came from Episode IIX of Hellsing Ultimate when Alucard reverts to his original form of Vlad. Maybe I'm just weird, but I thought he was damn sexy in this form as if he needed to be anymore enticing.

Willie stoked the fire, wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. She checked the water in the massive cast iron pot. Bubbles formed on the bottom of the pot, rising to break on the surface. Almost boiling. Sweat trickled down her back to the soaked waist of her skirt. She had been up for hours, toiling to heat the water for a bath. It was not even her bath, but the bath for her Lord and Liege. Readjusting the pot the on the hook, she made sure to center it over the trench that led to the stone cistern cut into the floor that served as a bathing pool. Soon she would need to awaken him, her master, the Prince of Wallachia. He had just returned from a crusade a few days ago. She raised her arms upward to stretch to work out the soreness in her back. An unexpected stitch in her side took her breath away. She had been on the battlefront with him. A spear meant for him had pierced her side when she jumped in front of him to protect him. But that was part of her job, her divine calling - to be his shield and protector.

For ten years Willie had served as his squire. Only recently had they discovered she was a female. When the Prince had taken her away from her conquered and burning village, he had assumed she was a boy due to her reddish brown hair being cut short, and her clothing of pants and a loose shirt. She was ten years old at the time. Her mother had chosen to make her look like a boy to protect her; to keep her from being raped and murdered by soldiers of the army led by the legendary Vlad the Impaler. As she had matured, it had become more and more difficult to hide her true sexual identity. Then one day, almost a year ago, it had happened. One of the Generals had come to her quarters to retrieve her at the request of Prince Vlad. She was still in the middle of getting dressed when the man had walked in. Seeing that she was a woman, he tried to rape her. Discovering that she had been deceiving them all, especially the Prince, he was going to kill her afterward. However, since the man was taking so long, Prince Vlad had come to see what was causing the delay. He killed the General before any harm could come to her. The man she had faithfully served had been taken aback yet amused to find out her secret. He had muttered, "Well, this explains so much." before turning on his heel to walk away. Her master treated her no differently. She was still his servant and assistant. His wife, Ilona, however, did change how she acted toward her. Ilona watched her with suspicion and hostility. Fearing cruel retaliation, Willie drew closer to her master. In turn, he kept her by his side as much as possible. But Vlad loved Ilona with all of his heart and soul. There was nothing for Ilona to fear especially from a mere servant.

Willie tied back her hair that had grown long, cascading down her back to curl at her shoulder blades. Her master adored her long hair. Sometimes during the rare quiet times between the clashes of war, he would sit her at his feet, spreading the russet tendrils across his lap to rake his fingers through it for hours. He told her that she was his good luck charm, his calm in the middle of the storm, his anchor who kept him tied to the earth. He believed as long as she was with him, no harm could come to him. She brought tranquility to his life especially in times of inner turmoil. Hers was the voice of reason that could break through his madness to bring him down from the heights of hysteria when the bloodlust of the battlefield would overtake him. With each successive campaign to subjugate and eradicate his enemies, Ilona hated her more and more.

Tipping the mammoth pot, the muscles in her arms flexed and strained to hold it steady. The scalding water flowed through the trench to fill the carved basin. As the pot emptied, Willie had to turn it further to dump out every last drop. She grunted with the effort, her tortured muscles burning like fire. Carefully guiding the pot back to its upright position, she sighed with relief. She splashed cold water on her hot face. The chilly drops came straight from a natural spring that had been tapped and flowed directly into the bathhouse through a pipe. She wanted to bathe in the frigid water, but there was no time. The master needed to be roused from sleep.

Willie expertly made her way down the gloomy hall. The feeble rays of the early morning sun did nothing to dispel the darkness clinging to the damp stone walls. She could traverse this passage with her eyes closed since she had walked through it so many times. Strictly as a perfunctory gesture, she knocked on the bulky wooden door that could potentially embed splinters into her knuckles. The Prince had indulged in shameless debauchery to celebrate the favorable outcome of a skirmish with the Turks. Confident that he was not awake, she pushed open the door and walked inside his bed chamber. She bent to pick up his discarded clothes, following the trail to his bed where he snored like the great fire breathing beast in part of his name, Drac, the dragon. Her eyes skirted over his bulky naked body that was splayed across the bed on his belly. This was not the first time she had seen him naked, but the sight of him never ceased to be breathtaking or beautiful even when in this drunken, pathetic state. His inky black hair that flowed in waves almost to his waist partially covered his handsome face that wore a moustache and three days growth of beard. He had been celebrating his triumph for days. She had holed up in her room until the revelrie was over just like she always did. Besides, he was at home, and Ilona would be by his side. Willie was no longer needed to be his constant companion since the desire of his heart was in his arms once more.

"Master," she whispered, nearing the bed. "My Prince," she said in a normal volume. Nothing. Leaning over him, she yelled in his face, "Vlad Dracula!"

He groaned in annoyance. Willie covered her nose and mouth with her hand when he breathed into her face. He smelled awful. He stank of spirits, sweat, and sex. She hastily backed away from the bed. He grunted and snorted like a pig, rolling over onto his back with some difficulty. His manhood, long and hard, pointed straight at the ceiling like one of the poles held by the flag bearers on the front lines of battle. Apparently, he had not had enough sex to tame that beast. Taking his first morning piss would most likely solve the problem. She picked up his sword that leaned haphazardly against the wall. She made a mental note to herself to clean and shine his weapons later in the day. At the moment, she had another use for his sword. She held the weighty weapon in both hands, her fingers clasping the handle that was carved in the shape of a dragon's body. The teeth from the head of the dragon cut into her hand as she lifted the sword to poke him in the side.

"Ow!" he gasped, scratching at his side where she had jabbed him.

"Wake up, Master!" she bellowed, taking great care to set down the sword without dropping it.

"Willie," he yawned, stretching his arms over his head.

"Sir?"

"You are an irritating, loud mouth."

"I'm doing my job, my Prince," she retorted rudely.

Vlad sat up on the bed, thrusting his fingers through his shaggy hair to get it out of his face. He gave her a lopsided grin before standing up from the bed. His brown eyes that were so dark they looked black skirted over her from head to toe as he walked toward her.

Willie backed away from him, holding the bundle of dirty clothing to her chest. She did not fear him. He would never hurt her. At the moment, he appalled her. He was still drunk with the smell of Ilona wafting from his glistening, muscular body. No matter how enticing he may look with his messy hair, sleepy eyes, and raging hard on, he had been branded by alcohol and the scent of his wife as belonging to them. Her retreat from him was abruptly halted when her back pressed against the wall. Freeing her hand from under the laundry, she covered her mouth and nose again as nausea blossomed in her belly pushing bile up her throat.

"Do I offend you, my dear?" he inquired, running his finger under her chin as if she were a child to tickle. He appeared to take great delight in subtly tormenting her.

"You're revolting, Sir," she mumbled under her hand. "Your bath is ready. You need to hurry. I've been awake since well before dawn building the fire and heating the water. The least you could do is get you ass in it before it gets cold."

"Fine," he murmured, strolling over to the window casually. He opened the wooden shutters, grasping his member to aim the stream of urine out of the window. "You know, some masters would be offended with the casual way you speak to me at times. However, I appreciate your honesty and forthrightness. I never have to wonder what you are thinking. I find that comforting."

Willie rolled her eyes, turning her back on the disturbing display. She hated it when he was drunk. He could be so gross and uncouth. She hoped no unsuspecting person would be walking beneath the window becoming the tragic victim of a golden shower.

"Lead on, tiny bundle of venom and wrath," he ordered gently once he was finished emptying his bladder.

Willie opened the door, walking into the hall. Although there was not a single sound, she knew he was following her because she could feel his presence. Vlad possessed an unmistakable aura about him that could be felt even when he when he was not seen. He held an atmosphere of his own, a magnetic gravity of dominance that demanded attention and respect, or elicited fear and loathing, in an instant. She had hated him at first. He had killed her mother and stolen her away from her village. To add insult to injury, he mistook her for a boy and treated her like one. In the end, that assumption had saved her life just like her mother knew it would. In time, she grew to understand her Prince, to revere him - to love him.

Willie squinted as she walked through the narrow corridor that linked the bathhouse to the castle. The sun had gained strength as it had risen in the sky, lighting the hallway and the white limestone walls of the bathhouse with an almost blinding intensity. She dropped the clothing on the floor next to the wooden tub where she would wash them. She busied herself with laying out the sheet of cloth to dry him off once the bath was over as he descended the sculpted steps into the steaming water. At least the water was still hot. She gathered the soaps and scented oils that had been given to him as gifts by an overthrown queen whose kingdom and bed and been subdued by Vlad. Poor Ilona. Although she owned Vlad's heart, he was the sole owner of his body and had no qualms about sharing it with numerous gorgeous women. Except for her. He flirted and hinted in the relatively short time he had known she was a woman but had never acted upon his words. Perhaps that was what Ilona feared the most. Willie had the potential of stealing his heart while his body was only borrowed for a time.

"Willene, wash my hair," he demanded like a spoiled child.

She detested it when he used her real name. She regretted ever telling him. But he had been stroking her hair, and she had been half asleep. His hypnotic voice, even toned and deep timbred, had slipped right past her defenses, slick and smooth. She had willingly divulged her God given name just to hear it spoken from his alluring mouth. Pulling the back of her skirt through her legs, she fashioned herself a makeshift pair of short pants that rose above her knees. She pushed up her sleeves as she sat down on the raised edge of the bathing pool, her legs sinking into the water up to her knees. The skin on the inside of her knees and thighs tingled as he fitted his wide body between them with his back toward her. She picked up the small wooden ladle to pour water over his head. His hair was thick and unruly like overgrown sheep's wool. Her fingers attempted to comb through it, getting caught several times. Her forefinger became hopelessly entangled as she was trying to completely dampen his hair. She tugged lightly, unable to free her digit from the snarl. Then she jerked, hard. He hissed in discomfort, releasing a low groan from deep in his throat. Her belly tightened and a warmth flooded her pelvis. "I'm sorry," she breathed, unraveling the hair from her finger.

"It's all right," he panted. "I like it."

Oh, dear God, help me, she silently prayed, closing her eyes. Her eyelids slowly lifted when she felt him moving between her legs. He had turned to face her, and two limitless brown-black irises held her eyes captive. Shiny pearls of water dripped from his chin onto her shirt making her nipples constrict with painful intensity. Leaning close to her, so close she could feel tendrils of his body heat licking out to warm her skin, yet he was not touching her.

"You've become quite the lovely lady, Willene," his voice resonated from the depths of his chest. "How old are you now?"

"I'll be twenty-one next month, Sir," she returned, raising her hand to press it against his cheek. The black stubble on his lightly tanned cheek had grown enough to be silky soft under her fingertips. To kiss him, all she would have to do would be to incline her chin at the slightest angle. But she would not. As much as her heart ached to be his, as much as her body burned to be taken by him, she would not allow herself to encourage it. Although Ilona abhorred her and mistrusted her, she would not betray her mistress and the woman who held Vlad's heart in her hand.

"You've grown up right under my nose. The person I thought was an admirable and courageous young man has become a splendid, strong willed beauty," he complimented her, grazing the tip of her nose with his. "I will give you a special present on your birthday."

Willie sucked in air, the sound hitching then wavering as she completed the inhalation. Her heart beat in her ears like the deafening drums of war that pounded out a cadence on the battlefield. "My Prince, are you issuing a threat or a promise?"

"Take it as you want it, my precious and loyal servant."

Oh, she wanted it. But the time had not yet arrived for her to take it.