Chapter 17
Previously: The Rose of Whitby – Chapter 16
Arthur isn’t sure what he’s feeling about the presence of the knight- apprehension, certainly. He’s starting to see the castle as safe, as home, and having a stranger in it feels vulnerable and exposed. There must be so many things that strike the man as strange- like their lack of servants. So he really can’t wait for him to be gone again, too.
On the other hand, he seems nice enough, friendly and easy-going. And it is kind of cool that Gregory gets to try out to be a knight. A part of him wonders whether he could also be a knight, with how much magic he now has.
But that’s the boyish, adventure-happy part. The rest of him agrees that here’s no way in hell he wants to draw that much attention to himself.
And of course there’s the part that worries that the knight is going to find something wrong with Gregory.
None of that happens, though- the only thing that happens is that Gregory is being an idiot about the test. Well, Arthur supposes he appreciates Gregory not wanting to hurt someone, but this is a full knight, Arthur assumes he knows what he’s doing…
And Darcy is a little scary when she gets… annoyed? like that. He thinks her eyes turned more red than purple there, for a moment.
Maybe Gregory realizes, too, because it looks to Arthur like he stiffens before he returns to the fight.
And this time, he uses his demon form, and his claws and everything.
And the knight doesn’t act like anything is wrong with that.
He also doesn’t lose the fight. It continues for several rounds longer, and in the end, the knight is victorious. But he still declares that he is satisfied with the test.
Arthur wastes no time heading down to heal both of them, because some of the blows and strikes they exchanged made him wince.
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With deep relief, Darcy holds her head high while Arthur heals them. As is only proper, the next time Darcy joins them everybody is cleaned up and the knight makes Gregory swear his postulant oath, then swear his allegiance to the lady of this barony, sealed with a hand kiss that Darcy knows shouldn’t touch her that much, but this is Gregory, after all, before Gregory finally gets handed his insignia, and of course promptly starts looking like a little boy at Christmas.
She’ll let it pass, this is good, and to her astonishment, the knight invites the postulant on a round of drinking in town to celebrate.
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Why he has to come along to the drinking, Arthur doesn’t know, but also doesn’t really dare refuse the knight- maybe this is expected behaviour from a gentleman in their new circles now? So he also doesn’t dare refuse the ale he’s handed, even though he’d really prefer some tea.
Gregory, of course, enjoys himself a lot, right in the middle of attention, drinking enough he would’ve been very drunk before… well, before. Arthur’s kind of glad Gregory is being the centre of attention, even if that means he has to watch him flirt with girls.
Eventually, they get to leave- or that’s how Arthur feels about it, Gregory is in high spirits about being a proper knight. He pouts when Arthur points out that actually, he’s a postulant, but his good mood returns in a moment and he decides that in his new office, he should now go patrolling through the town.
Arthur hopes he’s not going to get himself into any trouble, but is only too glad to return to the castle himself- doing his best to make small talk with the Order knight as they head back.
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If nothing else, Darcy thinks that patrolling the town might be a good habit for Gregory to come out from this entire knighting affair. She is glad when the knight leaves the next morning, she’s nervous enough when she has to go out to talk to people. When she has to be on perfect manners and etiquette in her own place, she fears she’ll give herself away even faster.
Arthur returns to hiding in the library or his lab the moment the knight is out the door, but Darcy doesn’t feel she can fully hide, she has been staring out the window for a long time, still hates the lack of bars, and she knows she’ll have to go out again. Always has to go out again, talk to more people, notice the way they are looking at her when they think she doesn’t notice, but she does. She might be terrible at talking to people, although, maybe it’s not even that, so far she managed, but she hates it. And yes, being a young baroness only ever seen with two male attendants has made the gossip rounds. Of course it has, she knew she’s ruined, maybe, maybe it’s time to admit that she knows where the story goes.
She’s read enough stories, she knows that it’s normal for the heroine to fret about her lot, to resent the man at first, but, she did feel… something when she saw him beaten by the knight. Maybe that’s love? And over the last two weeks, she’s become much more comfortable about her need for blood, now that it’s only him feeding her. She feels like less of a harlot and it is maybe the one romantic gesture of his she appreciates. Maybe that sense of… his blood being hers is how a dhampir loves? She wouldn’t know but, yes, he’s hers. Huh? With a blink she startles at her own thought and blushes. Very well, if that’s how it is, then she better do something about it. So she goes to work on some embroidery, that’s only fitting for a newly-knighted man courting a lady -well, sworn into being a postulant for a knight order, but close enough.
The next answer to another one of Gregory’s bauble gifts is a drawing with a marker of a spot in the maze and the single line of “Meet me at midnight”. She hopes he can read that much, but he does show up on time, a bouquet of wildflowers in his hands that he nearly drops when she steps into the light of the candle circle she lit. She picked the ball gown for being daring, she thought it would work on a simple man like him and clearly, it does. He’s undressing her with his eyes and yes, she’s revolted, but she’s accepted that this is her story, this is her knight, she doesn’t get another choice, so she’ll make the best of it.
That doesn’t mean she isn’t nervous, and it doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel as if she’s stumbling over her own words as she tells him that she has a gift for him, too. Turning back from having put the flowers aside, it’s a sweet gesture, actually, maybe her favourite gift of his so far, anyway, she can’t get distracted now or she might get tongue tied. She tells him to hold his hands out and places a handkerchief into his palms, dark green with golden stitching, her family colours.
He needs a bit to decipher the stitching spelling his name, but smiles brightly at the little paw print she put underneath it. About to thank her, she tells him to turn it, revealing that it reads ‘Knight of Lady Rossmore’ and shows her family crest. “It’s your official sign of holding your lady’s favour.” Then she blushes, takes the handkerchief and shows him how to fold it inside out, which reveals that on this side, there’s a little heart inside the paw. His eyes light up and he looks genuinely touched, hopeful maybe. She was prepared to say something romantic, but she just looks at him and… is this really how it’s meant to feel?
Then she shakes it off, of course it is, what else would this sense of longing and of him belonging to her be? It must be love. Smiling at him, she is about to say more when he notices that there is a little pocket on the inside but it’s empty. Got him, good. Pulling the second, smaller handkerchief out, she tells him she will need his help to finish it. “You have sworn yourself to my protection. I am your lady, you shall have mine.” She remembered the fairy tale where the handkerchief with drops of blood granted protection. She thinks it’s only fitting to do the same. She’s a night creature, a monster, a dhampir, the book tells her that vampires see blood as power. Maybe there is some in hers.
She also remembers the belief that there is power in not letting your enemy draw first blood, so she’d rather make sure that she controls that, even if it’s just superstition. She thought vampires were just superstition, too. Explaining that she researched some spells and rewrote them for him and his forms, she holds the second handkerchief steady so he can read it and sees the impact it has on him.
Asking him for his demon form, she extends one finger towards him and smiles again. He seems nervous as well, now, asks twice if he really heard her right before pricking her finger with a claw, carefully. “One drop of blood to ward thee from evil.” She aims it carefully to fall under the line on the cloth, explaining to him that he won’t ever have to worry about his demon or his anger, she’ll protect him
Next, she asks for her cat, please, and offers another finger. Once pricked, she presses it against the next line. “One drop of blood to shield thee from foes.” So she never again has to rush to his defense as she did on the first time they went out on an excursion. One last finger is pricked, this time with the tip of his knife, and another spell is intoned: “One drop of blood to lend thee my strength.”
The final line has her blush again but she steels herself, she planned this, she decided that this is the right thing to do. This is the man fate gave her, she should not be so unsure about it, she knows all the stories, he sounds like the men in those stories so clearly, she just doesn’t know what love really is. No matter, she runs her bloody fingers over her lips, holds the handkerchief against his forehead and puts a kiss on it. “And one kiss to cherish thine valiant heart.”
He looks… she hopes that is thunderstruck and really impressed, not amazed at how strange that felt. After folding the magical protection and securing it into the pocket, she folds the handkerchief out again and hands it to him. She relaxes when she sees that he is holding it against his chest, over his heart and gives her… that is a smitten look, right? That’s not him doing his fawning again, this worked, it must have worked, there is no going back now for her and she’d be even more terrified of having to marry a man who doesn’t love her than she would be about marrying a man she doesn’t feel very close to but who truly loves her.
After some awkward moments of silence, she coughs slightly and goes on with the script she made herself, reminds him that the magic number is three. She offered him her first blood and her first kiss, will he accept her first dance? That has him finally snap out of his spell of just looking at her dumbstruck, and he runs to crank the gramophone she has set up already, then for once has some manners and asks her properly for the dance.
This… this is how it should feel, she thinks. He’s warm and robust against her, her hands tiny in his, and he’s so close she can smell nearly nothing but him and it’s like the first day in Newholm, his smell… his smell is lovely. If anything has grown only lovelier, the scent of his blood aching against her retracted fangs, the scent of all that blood that belongs to her is so inviting, so sweet, and clearly, that must be how love feels. The wish to not ever step away again from that smell, from what she can imagine must be oh so lovely to feel against her tongue if only she could kiss his skin, if only she could taste him not from a goblet but right from his veins…
Yes, clearly, this hunger for him must be love, so she leans her head against his shoulder while they dance, inhales and finally accepts her fate, she’s a woman in love and she’ll have him. He’s hers, and hers alone!
Hers alone and she’ll seal it, yes, that need and urge must be what love is like, it’s always described as desire, as longing, and oh how she longs, his neck is so close, his smell so deep in her nostrils she can nearly taste him. And isn’t that what kisses are normally described as? Yes, that must mean she wants to kiss him. There’s no way back for her anyway, she’s ruined anyway, so breaking some more etiquette can’t be so bad, right? She knows that she wouldn’t normally think like this, but something about this dance makes it hard to think of anything but him.
Her body is tingling and he just smells so inviting, so irresistible, clearly, she’s in love, yes. Closing her eyes she leans her head up and whispers his name before offering her lips, she just about remembers that’s more proper.