"I, Blaine Whyte-Thomson, Prince of England, do take thee, Olivia
Hanover, to be my wife. I vow to uphold the Law with thee at my side
as my consort and helpmate. I vow to unite the vampires of England,
Ireland, Scotland and Wales and to end the feuding; with thee to
help me in this task. I vow to honour thee as my wife and consort."

He couldn't claim to have spent sleepless nights composing his vows,
since he didn't sleep at nights anyway. But it had been an utter
nightmare trying to come up with wording that Olivia couldn't object
to. All the usual pledges of honour, cherish, obey... oh boy. Honour
he could pledge her. He had to admire her for agreeing to this mad
scheme. She did truly want peace, although she had not said so to
Hans.

Nobody expected this to be a happy marriage. Could you even really
call it a marriage? It would have the outwards semblance of one; and
they would have to work together to unite the bloodlines which would
mean they'd have to be passingly civil to each other in private, but
at least there would not be the pressure of a similar mortal
marriage to produce an heir. That would have meant actually having
to bed Olivia, and even Blaine's generous imagination couldn't
stretch that far. The steely-eyed look she'd given him when he'd
said he wouldn't demand his conjugal rights... brr.

"I, Olivia Hanover, do take thee, Blaine Whyte-Thomson, as my
husband. I vow to uphold the Law at thy side, to be thy consort and
helpmate. I vow to unite the vampires of England, Ireland, Scotland
and Wales and to end the feuding, to help thee in this task. I vow
to honour thee as my husband and Prince."

There. She had said it, in public, and there was no escape. Blaine
was her Prince. She hadn't promised to obey him, but tacit obedience
was built right into that ridiculous title. It was a high price to
pay for an end to the killing, this loss of independence, but... at
least he had guaranteed her private life would be her own, without
interference from him. Oh, yes, of course she would have to work
with him to see that other vampires fell into line, that the feuding
stopped, but she didn't have to be _nice_ to him. Or spread her legs
for him.

Her wolves looked faintly shocked. They had never thought their
mistress would so willingly give up her independence, become some
man's possession. They would soon see that she was no such thing.
Just let Blaine try and act like a husband...

"I pronounce you Prince and Consort," said the priest. He was
actually a shamanistic Druid, rooted out by Olivia and agreed upon
by Blaine, but he was still a priest. "You may kiss the bride."

Blaine looked at Olivia's expression, then back at the Druid. "Do I
have to?" he quavered.


The poor shaman looked like he didn't know what to say. Olivia
tugged impatiently on Blaine's arm; when he turned, she gave him a
very perfunctory, emotionless kiss.

"It is sealed," she said, when he looked at her in surprise. "You
are my Prince and husband."

"As you are my consort and wife," he replied. "Shall we preside over
the wedding feast?" He offered her his arm.

She obviously wrestled with herself before taking it. For England,
she reminded herself.

There were wedding guests aplenty; vampires from both bloodlines and
a few of the new Princes from the Council and their retinues.
Werewolves and other shapechangers. Nameless Ones. Mages, witches,
wizards, shamans. The odd human. Many of these ate; it was for their
benefit the traditional wedding feast had been prepared. The
newlyweds, of course, did not participate in the actual feast.

"Look," Blaine said, setting down his goblet after yet another toast
and surveying the revellers. "So far no bared bodkins and no
bloodshed."

"Thus far," Olivia replied. "Wait until the drink's been flowing a
bit longer."

"No," Blaine said, quite seriously for a change. "If we are to make
changes, they must start tonight. That was why we wed, after all. If
a fight breaks out, we'll have to stop it before it becomes a
brawl."

"You really feel we can do this task set for us?" Olivia asked.

"Yes. If we work together."

Just then, before she could reply, one of her wolves decided that
things were too quiet and drew a dagger, threatening the magic-user
seated across from him.

"That was my joint you just stole," growled the wolf.

"It was a communal plate," replied the mage, drawing his own knife.
Magical symbols glittered along the blade.

"Knives drawn," Blaine sighed at Olivia.

"Yes, I'd noticed," she replied.

As one, they rose from their seats at the high table and walked down
to where the argument had started. Olivia reached out and lifted the
werewolf straight off the bench at the trestle table by the collar
of his tunic. Blaine simply took the dagger off his wizard and
curtly told the fellow to get up.

"This stops now," said Blaine in a voice that carried to every end
of the hall.

"It should not have started," added Olivia, in equally stern tones.

"Hear this, all of you," Blaine continued. "Olivia and I were
married to unite the two courts. We are charged with the duty of
bringing peace to England and the rest of the isles. If we have to
break some noggins to get this idea into them, then we will."

Olivia gave him a funny look, but merely said, "I will not tolerate
any dissension on this matter. Blaine is your Prince now, and the
enforcer of the Law. The Law demands peace; and we will have peace."

The werewolf struggling in her grasp hung his head. "Yes, Olivia,"
he muttered.

The mage slumped back into his chair, rubbing his hand where Blaine
had twisted it to take the knife away. "Yes," he sighed. "I agree."

Blaine straightened up. "I am your Prince," he said. "You will
address me as Prince Blaine or as 'Sir'. And my consort will be
addressed as 'Madame' or 'm'lady'."

"That isn't nec..." Olivia began.

"Yes," said Blaine, still unusually serious, "it is. If we are to
achieve our goal, then we must command respect from our court. And
it starts here and now."

Olivia realized what she had to do. She didn't like it, but then,
she had agreed to this. "Yes, my Prince," she said, with a little
bow. It had been explained to her that consorts, like Princes,
bowed.

He returned the bow, and gave her a brief, private smile. "Thank
you, m'lady. Now, let's hear it from these two." He gave the mage a
little shake.

Olivia glared down at her werewolf, showing just a hint of fang.

"Yes, m'lady," he said.

"Yes, my Prince," said the mage, hoping to get out of the hall
intact.

"There, that didn't hurt, did it?" Blaine rubbed his hands
together. "Now, then, what do you say to some dancing?" He gave
another of those sketchy bows. "M'lady?"

She took his hand and allowed him to dance with her.

Finally the revelries came to an end and the guests were either
ushered to rooms or shown the door. The wedding couple saw everyone
safely off, then were, at long last, alone together.

"There now, that wasn't too bad, was it, old girl?" Blaine asked
cheerfully.

Olivia stared at him for a moment. "Your bedroom is next to mine,"
she said. "There is no connecting door. Good night, Prince Blaine."

He gave her a bow. "Good night, m'lady."
________________

Travel in the fourteenth century was slow and tedious, although
Princes had somehow acquired the ability to make things go more
smoothly and quickly. Still, it was evident that spreading the word
to the warring bloodlines throughout the British Isles--especially
when there was a mundane war between Scotland and England at the
time--was going to be a lengthy enterprise and require a certain
amount of hardship and sacrifice on the parts of the new Prince and
his consort.

Olivia grumbled a bit, mainly to her own courtiers, about being
expected to leave her comfortable home and travel dreadful roads
either on horseback or in a cart with her worst enemy--her husband.
If Blaine grumbled, it was even more privately. She never heard a
word of complaint from him unless some serious obstacle blocked
their way; and then he would do his best to solve matters as quickly
as possible. He was almost terminally good-natured and cheerful,
occasionally making her wish she _had_ slit his throat when she'd
had the chance.

And yet... as she had already seen on their wedding night, he could
be quick and ruthless when it was necessary. When they came across
members of either bloodline still engaged in the bloodfeuds, he was
impartial in meteing out justice and laying down the Law. She began
to realize just why the Council had made him Prince.

She would sooner have thrown herself in the Thames than told him
this, of course.

Their quest for peace amongst vampire kind (at the cost of broken
pates and other bones, if necessary, even one or two swift
executions that Blaine had not hesistated to commit) led them
through a human landscape of misery. Plague, that bane of humankind,
raged throughout England; thousands died or were dying. The
commonfolk lived in dire poverty that was heart-rending to see,
taxed beyond all measure, treated as worse than the beasts in the
field by their lords. Blaine and Olivia could do little to alleviate
this suffering. These were mortal concerns, and vast social reform
was needed, not individual help. But when refreshment was necessary,
they both made a point of feeding on landlords and barons, rather
than on commoners.

"It's only fair," Blaine pointed out cheerfully, stepping over the
body of a baron.

Olivia looked down at the lordling (only unconcious, she noted, not
dead, Blaine did not kill humans unless he had no other choice) and
then at her Prince. "Fitting, at least," she admitted, and allowed
Blaine to give her a hand back up into the sidesaddle of her
specially-trained horse.

They worked extremely hard, those first few years, then decades.
Vampires in far-flung places in the kingdom listened sceptically to
the message of peace and cooperation. Some even dared to question
Blaine's authority over them. News of the Council had been slow to
spread, and many vampires did not believe it would affect them. Who
were these strangers to suddenly declared they had to be obeyed?

But... when Blaine drew his sword... or sometimes, he did not have
to. He merely spoke. When he spoke like that, all his silly
mannerisms vanished, and there was... a Prince. Olivia wondered if
some sort of magic was at work.

They had attended their first Council meeting, in between subduing
the bloodlines and ending the feuding. It was held in Austria; the
first time that the full Council met. There was young Claude, quite
unscathed, sitting behind Armand like a good successor and retainer,
occasionally rolling his eyes when proceedings became too boring.
There was Carmine of Italy, persuaded into joining by Claude,
unshaven and amused. There were several women besides Olivia, many
of the Princes... Russia, Greece, Germany, the Low Countries, all
were represented by women. There was pale Nils from Scanadanavia and
dark Yves from Switzerland. And of course the host, Hans, who had
several countries to look after since none of their bloodlines had
produced Prince material.

Each Prince reported on their progress. Each Prince was facing
difficulty and rebellion amongst the ranks of vampires. This was not
unexpected; the Council was a new idea and hostility was inevitable.
Vampires had never obeyed any laws before. After all, why should
they?

But it seemed the idea was catching on. Times were changing, very
slowly, in Europe. Common people were becoming more aware,
communications were improving, the Dark Ages would shortly no longer
be dark. Vampires would be unwelcome in an age of reform. They had
to adapt or die. Humans could not be treated as cattle.

And on and on. Blaine, his own attention slightly wandering, caught
young Claude rolling his eyes and waggled a finger at him. Claude
grinned back, and an instant friendship, that was to last until
tragedy ended it, was born. Olivia couldn't help smiling at the
young vampire, either. and even found herself smiling at Blaine.

Good lord, was she actually starting to _like_ him?