It was a month later.

 A month of happiness. At least on my part.  I had watched
 Genevieve go from mourning to acceptance; go from flinching from the
 ghouls and the Gardiens to joking with them; go from hesitating in my
 presence to seeking out my company and my kisses.

 One night I sat her down and told her about the Council of European
 Princes; about rogues and Corbeau and cabals and assassination attempts
 and long arguments; she was fascinated rather than repelled.  That was when
I knew, not without some regret, that I had made the right decision in
 bringing her to live in the chateau.  In trying to win her affections so that she
 would consent to marry me, and to be a true consort.

 "This does not frighten you?" I asked.

 "Oh, no," she replied.  "I suppose it should, but it does not.  I think you are a
 very good Prince."

 "Not good enough," I replied grimly.  "A good Prince would have been
 able to kill Corbeau, not just banish him."

 "Others have tried," Genevieve reminded me.  "Your own sire died trying;
 and you have said that both Carmine of Italy and Blaine of England have
 also tried and failed."

 "Corbeau is very strong; the strongest vampire I have ever met.”

 "Then you must not blame yourself for not being able to do what so many
 others have tried," Genevieve told me..

I managed a smile.  "I love you," I said, marvelling at myself for saying
 the words, knowing they were true.

 She smiled back, something shining in her eyes.  I dared to hope it was
 love.  "Then kiss me," she commanded.

 I did.

 "Be my wife," I said when the kiss ended.

 Genevieve stared at me.  "Your...?"

 "Wife.  Marry me."

 "Claude... I... I cannot."

  I kissed her again, roughly, passion rising.  And that was not the only
 thing that rose. I heard her quickly-stifled gasp of surprise.

  "I love you, Genevieve," I said. "I have loved you ever since you grew into
 a woman.  I never offered for your hand because of what I am; I loved you
 enough to leave you to a mortal life.  But now... join me.  Be my wife, my
 consort. I will make you what I am."

 She wanted me.  I could tell by the look in her eyes, by the way she
 returned my kiss.  But she was worried and uncertain.

   "Can vampires marry, Claude?" she asked. "As mortals do?"

  "It will be a church wedding.  I am one of God's creatures, after
 all.  But if you marry me, Genevieve, you must become as I am, eventually.
 The union of a vampire and a mortal can have only two endings; and I will
 not accept the first."

 "What would the first ending be?" she asked.

  "That you die.  Of disease, of old age, of grief... that you
 die and leave me alone. I could not bear that." Ah, God, no, I could not.  To
 see that beauty fade; to hear her voice creak with age, watch that flawless
 skin wrinkle, those eyes grow filmy and dull... no, I could not.  I would
 have held my breath waiting for her answer if I could have.

  "But... to be as you are, to need to drink blood in order to live... I do not
 know if I could do that, Claude."  But she was not backing away from me.
 She was still within my embrace; I could feel her trembling.

 "It is not as evil as you fear," I said, stroking her hair, laying a hand on
 her cheek.  "There are ways... Genevieve.  You have said you love me.  You  have the strength to be a vampire; I have seen it in you."

  "I do love you."  Her eyes met mine; hers were moist with unshed tears but
 also smiling at the same time.

  "Then will you marry me?  And consent to have me turn you?"  I dared to
 hope.

   The answer, when it came, was no more than a breath.  "Yes."


 __________

 I had never been married before, not even as a mortal man.  It had just been something I had never gotten around to doing.  Genevieve, of course, had been married; but this second ceremony for her would be nothing like the first.

I had never seen her look so beautiful.  She wore a gown with red
 highlights in the form of roses all down the edges and carried more roses in
 her hand.

 "I feel this is sacrilege," she shivered as we joined hands in the chapel of
 Chateau de Monet.

Yes, my chateau has a chapel.  It is a beautiful place, with expensive stained glass windows. I found solace there, solace badly needed to a lonely Prince.  And now, in my chapel, I was taking a large step towards easing that loneliness.

I could smell her scent, attar of roses barely disguising the more alluring
 smell of her blood.

"God watches over us," I replied.  "We will declare our love before
 Him.  How can this be sacrilege?"

 "There is no priest," Genevieve noted.

Indeed, there was not.  The local cleric had flatly refused to wed us at night and in my private chapel. There were no vampire priests.

 "That does not matter."

 I slipped a ring on her finger and spoke my vows; to love and honour her,
 to guard her, to make her my consort and share my Princedom with her.  She
 put a heavy gold ring on my finger and made her own vows.  Her voice was
 clear and did not shake as she promised to love and honour me and share
my burdens and be my consort.

Ah, Dieu, to do that to her, whom I loved so much it ached.  To make her my consort.  To have her share my burdens.  But I knew she had the strength for it, and took the vows of her own free will.

Genevieve, my love.  I am sorry.

 The Gardiens were the only witnesses; they and the  two wild-eyed
 ghoulish servants.

 I leaned over and kissed her soundly; and the Gardiens broke into
 applause.

 "I would offer you one last mortal meal," I said, taking her hand, "but
 it is better to do the turning on an empty stomach. You will be ill upon
 arising; not eating beforehand will make it less painful."

I remembered my own turning vividly.  Agony.

She shivered, but clasped my hand.  "Yes, I see," she said.

"You are resolved?"

 "I am resolved."

I kissed her again.  "Come and dance with me; I would dance at
 our wedding."

She laughed then, and I delighted to hear it; holding hands we went into
 the ballroom.  A few of the Gardiens were passable musicians and played
 dance tunes.

I had never danced with Genevieve before.  I was not surprised that she could dance; she had been well tutored, after all. We were well-matched, and the applause from my Gardiens was genuine.  Genevieve laughed; her grief was still real, especially over her lost children, but she had learned to love again.  To love me.  Incroyable.

My court all demanded their turns with my new bride; I watched her dance with my fledglings and courtiers, heart near to  bursting with the love of her, unable to quite believe she had consented to be my wife. Unable to quite believe what I was about to do to the woman I  loved.  But I was resolved.  As was she.  She would be the consort I  needed, and my successor when she had received some training.  She threw   back her head and laughed as Thierry whispered something in her ear when   she danced with him, and I bit back a grin.

 "Oh, I cannot wait to show you off to the Council!" I exclaimed, fool that I was,  giving her a hug when she was finally returned to my arms.  "They will love  you."

Genevieve noticed that the music had stopped.  She looked around.  She and I were alone in the ballroom; the others had discretely slipped out.

"I believe our friends think it is time we went to bed," she said.

Not once in all the time she had lived here in the chateau had I made any overt sexual advances to her. Oh, I’d had my thoughts, but I had kept them to myself.  Now she was my wife, and there was no more barrier between us.

 "I think so, too," I whispered.  I swept her off her feet and carried
 her, laughing and gasping, up the circular stairs to the master bedroom.
 Since one might as well do things properly, I kicked the door open with my
 foot.  I heard her indrawn breath when she saw the monstrous bed with its
 carved black posts. It had crimson and gold hangings; the posts were carved
 with exotic fruit, it could have slept six adults.  I  had ordered it
 specially made; it could be taken to pieces and moved if necessary, but it
 never had been.

 "How many wives at a time do you plan on having?"Genevieve asked, and
I laughed so hard I nearly dropped her.

 "I think one is enough.. For the moment at least."

 "Then perhaps the occasional army sleeps here?"

 "It is a magnificent bed, is it not?  I knew you would like it."

 "I fear I will get lost in it," she said. She was trembling again, slightly, in my
 arms; the banter was to cover her nervousness.

 I set her down gently on the bed. At least, that had been my intention, but
my own nervousness (hell, I'd never been married before, and I was
 worried about the turning, about hurting her) made me uncharacteristically
 clumsy and she more or less fell out of my arms and onto the covers.

 She looked startled for a moment, met my own astounded expression, and
we both burst out laughing.

 "Some Prince," I said ruefully.

 "I thought perhaps you meant to do that," she replied.

 I leaned down and kissed her; she reached up and wrapped her arms
 around me. The laughing stopped; our lips were too busy. I reached
 down and tried, one-handed, to unfasten her complicated gown. Suddenly
we were laughing again at my fumbling attempt; laughing and untying
 points and laces at the same time; causing tangles and a stifled curse or two.

 The sight of each other naked caused fresh peals of laughter. But then my
 lips silenced hers; and my hands began exploring her for the first time. I
 saw her eyes widen as my fingers found a sensitive spot and I heard her
 gasp then moan.

 "Oh!" she exclaimed.

 "Have I hurt you?"

 "No. But... no. Only... I never..." she was blushing.

 I continued my explorations, going slowly, enjoying her reaction. It was
 evident that her late husband had not known how to please a woman; a great deal of my own pleasure was derived from hers.

 "Gaspard never did this, I assume?" I asked, fingers dancing.

 "Never," she said, between gasps. "He was... kind. Gentle."

 "The poor boy. And poor you." Then I could no longer talk, as my tongue
 was otherwise employed.

 She shuddered under me, and I finally entered her, our bodies entwining, the
 sweat glistening on hers as we consummated our marriage.

I almost did not do it; she was so beautiful, so innocent still despite marriage and children.  How could I be such a monster as to take this life from her, still that sweet breath, make that loving heart stop beating?  But she... she was the perfect consort, and the other choice was to watch her die.  Die, and not wake again to see the world with vampire eyes.  My fangs, of almost their own accord, found the vein in her neck and pierced it.  She cried out, but whether in pain or  ecstasy I did not know and doubted she could say.

I drank deeply, though not enough to cause permanent damage, not yet.
 Her blood was sweet, pure; I could feel it warming me and spreading
 through my dead veins.

I rolled off her and lay quiet at her side while she slept; it was a light sleep
 and would not last long, I could grant her this. It would be the last time she
 would ever get real sleep, after all.

 "Ah, Claude," I said to myself. "Do you really want to do this to the girl?"

 To make her a vampire. To make her my consort, to expose her to the
 Council and have to take her to the meetings and the balls, to embroil her in
 the politics and teach her whom to trust, whom to treat neutrally, and whom
 to avoid...

 How ironic, that I should find a bride and a lover so soon after Carmine of
 Italy had beheaded his Ruffina...

 I was certain I would never have to behead Genevieve. Undoubtedly
 Carmine had felt that way about Ruffina, too, but I refused to think of that.

I had liked Ruffina.  She had been refreshingly straightforward, especially compared to sly, Byzantine Carmine.

 Beside me, Genevieve was already stirring. "I had the strangest dream," she
 said.

 "Tell me.”

 "I was standing all alone in a group of vampires," she said. "I could tell what
 they were, somehow. They were all strangely dressed and wore sashes with
 colours on them, like flags. They seemed to be angry with me but I was not
 frightened, only angry in my own way. But you were not there and I missed
 you terribly."

I felt my heart clench, even though it should not have. "It sounds as if
 you dreamt of the Council," I said, trying for lightness. "I am sorry your
 last dream should be a nightmare."

 Where had I been?  The blood-drinking could sometimes cause true
 dreams, premonitions.  Where had I been?

  "Is it my last dream, Claude?" she asked.

 "If you are still resolved to be as I am," I replied. "Then, yes. Vampires do
 not dream."

 She reached out and took my hands in hers. "I am resolved. I am your wife,
 Claude. I will be your consort."

We kissed and I sought out the two small wounds on her neck, nuzzling,
 then licking them. My fangs sank into her again and then I drank once
 more from the punctures. She sighed gently, eyes closing in pleasure/pain as
I drank.

 Then I withdrew and used my own fingernail to slash open a two-inch long
 gash on my wrist. I pressed the bleeding wound to her lips.

 "Drink," I said. "Drink, and the change is assured."



 __________
 She was dressed all in blue, and looked absolutely beautiful.  I smiled
 at her, adjusting the folds of my own clothing, gold and crimson were my
 colours.

 She had been my wife for twenty-three years.  The year was now 1525.  The
 plague that had ravaged France when she had been turned had worn itself
 out and slowly the villages had repopulated themselves.  There had been no
 sign of or word from Corbeau in those years.

I had selfishly kept Genevieve to myself for all those years; training
 her as consort and successor.  The Council would have to approve her as
 successor; a fact I rather dreaded.  She was young in the blood; too young,
 really, for such a serious post.  But she was my choice, and a good candidate.

 The turning had gone extremely well.  I had taken every possible
 precaution; Genevieve had hardly been ill at all upon awakening to her new
 life and the transition to vampire had been practically painless.  She took her
 new role very seriously; eager to learn and apologetic for any misstep.

 But now came the true test of how well I had chosen, and how well she had
 adjusted.  The time of the Vampire Ball.

 The Council had two official functions.  Princes were allowed to meet
 between times, and often did, either socially or for one of our endless
 damned secret meetings where we plotted against other Princes.  But every
 Prince was expected to attend official Council meetings... and the Vampire
 Ball.

 Meetings happened every fifth year, or more frequently in times of trouble.
  The location of the meetings   shifted with each one with the understanding that strict neutrality ruled for  the duration, regardless of the personal feelings of the host or hostess. There had been more frequent meetings since Corbeau had appeared.

 The Ball was meant as a social occasion, a time to put politics aside.  Not
 just Princes, consorts and successors were invited to the Balls, but courtiers
 and other important vampires, mages, Nameless Ones, weres and other
 occult types whom we Princes wished to impress or recruit.  The Balls,
 because they were expensive and a security nightmare, only happened once a
 century.  The actual date was at the discretion of the host; this, too, changed
 each time.

 The 16th century Ball was mine to host.  I had waited discreetly until
I was certain Genevieve was ready to meet the Council; she had not yet
 attended a meeting.  I wanted her first experience with the Council to be a
 social one.  As social as any meeting of Princes could be.

 Ah, Dieu, why had I done this to her?

 "Remember that you bow, not curtsey," I instructed as I helped her dress.

 "Yes, Claude," she said, feigning meekness, but with sparks in her eyes.

 Princes bow.  So do consorts and successors.  Just one of those vampire
 niceties.

 "Silly woman," I said fondly, kissing her throat.

 "You will disarrange my gown, Monsieur," she said, giving me a little
 push.

 I laughed.  "I will do more than disarrange it in a moment, Madame."

 "Claude," she mock-frowned, "we have guests arriving shortly."

 "Ah, yes. Unfortunately."

 She put a hand on my cheek, lightly, and stared into my eyes.  "You are
 worried about my meeting the Council."

 "Of course I am.  Some of the Council are not ... amiable."  I shook my
 head.  "Watch for Rodrigo of Spain, Ingrid of Germany; but they are
 obvious in their dislike of France.  It is convenient to have obvious enemies;
 it is the sly ones I dislike."

 "And who are the sly ones?" she asked.

 "Monique of Belgium; she is a fox.  Always switching her allegiances and
 plays a very deep game of her own devising.  And Yves of Switzerland will
 betray anyone for a bit more power.  Nils of Finland..." I shrugged.
 "He can be decent enough, but he represents countries with little power and
 will ally with whomever he thinks is strongest at the moment."

 Genevieve nodded, committing the names and my comments on them to
 memory.  "And the others?"

 "Blaine of England is a friend," I said, and couldn't  resist a smile.
 "You will like him; he is not the absent-minded fool he will seem; and his
 consort is a truly lovely woman.  Hans of Austria-Hungary is a good man
 and a good Prince; he is far too overworked in looking after as many
 countries as he does to conspire against anybody, and he is fair-minded.
 Zalyina of Russia tends to be quiet and just watch, she is neither friend nor
 enemy; Kalonice of Greece usually sides with me and I count her as nearly a
 friend.  I think you will like her."

 She slapped away my hand, which had been straying towards her bodice, and
 then frowned.  "There appears to be one country still unaccounted for,
 Claude.  What of Italy?"

 And I, though I later regretted it, lied.  I had good motives for
 doing so.   Or thought I did.

 "Do not trust Prince Carmine," I warned.

 Which was ridiculous advice, because I had trusted Carmine of
 Italy on several occasions, including with my own life.

 But if Monique was a fox, then Carmine was... foxier.  Hard to read,
 impulsive, and certainly not to be trusted with a beautiful young woman so
 recently made vampire and consort.  I knew I was being unfair and
 unreasonable, but I did not want Genevieve to be alone with Carmine.

 Ah, merde, I was jealous and the two had not even met. And I was also
 not being entirely serious, although I knew that Genevieve was unaware of
 that fact.

 "Why not?" Genevieve asked.

 "Because he is Italian.”.

 "That is the most ridiculous..."

 "Please, Genevieve.  Do not argue with me on this.  I mean it."

 She subsided, though I could see a rebellious look in her eyes.  But I very
 seldom gave her a direct order; mostly because I knew she would give me one of those looks.  When I did speak to her that firmly, she knew it was important to me and,
 generally, obeyed.  Perhaps acceded was a better word.

 Genevieve held out her hand. I took it and we descended down the long
 staircase into the ballroom of the chateau, ready to receive our guests.