A Loom of Years

Third Weaving
@Anne E. Fraser 2006

 

To be a vampire is to be lonely. To be a Prince of vampires, blessed
and burdened with the care of these fascinating, deadly, annoying,
intriguing creatures is to be... lonelier.

In the decades, now more than a century, that they had been husband
and wife, Blaine and Olivia of Britain had not shared a bed. Even
when travelling, they always had separate rooms and did not
interfere in each other's private lives. Always, in public, they
maintained a slightly formal politeness to each other and were civil
enough in private, though there were occasional flaming rows. Very
occasional, as Blaine seldom lost his temper. What fun was a husband
that didn't fight back?

Olivia had taken Blaine at his word that he would not demand marital
fidelity... but she also respected his request that she be discreet.
But she found herself, as the years passed, watching Blaine
sometimes. He very rarely took lovers, far less often than she did
and she was scarcely promiscuous.

She paused one night, on her way out for a ride with the wolfpack,
to watch Blaine tackle a pile of reports for the Council. He raised
his head to see her standing there, watching him, and gave her a
smile. He was always so unfailingly cheerful, even when she had
little patience with cheerfulness, but she thought he also looked...
lonely. It was a new thought, and she found herself pondering it.

Blaine had found himself smiling because she looked so pretty, in
her riding clothes, with the pack lolling about. He wished he could
go riding with her, but he had never been asked, and there was this
paperwork...

"No doubt there's some poor night-creature you haven't managed to
slaughter yet," he teased her. "Off you go."

"Would you like help with those?" she asked, indicating the stack of
papers.

"No... no, I can manage. I wouldn't want to spoil your ride."

Did she catch a note of wistfulness there? Olivia shook her head.
Surely not. Blaine had no interest in riding to the wolves, he was
perfectly happy sitting here with his precious paperwork. She fought
down the impulse to toss the lot into the fire and demand he come
riding.

"All right, then," she said, presenting her cheek for a perfunctory
kiss. "We'll bring you back a peasant." She saw his mock-reproachful
look, and laughed. "Pheasant, I meant pheasant."

"Remember, if it doesn't have fur or  feathers..."

"Don't bring it back home," she nodded. It was a standard tease
between them. "Yes, my Prince."

And off she went, leaving the Prince to his paperwork. He sighed,
and bent his head back down to the reports. Peace was breaking out
all over the British Isles amongst vampires who had hitherto
delighted in ripping each other to shreds, but Blaine found himself
unable to take much pride in this. He got up and crossed to the
window... he could just see the stable yard, and Olivia's high-
stepping mare being brought out for her... he turned away, wondering
at himself. He didn't see her head turn towards his window, and the
long, thoughtful look she cast that way before riding off.


They came back into the yard hours latter, splattered with mud,
Olivia's horse steaming, Olivia accepted the hand stretched out to
help her alight from her mare, then did a second take as she
realized whose hand it was. This was no groom, but her husband,
looking unusually sombre.

"Come inside," he said quietly, forestalling her automatic question.

The werewolf pack muttered amongst themselves as their mistress
turned her back on them without a word and walked hand-in-hand with
her husband into the manor. Only when they were alone together in
Blaine's office did he speak again.

"Armand has been killed," he said without preamble.

Olivia sat down abruptly. "How?"

"There is a rogue vampire wandering Europe. A French vampire, by the
name of Etienne Corbeau. He is responsible for many vampire murders.
He slew Darius of Italy, who would have been the Council's first
choice for Prince. And now, apparently, he has killed Armand. Claude
was unable to give me many details in his message."

"So Claude is now Prince of France?"

Blaine raised his head.  He hadn't thought of that.  "I suppose he
must be," he replied.  "It is the first time we have lost a Prince
and I don't know if the Council has actually thought much about the
rules of succession.  But Claude was named and accepted as successor
to France, so he must be Prince."

"Poor Claude.  It is hard to lose your sire."

"Have I ever apologized for that, by the way?"

"Not to my recollection.  But this is very serious, Blaine.  We must
show the vampire community that Princes cannot be murdered without
repercussions."

"Claude is scouring France for the rogue.  There have been attempts
to capture or kill Corbeau before now, Olivia.  He's apparently
quite slippery.  Seems to have more than the usual share of nasty
vampire tricks."

"Like a Prince does, do you mean?" She wrinkled her forehead, and he
tried hard not to think of how adorable she looked doing it. Tried
hard not to think how much he would have liked her company tonight.

"Perhaps," Blaine replied, mulling it over.  "Although he of course
is not a Prince.  But he does seem to be able to elude capture."

"You must post guards at the ports, to ensure he does not come to
England."

"Yes, an excellent idea, darling.  I shall see to it."

"Claude will be an excellent Prince," Olivia said, ignoring
the `darling'.  "Better, perhaps, than Armand."

"More flexible, certainly.  D'you know, I think I never once saw
Armand laugh?"

"No, I believe I never did, either.  He was very strict.  A good
Prince, though."

"Yes, his loss is a blow for the Council.  No doubt there will be an
emergency meeting called shortly. I understand there is some trouble
in the Italian court, too."

Olivia's lips twitched, despite the seriousness of the
situation.  "Blaine, there have been several quite spirited attempts
to assassinate Carmine.  He survives them all, untroubled, and dares
them to try again.  I simply adore him."

"Perhaps you should have married him," Blaine suggested.  "A nicely
bloodthirsty pair you would make."

"Ah, but he loves that Ruffina of his.  I quite like her, too.  And
anyway, I am already married, if you might recall. I believe you
were there."

"Yes, I seem to remember being in terror for my life at the time."

Olivia stood up, noticing the mud she had trailed in on her skirts
for the first time.  "I should go and bathe," she said, "and give
this habit to the maids to clean.  Whatever must you think of me,
coming before my Prince in such a state?"

And before he could stop the words from forming, Blaine said, "I
think you look utterly charming."

She gave him a long, assessing look.  "Truly?" was all she could
think of to say.

He nodded, then, as if embarrassed by this, cleared his
throat.  "You don't want to ruin that lovely riding habit, now, do
you?  Run along to your maids."

It was an odd moment, almost tender.  She gave him another assessing
stare, but he was resolutely not looking at her.

"I am sorry about Armand," she said.

Another nod. "So am I."

"Please consider increasing the security here."

He did look at her then, eyebrow raised.  "Why?"

"If this Corbeau is as elusive and powerful as you say, then he may
well be able to enter England undetected.  It could be that he means
to assassinate the entire Council, one by one.  Britain cannot
afford to lose its Prince."

"Thank you, Olivia, I will definitely consider the question of
security.  Britain cannot afford to lose its consort, either."

Their eyes met.  Blaine's smile was almost wistful.  Olivia found
herself, once more, smiling back at him.

"Aren't you going to go have a bath?" he asked.

"Er... yes, of course.  Good night, then."

He bowed.  "Good night, Olivia."









 

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