Chapter 17: Faith

"We were two and had but one heart between us."

— François Villon

How strange that we are here, where we have engaged in so many conversations, in this space that has been both a meeting place and a familiar refuge to both of us, Lisa thought. And now, everything feels markedly different.

They had agreed she should resume her studies. It had been a small gesture, an attempt at reestablishing a semblance of a routine since that first night she and Țepeș had spent together. For several nights since, Lisa had to admit, they had not ventured much farther than the bed.

Țepeș was examining the bookshelves on the upper floor of his library and as she contemplated his handsome profile, her resolve began to weaken. The fact he was so engrossed in his task only made her desire for him stronger.

She had never considered sex immoral and found the way the Church encroached on and attempted to regulate such an intimate act under the pretense of salvation absurd and perverse. Still, she had thought of the act as nothing more than an expression of affection. Țepeș had shown her it was much more—between them, it took a deeper meaning. He was a patient, generous lover, deriving his own pleasure in part from the many ways he found to unravel and seduce her. He demanded she surrender without shame, not to hold back, encouraging her to caress and touch him, rewarding her with a dizzying, satisfying pleasure she had never known possible. It had been almost disconcerting at first, to be the focus of so much sensuous attention, to reveal herself so completely, to allow him to savor her so intimately, his fingers, lips, tongue, coaxing her to complete ecstasy. As the nights passed, he did away with her self-consciousness, his attentiveness toward her shifting in tone as he read her with uncanny precision. During those weeks, when he'd return to her at the first sign of dusk, she found herself feverish, eager for him, for his touch.

"What is the book's title?" she finally called up to him, in an attempt to shake off the tantalizing memories of his breath trailling down her skin, the lusty rasp in his voice when he'd roughly demand she kiss him. "Perhaps it is among the books down here?"

Far from settling the turmoil inside her, their attempt at engaging in a simple and regular routine was failing.

How did we go about such mundane matters so naturally? She shook her head, slightly mystified. What is this restlessness? she puzzled. She recalled in amusement all the philosophical teachings that prized grace and reticence in romance. They did not translate well to reality. Everthing between them— the simplest gestures, glances, exchanges— had become charged and acquired unspoken meaning.

"De Arte Phisicali Et de Cirurgia," he muttered, browsing the shelves. "I remember seeing it up here recently."

Behind her, loud clattering reminded her they were not alone: Domnica was going about her tasks diligently, stacking a bowl, plate, spoon, and cup she had brought down for Lisa's dinner on a tray.

"Please leave it, Domnica." Lisa placed a hand on the young woman's arm. "I feel well enough to take it up myself now."

Domnica hesitated, but the timid smile that had emerged at Lisa's offer faded abruptly when she glanced up at the balustrade and found Țepeș looming over them, gripping the wooden railing with his pale, long-taloned hands. He scowled and the girl promptly leaped into frenzied activity.

"It is no bother, my lady! Think nothing of it!" she replied, quickly hoisting up the tray and exiting the room in a hurry.

"You know, I really am well now…" she argued once Domnica left, turning to address the imperious figure above.

"Let her perform her duties. If you don't, you will only cause her anxiety. She is here for one purpose and if she cannot fulfill it, she will worry about her fate."

Lisa stared over her shoulder at the door. There was truth to what he was saying, she understood, but she also knew that Domnica would never express her needs and feelings openly.

It is not fair. She will have to answer to so many masters throughout her life: her father, perhaps someday a husband, always the Church, lords…There is no chance for her to separate her own will from her imposed obligations.

She braced herself to argue the topic further, but when she turned, she became alarmed to find Țepeș standing right before her, offering her a dusty book.

"Here: John Arderne," he announced. "I think you will appreciate his insights on surgery and anesthetics far more than de Chauliac's."

She took the book and braced it against her bosom uneasily. His brow arched inquisitively at her reaction.

"What is…? Did I startle you?" he wondered.

She flashed him a skittish grin.

"I'll admit you surprised me."

"I will be more cautious, then," he stated softly, approaching her.

"I am sure that over time I will grow used to these…abilities…of yours."

He gripped the book, wresting it slowly from her arms and laid it on the counter before slipping his arm around her waist, drawing her against him.

"It is my hope that over time you will be completely at ease with me—in every way."

He leaned down to kiss her, his tongue briefly flicking over hers, eliciting a faint whimper that betrayed all her futile efforts at maintaining composure. He paused, evidently delighted by her heady reaction. Without a further word, he hoisted her up with ease, seating her on the apothecary's counter. In his eyes was that undisguised craving she had learned to recognize as a declaration of devious intent. This was confirmed when his hands began to draw up her skirt, baring her thighs even as his eyes remained languidly fixed on hers, gauging her response to his boldness. He sought another kiss, this one slow and deep as he suggestively parted her knees. His thumb raked over her mouth and he drew his hips flush against hers. Her breath hitched quietly upon feeling him, how aroused he was, the cloth of his trousers straining against the flimsy barrier of her linen underclothes. She squirmed, spreading her legs wider, moving herself closer to the edge of the counter, seeking to feel him better against her, unable to disguise what she wanted right then. She knew it would only fuel his determination to seduce her right there, on that counter where they had spent so much time exchanging thoughts and knowledge before. His fingers tugged and undid the delicate ribbons fastening her underclothes until he was able to glide his hand between the cloth and her warm skin. Lisa sighed at his touch once he began caressing the soft curls, eventually letting his fingers lightly graze her tender nub. Her entire body was pulsating, melting where he touched her. It was too much, she thought, unable to resist, taking consolation in the fact that later on she would be able to remind him, at the close of another night ending too soon, that he had been the one to break their bedroom truce, thwarting their well-intentioned efforts to return to a routine. She placed her hand over his, guiding him in eager encouragement. He uttered a low growl, satisfied with her forwardness, catching her breathy moan hungrily with his lips, both of them lost in each other.

Just then, the laboratory's door handle turned and the lock clicked noisily. Domnica peered into the room cautiously.

Țepeș protectively pulled Lisa against him, drawing his cloak around them while casting a withering glare at the young woman.

"Pardon me, my lord, my lady," she began timidly, her round cheeks soon turning a bright shade of red upon realizing her presence was very much an unwelcome interruption. "I think I left the water pitcher behind when I took the tray earlier," she explained in a wisp of a voice.

"It's all right." Lisa tried to sound reassuring.

She wandered about the entrance of the room in a slight dither before bumbling toward the door again.

"Domnica," Țepeș growled.

She froze at the doorway.

"Your prized pitcher." He indicated it as she was about to leave it behind for the second time. "You may—no: must— retire for the rest of the night."

She tittered nervously before seizing the pitcher and dashing out the door.

Lisa buried her face in Țepeș' chest, chuckling. He peered down at her.

"I fail to see what is so amusing." But in his tone only a passing hint of the annoyance he'd evinced so menacingly seconds before remained. He stroked her hair, his lips grazing the top of her head.

"I don't know who was more flustered—Domnica or you—"

"Servants ought to knock—"

"She ought to nothing, Vlad." Lisa shook her head bemusedly. "She has been cast in an unfamiliar role: reap your reward! She's trying to fulfill her duties the best she can. Just let her go. Please," she asked earnestly. "If only not to be caught again in a compromising position with your apprentice," she teased.

He took a step back and swept her bunched up skirt back down. Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced toward the glowing fireplace.

"You must realize by now that you are more than my apprentice," he insinuated. "Much more." He cast her a warm glance.

At his words, a flutter in her chest.

He paused before the fire.

"I think you will enjoy Aderne," he finally uttered, recomposing himself. "His understanding of human anatomy is far more enlightened than de Chauliac's, who tends to ramble on with ignorant laudings of venesections. At the end, the only surgeries he performed were autopsies on dead popes," he scoffed.

"What I do know of him is that he spoke up in defense of the Jews in Avignon when everyone wished to blame the Plague on them," she retorted, discreetly adjusting her underclothes and hopping off the counter. She stood before the book and began to leaf through its colorful pages.

"Yes. You would take note of a noble act, but of what value is such valor to an agonizing man in need of surgery?" Țepeș gaze grew lost in the flames.

"He did the best he could with the best he had."

"A fitting epitaph for failure," Țepeș countered.

"Not all healers have your knowledge or skills." She paused over one of the many colorful illustrations in the book, distracted by a sudden thought. "Your skills…Tell me: are they unique? Do others like you share the same abilities, too?"

She noticed he had stiffened, his back still turned to her.

"What do you even…call yourselves?" she wondered, shutting the book's cover.

"Many different names, throughout the world, over thousands of years," he uttered, staring into the fire. "We've been known since the dawn of mankind. Ekimmu, Uruku among the Akkadians, Ubyrs to the Tatar warriors…" he mused distractedly. "The Israelites included a veiled warning against us in their Vayikra."

"And here, in Wallachia?" She wandered to his side.

"The names matter little. They change, depending on where one lives or to whom one's lords have pledged fealty to…" he concluded, recalling all the titles and insults he'd amassed over the ages.

"And you? What would you be referred to as?"

He peered down at her, finding that spirited, inquisitive gaze upon him, flashes of the night they'd first met, when she had processed down the main hall of his castle, dagger unsheathed, her expression rendered fierce with determination, crossing his long memory.

"'Dracula'," he asserted. "I am not to be confused with those who misuse the power given them, who are consumed by its myriad demands.

"But who are they? Where are all these others?"

"We are reclusive by nature," he replied evasively. "Yet, we have always existed alongside humans. The ancient ones among us are fewer as time passes," he remarked. The fire crackled and a rash of fading sparks billowed upward. "This existence is not something borne lightly, Lisa. Its demands are an inescapable burden. In the impulse to consume, there is the threat of being consumed instead by one's own unchecked hunger. There are too many vulgar creatures roaming through the world, attacking without discernment. They do not understand the difference between immortality and invincibility. Those beings succumb early enough, crushed beneath the weight of our…condition."

"And the ancient ones?"

"Blood has always been our bounty, our claim. Some prefer a proper sacrifice—a tribute paid in exchange for protection or to prevent impending disaster. Some take their fill through violence and force, others by guile and seduction, and a few fulfill their needs through protracted occult ritual. We have been mistaken for gods, holy and profane, because of the hunger that sustains our immortality and how willing—or unwilling— our prey are to surrender. It is not a mistake in perception many of my brethren seek to correct."

He had told her during some of their early conversations that he needed to feed little to maintain his strength and that the blood of practically any living animal sufficed. Still, at his mention of 'prey', a chill ran up her spine.

"Prey?… I never thought of myself that way."

His brow furrowed at the perceived slight in her tone.

"I do not think of you as prey, Lisa. But… it doesn't change that prey is exactly what you humans are to us. We are, by necessity, by our very nature, hunters."

She finally nodded.

"Still, it seems unfair. You are so much more powerful than we could ever be." She raised her eyes to him. "What chance do we humans have against your kind?"

"None," he agreed curtly.

"And yet," she began, "we, although held in such little regard, considered mere prey…Hasn't your kind made us the very crux of your existence? It is no different than the gods of old searching their altars for offerings. For all your power, you cannot exist without us. It seems our trajectories are intertwined."

Even though they had grown closer, she was not sure how much she could pry, how much she could push. He had always sought to set clear limits when it came to certain inquiries, to the extent of her curiosity.

"You are not wrong, but the dynamic is more complex than that. The forces we channel, the abilities we master and train our bodies to endure define us. Perhaps humans contributed to how we have evolved, but our purpose is not merely to hunt…but to survive. And we must be capable of stopping those who would destroy us—both human and otherwise—for existing. "

Lisa remembered Mircea's words, his plea that she return accompanied by Lord Belmont: someone "who had experience" with such "creatures".

"I wonder: Vlad, have you ever heard of a Lord Belmont?" she asked.

He turned to her and she startled once more at the expression she could not read precisely. It was akin to revulsion and anger.

"Where did you ever learn that name?" he demanded.

She was assailed by a stab of uncertainty, an uneasy suspicion that she had made a mistake by telling him what she had heard.

"The Speakers mentioned—"

He hissed, looking away.

"What did you say to the Speakers? What did you tell them about me that would evoke the mention of such a cursed name?"

"Their Elder wanted me to return to you in the company of this Lord Belmont—" she began.

His eyes at that moment grew piercing and cruel.

"And what did you say? Did you invite my enemies to my doorstep?" he rasped in restrained fury, his eyes awash in red. "Have you abused my trust? My love?"

Such words stung her painfully not only from his unnecessary display of anger but from the hurt concealed in his tone. How could he leap to the assumption that she had been deceitful when he hadn't even let her explain what had transpired? Her own gaze hardened.

They stood before each other in a strange impasse.

"Of course not! As if I even had to state I haven't! You may be the most knowledgeable man to walk this earth, but how poorly you judge and perceive what is right before your eyes," she stated passionately, taking a step away from him.

Her words and outrage appeared to have a sobering effect.

"You truly believe me to be so insincere? That everything that has transpired between us…" her voice faded, unable to find the words to convey her disappointment. She dropped her hands and stared at the stern, serious face. "I have only ever asked one thing of you, Vlad: that we be able to speak sincerely, reasonably, about our misunderstandings. That involves trust." Lisa let her eyes wander around the beautiful laboratory, planetary spheres dangling over them, locked in their heavenly trajectories. "If we cannot do that, if there is no trust, this between us cannot be."

He had contemplated her haughtily as she'd spoken.

"Understand this: you may see trust as a desirable virtue, but in my circumstances it is a vulnerability to be exploited." He remembered those men, those base conjurers, scheming to subdue and shackle him to their wills, believing they could lure him to their summoning circle through Lisa.

"I trust you, Vlad. Completely." It was an admission as much as a challenge.

He smirked.

"I have never given you any reason to do otherwise,"

"Look at it from my perspective, though: here you are, far more powerful than I—in almost every way. You are a lord, a prince, I am the daughter of peasants. You are a man, I am a woman. You are an immortal being…And to your kind, by your own admission, I am merely…prey," she concluded. "Furthermore, I am well aware that should your disposition change toward me, I am completely at your mercy." She crossed her arms.

He took umbrage to her words.

"I should hope you would think more highly of me."

"I am still here, aren't I? Never doubting your better nature. It is my hope that you extend me the same courtesy."

He said nothing.

"Tell me this: how does your kind hunt?" she continued.

"Successfully," he answered tersely.

"If I wished to flee and you were in pursuit—"

He huffed with irritation.

"I told you already: I would never—"

"Indulge me: if I tried to depart against your will, and you were predisposed to prevent my escape—how far would I make it before you… stopped me?" she insisted.

He remained silent, his eyes fixed on the door left slightly ajar by Domnica's dithering exit.

"The main hall?" she wondered following his stare, "Perhaps the front gate to the castle? Or even—"

His expression darkened.

"This room," he interrupted. "You would not make it past that door." He nodded toward the entrance.

She blinked, surprised. Raising her eyebrows, she took a daring step toward the door.

"Really? That quickly?" she marveled. "Show me."

"No—" he replied sharply. "I will not indulge this scenario further. It is enough that I tell you that it is so. This is not a contest of wits, Lisa. It has little to do with intellect and everything to do with instinct and abilities. In this aspect we are, indeed, greatly mismatched. You cannot possibly believe you can elude me. Not here, of all places: in my castle, my own domain."

"Then allow me to explain to you my understanding of belief and trust, Vlad: I believe you. And I also trust you. Although I may startle, evince surprise at your actions, in my heart there is no doubt: no matter how different we are, regardless of your past, I know you are a reasonable, brilliant, rational man, who thinks—and feels—deeply. And I know, too, that you would never hurt me. Even though you could—formidably so, in myriad ways."

He blinked slowly, taking in her words, contemplating her argue her thoughts so fervently.

She taunted him with a mischievous expression and turned toward the door. "So: will you show me? You know I am not afraid."

Before she could even take a step forward, the flames in the hearth flickered and the door slammed shut violently as if moved by an abrupt gust of wind.

A predator, she thought, freezing in place. A deadly one. When she turned around again, ready to concede her defeat, he was nowhere to be found.

"Vlad?" she called out, her eyes scanning the room. She raised her gaze to the balustrade above and found it vacant.

She called to him once more, this time her tone more pleading. She heard a soft rustling of cloth behind her before a large arm braced itself across her waist, pulling her back forcefully. She cried out as she was drawn against him. But rather than recoil or attempt to escape his grasp, she leaned against him, resting her head on his chest, sliding her hands over his arm, securing it in place.

"Do you understand now?" she whispered. He wrapped both arms around her tightly. "I am fully aware of how much power you command, how much destruction you are capable of…But I believe in your love. I trust you completely—with my life, even."

"Very well. Point taken," he offered appeasingly.

She spun around and encircled him with her arms. He released her suddenly, though, and made his way further into the room, absorbed in some impenetrable thought.

"Vlad?"

He ignored her as he rummaged through the laboratory, but it seemed to her that it was done out of distraction rather than any disdain. When he finally returned, he held what looked like a long, slender wooden post in his hand—it ended in a sharply carved point.

"I trust you as well, Lisa." He presented himself before her solemnly. "And you are not as defenseless as you imagine."

Her brow furrowed as he placed the smooth stake in her hand.

"May you never find yourself in need of using such an implement." She puzzled. "But if you do, remember this: our strength ebbs at dawn and when we slumber, we are powerless," he revealed.

Lisa's eyes widened. He wrapped his hand around hers, ensuring that the stake was ensconced in her fist like a dagger's hilt. Wordlessly, he raised it up to his chest. Lisa gasped, but he held her hand in place, the tip of the stake resting over his heart. "Here," he instructed her, slowly. "Strike at the heart," he whispered. "At the right moment, drive it through the flesh—it'll be enough." He mimicked the motion, drawing her fist away and then back again with a forward thrust, the tip lightly piercing his tunic.

An unpleasant lightheadedness overcame her and she stood in that state for several moments, mystified. A prickling, uncomfortable tingle rose through her body as if she were freezing, crystalizing from within.

Răscruce.

Were she superstitious, she would had interpreted the moment as a sign, the fulfillment of fate. The Speaker's Elder would have seized the moment as a unique opportunity: humanity's one perfect chance to rid the earth of the scourge that was the Dragon, to end his reign, to avenge the dead. She could practically hear Mircea pleading with her.

Now, Lisa.

You can choose to end it.

Without realizing it, she had begun to breathe rapidly, her hand shaking. When she raised her eyes, Țepeș met her gaze serenely. He held her hand steady, the stake aimed for the deadly strike.

"Do it quickly, forcefully. You will only get one precious chance. Do not waste it." His tone was stoic, matter-of-fact, but in his eyes were the traces of a sadness she could scarcely bear to see.

She winced, trying to wrest her hand away, but he gripped her wrist firmly.

"What are you saying?"

"I am saying that if you are willing to thrust this stake through my heart, then… You must. I will not fight you," he whispered.

She stared at him wild-eyed.

"If you ever undertake it to destroy me, I might as well be dead: I am unwilling to live in a world without your love," he murmured softly.

She finally yanked her hand away, the stake falling to the ground with a loud clatter before she threw her arms around him, holding him tightly to her. The realization that he was not invincible was as terrifying as her understanding of how deeply, how completely she loved him.

Lisa had tried valiantly to remain awake, but Țepeș could see the strain of those late nights on her.

"But there is still time," she had protested sleepily, drawing closer to him, unwilling to let him leave their bed just yet.

"Rest," he reassured her. "I will stay with you until dawn."

"I am sorry," she lamented."It feels wasteful to sleep when you are here."

"No: I am the one who regrets you must turn your nights into day for my sake. It is unnatural." She raised her head from his shoulder, keenly attuned to the shift in his tone. "Because of me, you exist in this…half-life, living between worlds."

When he met her eyes, he couldn't help grinning. She stared at him with an expression that despite its disapproval struck him as disarmingly sweet.

"Need I remind you that it is a life I have freely chosen?" she scolded him.

"But for how long will you be satisfied with it?" He stroked her back as she curled into him. "Everything changes."

She considered his words and the anxiety they contained.

"Yes. I know that." She understood they would not be able to remain that way, as if suspended in time, existing solely for each other indefinitely. "But we can mediate those changes as they surface," she suggested.

He knew she was being sincere, but he also knew what she couldn't fathom: that their time together, while a lifetime for her, would be a brief reprieve— a spark of light and warmth that would haunt him throughout the abyss of his immortality.

"I know we cannot remain this way forever," she agreed, carefully choosing her words, feeling his shrewd gaze upon her. She nuzzled his cheek tenderly. "But not all changes need to be bad. For example, first I was your apprentice and you were my master—and now we are—"

This is real, it has meaning, and the world—above and below— needs to know, he thought, anguished.

He shifted, sitting up, taking her hands in his.

"Lisa, will you be my wife?" he asked.

She had intended nothing more than to suggest they had become lovers. She stared down at their hands, his large and smooth, as elegant as they were powerful.

"I don't know if that would change anything between us." When she raised her eyes once more, she found him watching her expectantly. "I am happy, Vlad. A formal marriage would serve no purpose: a marriage to me would offer you no advantage. There is no need to formalize anything."

"It may be safer for you if it is known that you have a husband who offers you protection."

"It might be more dangerous for me if it is known who that husband is," she retorted, amused. "Besides, would either one of us acquiesce to standing on an altar to profess vows before a priest?" She cast him a doubtful look.

"I am the law in my domain—all that is required is your consent."

"What we have is enough," she insisted. "I don't see the advantage—"

He could sense her apprehension, her wariness. It was only natural that she would balk. What he saw as a reassuring bond, she saw as a crippling restriction.

"If we were to be wed, what would your terms be?"

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Well, I already told you that I would like us to always be able to speak to each other earnestly. For there to be trust."

He nodded seriously.

"…And I…I wish to practice my profession."

"Are you afraid I would prevent you from exercising medicine? That I would restrict your freedom?"

She said nothing and he understood he was right.

"What else?" he encouraged her.

"I wish to live among people," she revealed.

His expression darkened and he released her hands.

"But you are safer here."

She grinned sadly.

"I don't even know where 'here' is. You have lived in isolation in these walls for so long—"

"It is a choice I made long ago."

"I understand. But it is not my choice. And you are the one insisting that I name my terms. I am merely being honest."

He remained serious, but she recognized his sorrow.

"You wish to leave me," he concluded. It was stated calmly. This time, she took his hands into hers.

"No. That is not the reason. I do not wish to leave you: I love you."

The cold hands pressed hers firmly.

"And I love you," he began, in a urgent tone. "I want to make you my wife. What do you wish from me?"

Lisa took a deep breath.

"If you would love me as a man, then you must live as a man."

She caught the flash of unease in his eyes.

"You have buried yourself here for too long, Vlad. Come with me, see the world: that is my wish. Those are my terms."

He contemplated the room, thinking of his castle, his fortress and haven for all those years. She would forsake the opulence, the comfort, and safety for a life of uncertainty, risk, and perhaps hardship.

A fortress and a haven, yes...But also a prison, a mausoleum. How is this a semblance of life, in this time-defying stupor?

To take on the pilgrim's staff, to tread the roads in search of wisdom was something he had not done in a long time…Perhaps she was right.

You might like it, Lisa had said to him.

How has the world changed since I stopped watching, since I stopped caring? The question niggled at him and filled him with a nascent restlessness and wanderlust.

"I agree to your terms," he declared, after a long silence, "Will you accept my proposal and become my wife?"

He would never forget her smile, the glow in her eyes, the fervor in her embrace as her arms wrapped around his neck.

"Yes," she replied, joyfully. "Yes!"

"A witness?" Domnica repeated at Lisa's invitation. "But it does not seem right, my lady. A proper wedding requires Nași."

"It is merely a formality, Domnica. You only need to witness us sign the register."

"No party? No banquet?" she asked, somewhat deflated. "No lăutari? No taraf to sing pretty wedding songs?"

"I'm sorry—it won't be that kind of celebration."

Domnica sighed loudly for effect.

"Well…They do things differently in Wallachia, don't they?" She tried hard to conceal the look of pity for her lady. No feast, no guests, no candles, no crowns and especially no dancing—there was no salvaging that wedding, in her opinion.

"I think there is one thing about the wedding you might like, though, " Lisa confided. "You will go home to your mother and father afterward, Domnica: your obligation to your lord has been fulfilled, and fulfilled well," she revealed, smiling affectionately.

Domnica nearly knocked Lisa's breath away with the barreling hug she gave her.

Țepeș leaned over the lectern in the laboratory and dipped the long quill in the inkhorn before raising the nib to the vellum page. Lisa turned the new golden band around her finger as she watched her bridegroom examine the page with customary scrutiny, his face serious, yet serene. He was dressed regally, a true voivode in a finely brocaded tunic in tones of black, silver, and crimson beneath the long cloak. As he held the book in place, etching his name, Lisa caught a glimpse of the ring around his finger. She blinked slowly, mesmerized by what was transpiring. The silence of the laboratory was as reverent as that found in any church, she thought; the only sounds came from the nib scratching the surface of the vellum and the firewood crackling in the hearth. A surreptitious glance at Domnica, who stood to the side and behind Țepeș, revealed the young woman clasping her hands modestly, although her eyes shone brightly as she risked a furtive grin at Lisa. Lisa returned the grin before Țepeș lifted the quill from the page and gallantly stepped aside, extending his hand with courtly formality to lead her toward the lectern.

The page before her was a long tangle of lines drawn in black ink. She became momentarily lost in a sea of names dangling from ever-cascading rows that forked and sprawled over the page. Țepeș indicated a line with a space beneath it among the long procession of names under the red sigil of a dragon, his nail raking lightly over it. For a moment, the cadence of old tales came to her memory: an agreement between man and the devil, one of the oldest stories told. As the quill traced the shape of her name, she thought of the sealing of pacts, her signature a binding, irreversible gesture. Such thoughts all dissipated, however, once she peered up and met that loving gaze that chased away all her unease.

I vow to love you for the rest of my life, she had professed earlier, as she slipped the ring over his finger.

I vow to love you forever, he promised, when he placed the ring on her finger.

On that page of the registry book, her name inked beside his, bound by a tight line, they were now each the halves that completed the new entry.

Husband and wife.

He peered down at the signatures with her.

"It is done," he stated, the timbre of his voice warm.

Domnica clapped her hands, delighted.

"Proud bride with flowers," she began singing merrily, if not off-key, "Take your mind off all others…"

Lisa let out a quiet laugh, recognizing the old folk song as Țepeș' eyes grew steely at the sound of Domnica's voice.

"Keep your mind on your husband," Lisa joined in softly with the young woman, holding his gaze mirthfully. "To him you are married now." She took his hand, squeezing it tightly and smiling.

He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing it devotedly.

My beloved, beautiful and radiant: now it has been recorded for time immemorial that such is this love between us: you are my wife, and I, your husband, he thought, struck by the power of such a simple rite; the only one, he comprehended with devastating certainty, in either world—mortal and immortal—that possessed the power to disperse his loneliness and heal his heart.

A/N: Notes and Apologies!

Sorry for the delay in updating. The last month was insane. I literally had no time to sit down and write anything because I was unusually busy. It sucked because ideas kept knocking around my head without any outlet. I'm so glad I have a little time over the holidays to unwind and finally pulled this chapter together.

Merry Nerding, everyone:

Guy de Chauliac: He was a French doctor (1300-1368?) who studied surgery. It is not known if he ever got to practice surgery and while he did help embalm the bodies of the popes he treated, many scholars believe that de Chauliac never practiced his surgical methods on the living. While de Chauliac was a man of science (he was meticulous when it came to documenting his work, for example), much of what he knew about human anatomy was based on Galen of Pergamon (a physician whose writings Țepeș mocks in earlier chapters), whose understanding of human anatomy was limited. De Chauliac also hindered medicine with some his beliefs on the benefits of venesections (bleeding people to heal 'blood disorders') and (do not read further if you are squeamish—go down about two lines) thought a wound's pus had healing properties (it's ok—scream all you want because I totally did; you are among friends). Still, de Chauliac's contributions were important: not only did he help disseminate the teachings of Islamic doctors, he actually defended the Jews in Avignon when the Bubonic Plague broke out there in 1348. He stayed back to treat the sick when other physicians fled and when blame inevitably was placed on the Jews, he used what he understood of science to prove that the accusations were false. Pragmatic Țepeș would only be interested in his accuracy and scientific rigor. Lisa, however, would appreciate his character and his intent to help. I thought their reactions to de Chauliac would really highlight their differences.

"If you would love me as a man, then you must live as a man."—This line is from the anime, season 1, episode 1, when Țepeș is told that it is too late to rescue Lisa and he recalls her words to him from early on in their relationship while talking to the old lady. I remember thinking they must have had one hell of a conversation (pun…intended?) to have been compromising so heavily and thought their relationship had to have been so damned (I'm on a roll…) interesting and complicated.

Lăutari: (From Wikipedia) "The Romanian word Lăutar denotes a class of musicians. Most often, and by tradition, lăutari are members of a professional clan of Romani musicians." They traditionally play at weddings and a band of lăutari is called a taraf.

Marriage in the Middle Ages: So getting married in the church was not as universal or common for folks throughout Europe, especially people who weren't nobles and weren't securing big feudal fortunes and alliances. People could pretty much get married anywhere—they didn't even need someone to officiate. All that was needed was the bride and groom to consent. Of course, the asshattery of a few ruined it for everyone else: marriages that occurred like that became very hard to prove legally. Some men would propose marriage just to have sex and when those brides would protest that their husbands had beat a hasty retreat after consummating their relationship, ran into "he-said, she-said" scenarios. Also, lords and nobles were the personification of law in their kingdoms, creating and upholding common law as they pleased.

John Aderne: Was a medieval doctor (1307–1392) from England and one of the respected precursors of surgery. He wrote a few medical treatises and they're amazing to look at: he drew so many details of cures, ailments, and the human body. You can view a copy thanks to Glascow University Library's Special Collection.

Nași: These are the "godparents" at the wedding and offer the bride and groom support before, during, and after the ceremony. They are kind of like the best man and maid/matron of honor, and traditionally they used to be a married couple that the bride and groom knew.

Taraf: a band of lăutari.

Vayikra: The passage in the Vayikra (also Levictus 17) said here to contain a reference to vampires is really about kashrut (dietary laws) and not consuming any meats that have blood still in them: "when they instructed their people, 'And whatsoever man there be of the house of Israel, or of the strangers that sojourn among you, that eateth any manner of blood; I will even set my face against that soul that eateth blood, and will cut him off from among his people.'" I thought it was interesting how well it could lend itself to a supernatural interpretation.

Venesection: the practice of removing blood from the body for medical treatment. In the Middle Ages, bleeding patients was a common treatment for illness. I find it funny that Țepeș criticizes de Chauliac for extracting blood from his patients when he's, you know, a vampire and all.