The door to the chapel opened, and a nun said, “Princess, Prince Dracula has come.”
LORD VLAD DRACULA, voivode of Wallachia, was a tall man. His steel helmet shone bright in the morning light, as did the chains of his armor where they peeked through his thick red surcoat. His horse wore armor too, with thick pads to keep the cold of the metal from its skin. Mother Superior stood beside him, so small in comparison. Two dozen men on horseback sat at attention behind him. They were knights of renown. Ruxandra had been told in the letter her father had sent, they were men chosen for their skill and courage. They wore the same armor as her father, and most were young and handsome beneath their shining metal helmets. And yet Ruxandra could not take her eyes off Vlad Dracula.
Her father.
She had been eight the last time she’d seen him. For most of her childhood he’d been away at war, or in council, or supervising his sons’ training for battle. He’d spent little time with his daughters. Zeleska, her sister, had been packed off to another family to be wedded to their son before Ruxandra left for the convent. But the few times Ruxandra remembered being with him, he had been kind. There had been sweets once and a small doll. And he’d always worn a thoughtful expression, as if he weren’t quite sure what to make of her.
Now a thick beard hid most of his face, and the helmet covered the rest, save for the sharp glitter of intelligence in his brown eyes, the same rich chestnut as hers. He looked every inch the feared, terrible warrior of the stories. He looked her up and down.
Ruxandra curtsied low, her back straight and proud. “Father. Welcome.”
Vlad’s eyes bore into hers, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned to Mother Superior. “Have you followed all my instructions in regard to raising her?”
“We have. In every way.” The Mother Superior spared a small smile for Ruxandra. “She has grown into a pious, proper young lady. She speaks Hungarian as fluently as she speaks our own language, and has some Italian and German. She knows proper household skills and—”
“Does she know how to ride?” Dracula interrupted.
The riding lessons had been a surprise to Ruxandra. Most ladies rode in carriages and wouldn’t be seen on the back of a horse. Ruxandra loved it even if she’d only been allowed to ride around the inside of the convent once a month.
If the Mother Superior was offended by the interruption, she gave no sign. “She does.”
Prince Dracula raised a hand, and one of his knights rode forward, leading a light brown palfrey with a sidesaddle. The knight dismounted, then knelt before her, his hands cupped together for her to step up. Ruxandra looked to her father, then to Mother Superior.
“Mount, child,” the old woman said. “And think fondly of us in the years to come.”
“Yes, Mother.” Ruxandra stepped into the man’s hands and let him raise her up to the saddle. With a few adjustments, she had her leg hooked around the saddle post and her cloak spread around her. “Please say good-bye to Adela and Valeria for me,” she said as she pulled her hood up.
“Of course. And please, remember what I said last night. Pray, my child: for virtue, for strength, and for guidance.”
“We ride,” Vlad Dracula said. “Come.”
The men turned their horses and then rode back out the gate. Prince Dracula followed them without looking back. Ruxandra stared in surprise. Her father had not said a single word to her.
“Go, child,” Mother Superior said. “Quickly.”
Ruxandra snapped the reins on the horse’s neck. It trotted forward, catching up with the soldiers’ heavier warhorses, with their burdens of armor and knights. She urged it faster until she rode just behind her father. She thought to call to him, but the man’s straight back was as imposing as his horse and armor. It created a wall she didn’t dare penetrate. So she rode in silence.
But that didn’t stop her from looking at everything as they passed.
Ruxandra had not seen the world outside the convent gates since her eighth birthday, when her father brought her. It had been cold then, too. Staying at the convent seemed like a great adventure. No one had told her she would be there for ten years. But with the war and the pressure on her father to align himself for political gain, he had thought it safest to keep her there.
The trees here were no different than those on the convent grounds, the fields no less covered with snow. But each one she passed reminded her that she was entering a new world, a new life. She wondered if she would see her mother or if she would be taken straightaway to her husband or to her father’s court.
The thought of her mother—tenderness, a hand on Ruxandra’s cheek, soft gray eyes—made her heart ache. She pushed the memory away, like she had done a thousand times before. It had been difficult in the early years. Now it was second nature, much like the prayers and the hard discipline of mind and body the nuns had instilled in her.
Ruxandra’s stomach made an alarming gurgling noise. She prayed no one else could hear it over the sound of the horses. She had not eaten since the raisin bun and wondered when the procession would stop to eat. Her father would not let her starve.
Would he?
They rode through the morning. The high road had been swept clear of snow by the wind, allowing them to make good time through the forests and fields. The last of the snow clouds had passed, leaving a clear blue sky above. Ruxandra delighted in the sun on her face and shoulders, even the winter sun. Most of her time in the convent had been spent indoors, studying, praying, and learning the womanly arts of sewing, needlepoint, and weaving. The riding lessons had been the wonderful exception.
When the sun reached its zenith, Prince Dracula barked an order. His knights reached into their coats and pulled out small loaves of bread, which they began to eat without slowing their pace. One of the men rode up beside Ruxandra and extended a loaf.
She took it and smiled. “I thank you, sir.”
The knight nodded. He was handsome. He had a strong jaw with a tidy beard, and hazel eyes that had lingered on her before he rode away and resumed his place in the line. Perhaps he was a young lord, serving in the ranks of the voivode’s army. Maybe he was even the young lord her father wanted her to marry.
She amused herself with the fantasy as they rode. The sun began descending in the sky, and Ruxandra grew cold. The air was still frosty, and her breath formed clouds that streamed past her. She supposed the men in their armor were much colder, but they were trained knights, inured to such discomforts. Even so, she wished they would stop at an inn or some other place of rest. She would prefer an inn. She’d never stayed in one before.
There might even be music!
They continued riding as the sun turned the sky red and gold with the promise of night soon to come. It grew darker, the riders in front of her became grey ghosts, barely visible in the dying light. At a barked command from her father, the men lit torches, sending a warm orange-yellow glow onto the snowy woods around them. The heat from the closest ones reached Ruxandra’s face, providing some warmth in the cold dark. Her stomach rumbled again, but she said nothing. There had to be a reason they were riding so late into the night.
“Halt!” Her father’s voice rang through the column of men. “Bring the princess forward!”
The handsome knight reached over and took the reins from her hands. He kicked his horse in the ribs then led Ruxandra through the ranks of men. Her father had already dismounted. The knight stopped his horse and hers a moment later.
Her father raised his eyes, made black by the dim light. “Dismount, daughter.”
A knight went to one knee beside her horse; another offered her his hand. Ruxandra took it and swung down, lightly stepping on the kneeling knight’s thigh before alighting on the ground.
Prince Dracula nodded his satisfaction. “Men, dismount and make camp. I will rejoin you in the morning. Daughter, this way.”
Her father held out an arm for her to take and placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. He led her away from the camp and down
a path just wide enough for the two of them to walk abreast. It had been cleared of snow, and the brush on all sides had been cut back. He led her—without looking at her—down a long slope to the bottom of a valley. She was desperate to ask where they were going but knew better than to say anything.
Trees surrounded them, making it impossible to see more than a few feet in either direction. Then the night was split by the orange glow of two torches planted in the earth on either side of a cave mouth. Prince Dracula took Ruxandra’s hand off his arm, gripped it hard, and led her inside.
She expected the cave to be darker than the forest. Instead, candles had been placed along the narrow tunnel leading into the earth. She gripped her father’s hand. Unable to keep silent longer, she said, “Father, where—”
“Be silent.”
She closed her mouth.
The tunnel opened wide into a large chamber. Dozens of candles were placed along the walls, giving a bright yellow glow and heating the room. For the first time all day, Ruxandra felt warm. She pulled back her hood. I am indeed on an adventure. If only Adela and Valeria—
“Is this she, my lord?”
Ruxandra turned. There was another chamber, deeper than the one she stood in. Four men emerged. All were large, with armor on their bodies and swords at their sides. They examined her head to foot with their eyes—so much so that she began to blush. Then they turned back to Vlad Dracula.
He nodded. “Is everything prepared?”
“Yes, my lord,” the tallest man said. “But will it work?”
“I do not know,” Prince Dracula said. “The books say that it is a true ritual, but there are none alive who attempted it. I only know that we must take every chance, if we are to defeat the Turks.”
The tall man looked at Ruxandra, something resembling pity in his eyes. “Even this?”
“Yes,” Dracula’s voice was cold and hard. “Even this.”
He let go of Ruxandra’s hand and he shoved her hard, propelling her into the four men. “Strip her.”
Ruxandra couldn’t understand what he was saying. It didn’t make sense. Then the first man yanked her cloak over her head, leaving her caught in the dark material. One man grabbed her arm and shoved at it, trying to push it back inside the cloak. Ruxandra tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. Another set of hands grabbed her from behind, shoving the cloak up her back. Someone rubbed a hand against her backside, making her scream.
This can’t be happening! I am a princess!
She struggled, whipping her body, trying to kick at the men but unable to see anything. They were around her, quiet, save for the grunts of effort as they tried to tear away her clothing. Then the cloak slipped off, and she could see again.
Her father stood on the other side of the chamber, watching her with no expression.
Why? The tale of the villagers impaled to frighten the advancing Turks, leapt into her mind. No! I am his daughter! He wouldn’t!
The man behind her caught both her arms and another grabbed her legs. The other two pulled out long, sharp daggers. Ruxandra screamed and tried to pull away as they began cutting away her dress and shift. Her legs were naked first, then her groin and backside. She struggled to cover her body, but the man behind her kept her hands pinned behind her back. The other two kept cutting, pulling away the last of the cloth, leaving her breasts bare for them all to see. She screamed, releasing her rage and helplessness.
Her father slapped her across the face, hard and fast and unforgiving. “I said be silent.”
“Father, why—”
He slapped her again, hard enough to make her head spin. “Raise her.”
The man behind him held her arms tight. The ones on either side grabbed a leg and pulled her feet from the ground. She screamed again and bucked her hips. The fourth man grabbed her around the waist to keep her still. The men on either side pulled her legs apart. Her father stepped forward.
“No. No, please, Father. Please,” Ruxandra begged as he raised his hand. “Please, no. Please. What are you doing?”
“She is intact,” Vlad Dracula said, his voice cold and hard. “Take her in.”
The four dragged her into the other chamber. The light was dim, coming from the flickering flames of candles spaced out along the walls. A pentacle, twelve feet across, painted in red, took up the middle of the floor. At each point sat a human skull with an unlit black candle atop it. Ruxandra tried to understand what she was seeing but had no time. They shoved her onto the floor and pinned her arms and legs. One man grabbed something out of her sight, and a moment later cold metal clamped down on her wrist. The man on the other side did the same thing. Then all four worked to pin her legs to the ground and spread them wide so they could chain them too. She lay spread-eagle on her back. The ground was cold and hard, and the chains would not give, no matter how much she pulled on them. Her face grew hot with shame that overcame her fear. Her breasts, her legs, even her sex were on display for the five men in the room.
But none of them spared her a glance.
The four men each took place at a different point of the pentacle, outside the circle. Her father walked around it, lighting the black candles before taking a place at the top of the star, above Ruxandra’s head.
“Father,” Ruxandra begged. “Please, Father. What is happening? What are you doing to me? Have I offended you? Please!”
“Let us begin,” Vlad said, not looking at her. He raised his left arm and took out a knife. With a single, swift cut he opened his palm. A moment later, blood dripped from his hand into the circle. The other four men did the same, and blood pooled in small puddles in front of each.
“Let the circle be sealed by our blood,” Vlad said. “Let it be our bond and our protection, that the one we summon will hear our call and obey our demands.”
“Let it be so,” the other four said in unison.
“Let the girl be our sacrifice. Let her virginity be our offering. Let it appease the one who is to come,” Vlad continued.
Again the other four spoke as one. “Let it be so.”
“No!” Ruxandra thrashed on the floor, desperate to break the chains that held her. “Please, no! No! I don’t want this! No!”
Her father’s voice rose over hers. “Let the chant commence, and let us bend our will to the darkness that it may aid us in the days to come.”
“Let it be so!”
Ruxandra screamed, long and loud, as the men chanted. The words were Latin and Greek and other, more guttural languages, all running together to make a deep and dirty sound, with a rhythm like a gravedigger’s shovel scraping against rocky earth. The men kept their dripping hands held out, their eyes forward, and repeated the words over and over and over. Ruxandra’s screams faded to tears and wails. No one would come to help her. No one would save her. She tried to pray, but fear jumbled the words into nonsense.
The five candles in the corners flared higher than should have been possible. All five men stared but did not stop chanting. The flames changed color from bright yellow to deep red, as if the blood on the floor had been turned into light. They flickered and danced, though there was no wind, and threw monstrous shadows over the walls of the cave. The room grew darker.
From the ground around Ruxandra came a thick, black smoke that stank of sulfur and rotten meat. It made her cough and choke. The lines of the pentacle began to glow the same deep red as the candles. The men’s voices rose, higher and louder, and the chanting grew faster and faster. In the midst of it, her father’s voice bellowed out.
“Dark One, I command thee! Come forth!”
A terrible noise, like stone tearing itself apart, echoed through the chamber and shook the cave walls. In the pentacle, inches above Ruxandra’s body, a black hole appeared. It oozed darkness and drowned out the red light of the candles and glow from the pentacle. The air turned so cold that it froze and burned at once, leaving Ruxandra’s flesh blistered.
Lightning, as black as the hole itself, spewed forth, bouncing off
the ceiling and echoing around the chamber. The force of the thunder that followed sent the five men flying through the air to crash into the cavern walls. Thunder rolled through the room, shaking the ground hard enough that its convulsions slammed into Ruxandra’s back, bruising and battering her. There was another clap of thunder and more black lightning that blinded Ruxandra with its blazing darkness.
And when she could see again, a tall, naked, black-winged woman stood above her.
The creature’s white skin shone against the darkness. A waterfall of black hair fell from her head to her backside. Her breasts were large and as pale as the rest of her, with white nipples that pointed out hard, like diamonds. Her eyes glowed red, ringed with ebony lashes. Her mouth opened wide, revealing a row of long, pointed teeth. Her fingers ended in golden talons that looked capable of tearing a man’s head off with a single swipe.
She was a nightmare of beauty and ferocity, with a perfection of feature and line not found on Earth. Ruxandra was stunned out of fear for a moment. That such a creature could exist—that the nuns’ embroidered tales of demons, were not only true but were a bare and pathetic next to the real thing. This demon. This queen.
The creature looked around the room, her gaze cold and sinuous as a snake’s. Then she gazed down at Ruxandra. Her fiery eyes pierced Ruxandra’s skull. In an instant, Ruxandra knew that this creature could see her thoughts, unveil her secrets and memories. The eyes felt like a tongue, raspy and warm, licking the corners of her mind. Tremors shook her body, and more tears rolled down her face, though she couldn’t make a sound. This ravishment didn’t hurt, but it left her feeling more helpless than she had when the men were stripping and binding her.
The demon woman’s eyes roamed over Ruxandra’s naked flesh, lingered at her breasts and her sex. Then she raised them to the men around the room.
Her voice was soft and melodious and as cold as the darkness she had stepped from. “What mortal was so foolish as to summon me?”