

J.R. Rain Presents:

DRACULA RISING

a novel by

Jackson Stein

Acclaim for Dracula Rising:

"Jackson Stein's untold story of the origin of Dracula had me riveted from start to finish! This bold new voice in the genre takes his readers on a wild thrill ride, and I will be reading EVERYTHING from this author now!"

—Gemma Halliday, New York Times bestselling mystery author of Spying in High Heels

"I write vampire novels. I know vampire novels. You, sir, have written a wonderful vampire novel. Atmospheric. Rich descriptions. Spot-on research. I am reminded of The Historian. I think it's safe to say: Dracula lives!"

—H.T. Night, #1 bestselling author of Vampire Love Story

BOOKS BY JACKSON STEIN

Vampire Mafia: Santa Cruz

Dracula Rising

Dracula Reigns

Dracula Rising

Copyright © 2013 by Jackson Stein

All rights reserved.

Smashwords.com Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

For Gemma, this party is just getting started, babe. Can't wait to see what happens next...

Acknowledgments

A huge thank you going out to J.R. Rain. Wow, what a ride!

Thank you, Linda Style. Your help on this project is very appreciated.
TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

EXERPT FROM DRACULA REIGNS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

MORE BOOKS BY JACKSON STEIN

Dracula Rising

"There are mysteries which men can only guess at, which age by age they may solve only in part." —Bram Stoker

CHAPTER ONE

September 13, 1447

It was well before dawn as my carriage rolled through the darkness, out beyond our castle's great wooden drawbridge and deep into the forest. I had my driver prepare our departure much earlier than usual and we set out, plunging through the soup-thick fog. The darkness felt heavy indeed as the significance of this day pressed arduously into my mind. Boughs of rolling white mist loomed like eerie columns of stricken-down clouds hovering just around eye level and hazy moisture spiraled from the ground, snaking forward and wrapping around our coach before swirling away and dissipating into the darkness.

My name is Vlad the third, Prince of Wallachia and I am seventeen years old.

Upon noticing we were making good progress I drew in a deep, slow breath. Our pace seemed much quicker than usual and it calmed my heightened state of mind. I took in another full breath, then exhaled slowly. I had been preparing for this day for many years, eager to prove my worthiness, once and for all, to my father, my king, and to the people of Wallachia.

Oddly, just as our road began to descend into yet another deep vale, my carriage began to slow. I stretched out from the small window on the side of the coach, intent on asking my driver why he was slowing, but, I could see it for myself. We were headed toward a narrow wooden bridge...and something barred our passage, something lying in the path in front of us.

A dark shape emerged through the heavy white mist. The eerie image moved across the road, arching high in the center, forming into a shape I couldn't identify, but it was large enough to prevent our carriage from driving around it. I heard my driver call to his horses in hushed tones, "Whoa there, lads," then I listened to the measured kl-klop-kl-klop-kl-klop of slowly falling horse hoofs taking us forward.

He led us closer as I stared intently from the window, refocusing on the form as it came into better view. The wind picked up without warning. Thick, rolling clouds billowed across the moon's face, cutting its light to a muted, hazy glow.

My driver stopped the carriage several paces before the strange thing that blocked our progress. Our horses reared, straining against the reins and I heard my driver speak again in low tones, trying his best to calm them. I removed the burning lantern from the interior wall of the carriage and stepped down onto the dirt, then drew in a long, strained breath, thinking about possible lost time.

This was the one day I could not be delayed.

I turned up the gauge on my lantern to its full brightness, the frustration of lost time now weighing heavily on my thoughts as I walked toward the object that lay in front of me.

I could now see clearly...it was a girl.

She lay facedown, partially wrapped in a dingy gray, threadbare blanket. Her torn blouse hung open, most of her torso exposed. Two streaks of ruby red running down the supple white skin of her bare back. Her silky black hair played around her neck and shoulders, catching the moonlight.

"Miss, what has happened here? May I be of any assistance?"

I hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and the clouds, as if on cue, began to part, letting a flood of eerie moonlight splash down on her body like a murky spotlight.

I rocked her slender frame backward until she rolled over on her side with one of her arms still awkwardly tucked back under her body. She was alive, but her breathing labored, her eyes stretched wide, bulging from her face like a dying fish gasping for oxygen. The still-wet blood on her back told me that whatever injury she had sustained must have happened recently. Then I noticed a dark puddle of blood had pooled in the dirt below her—all black, save the glowing reflection of the moon itself.

Alarmed by the strange scene, I looked back to the carriage, where my driver still struggled to soothe the startled horses. Thunder boomed down around us, shaking the ground as the sound rolled through the valley. Jagged fingers of lightning scorched the sky, casting a flash of white on the road, illuminating the silhouette of a man standing a short distance away on a little hill.

A fine rain started falling and the small, cold drops landed with a steady hum, saturating my thin silk tunic and the terrain around us. The figure stood hunched forward, shoulders pulled down underneath a long black coat that wrapped around his body and hung to the ground. He stood, frozen in place, staring back at me as the lightning vanished over the horizon, flooding the road again with darkness.

"Sir! May I have a word?" I called out to him. "We may be in need of your assistance! Do you know what has happened to this poor, unfortunate young girl?"

Just then, another bolt of lightning braided the cold night sky. I watched as the man's shoulders turned with a quick motion...and vanished.

I lifted my lantern higher wondering if this man had perpetrated a crime here or possibly knew who the parties responsible were. I walked to the far side of the carriage to see where he had gone, but saw nothing and continued through the mist, hiking to the top of the knoll where he had been standing. As I peered over the hill I saw a long shadow disappear into a thick line of trees.

Shaking my head with increasing frustration, I stepped down from the knoll and returned to the road. I walked back to the carriage and went around to further attend to the injured girl, perhaps transport her to a local church when I saw, to my further dismay, she was gone as well.

Fresh blood droplets glistened in the moonlight, leading down the embankment away from the road. Holding my lantern low to the ground, I followed the trail of small red drops as they led me toward a thicket on the left side of the road.

I inched my way into the blackness of the forest, worrying about how rapidly the girl was losing blood. Sheer darkness surrounded me, save the ten-foot radius of my glowing lantern. I looked down hoping to find more of the blood-drop trail on the ground, but saw nothing. Then, after searching the area, I found a small, well-worn path leading through thick foliage.

I paused, looking back toward the road with my mind flashing across the years of training spent in preparation for this monumental day, then shuttered at thought of the girl in the forest who may die without my help.

I took a deep breath, exhaling as I watched a heavy ground layer of fog crawl toward me, stretching and contracting over the plants and rocks like ghostly white fingers. I followed the trail deeper into the woods until the path sloped downward and led into a large clearing. There at the bottom of the grade I noticed an old dilapidated house, a dim glow coming from within, behind one of the rear windows.

I made my way down the path, then onto the front porch of the home. The door was slightly ajar. My heart rate elevated as I reached out, pushed it open and took one step inside.

"Miss?" I queried, my voice raised. "I assure you I wish only to be of assistance. I believe you are in shock and should seek help at once."

Silence.

I edged farther into the foyer, again lifting my lantern high over my head, hoping to get a better look around the dusty room. Totally deserted.

A long gloomy hallway stared back at me. I walked forward...all the while sensing someone was indeed near. I came to the first door on my right and silently placed my hand on the knob, gently turning...

I threw open the door, thrusting the lantern out in front and stepped inside. The room was empty except for a large black coffin that lay against the far wall. Its size and elaborate handcrafted design told me few peasants could easily afford such an item. I paused in place, wondering why someone would display a grand coffin in such a manor, raising it two or three steps off the floor on a platform. My heart pumped harder and harder as I crept forward toward the casket's open lid with lantern held high and in front of me like a ship's beacon. I reached the top step with my adrenaline spiking...and slowly peered inside.

Empty.

Just then my lantern flickered once...twice, then sputtered, sizzling out into darkness.

I had run out of lamp oil...standing there alone, surrounded by an eerie blanket of darkness, the only sound that of my heart beating, pounding in my chest as the horrible sense of panic rose in my mind.

I set the extinguished lantern on the platform and pulled my sword slowly from its sheath. Frozen in place, I listened closely for the man who I thought may have attacked that poor girl. Beads of sweat broke across my forehead, my face twitched as a drop of perspiration tickled its way down to my temple.

I knew someone had injured that poor girl and could still be lurking nearby. My sword felt heavy and slippery in my damp hands as I took a deep breath and blindly backed down from the platform, then turned and left the room.

In the absence of my lantern's glow, I could barely see an illumination from behind a closed door at the end of the hallway. I crept down the hall toward the light, the floors creaking and groaning underneath me as I went.

I heard faint sounds of rushing footsteps somewhere in the murky darkness behind me. Muscles tightening, I jerked and spun around, sword held high.

Pitch black.

Again, I stood frozen, listening to the sound of my heart slamming away in my chest, louder now like a hammer on an anvil, all else stone silent. I made my way forward, but kept craning my neck to look behind me...until I reached the final door at the end of the hall. I placed my damp, trembling hand firmly on the knob and turned it.

A torch burned from a thick iron bracket, its crackling flame throwing long shadows across the floor before they made violent, angular cuts up into the four walls. The girl from the road sat on the floor, nearly naked with her back leaning against the far wall. She had a large dragon tattooed on her chest. It's narrow, wanting eyes of a predator and lizard-like head turned back across its body, showing long, canine-like teeth that looked more like daggers. Its barbed tail slithered up her shoulder and around her neck.

"You are not welcome here," she moaned in a low, sultry voice, smiling behind unfocused eyes.

"Miss, I believe you are in need of some sort of assistance, and—"

"Get out!" she shrieked, her eyes bulging, exposing the depth of her true state of mind. Then she lowered her voice to a breathy sing-song murmur. "You should never have come here...he will be angry."

"Who will be angry, miss?"

"The wolf," she said, erupting into a fit of broken, maniacal laughter, pointing behind me.

I spun around. An enormous wolf glared at me from the shadows, hackles aggressively splayed, eyes glowing bright orange in the torchlight. The huge beast lunged forward, looking directly into my eyes as it snarled and let out a deep, rolling growl. Its lips curled aggressively, showing long, white teeth that gleamed in the torchlight. Stains of deep crimson were soaked into its fur and flashes of rage and unpredictable intent shone in its eyes.

Icy fear hacked its way up my spine. The wolf crept forward in a low, half-crouched position, as if ready to leap at any moment, its growl mounting with intensity.

I held my sword high as the wolf circled me, getting in front of the girl, snarling back as if protecting her.

My pulse racing, I edged back...out of the room and kept moving down the hallway with the wolf pressing ever forward. As I reached the front door, the animal became passive, pausing in its tracks. I got the odd, but distinct feeling the animal didn't necessarily want to harm me, but just wanted me to leave.

I wanted to leave as well...but without making any sudden moves. I turned very slowly and eased my way out.

Not followed, I heaved a heavy sigh and made my way back through the darkness and up the inclining trail to where my driver, Macgregor, sat waiting.

"Grab your sword, at once! Your lantern as well, man!" I shouted. "The poor girl is trapped out in the forest by an enormous wolf."

Macgregor's shoulders turned with a quick jerk and in no time we were hurrying through the woods toward the house. As we made our way into the clearing, the structure came into view—but this time, no light emanated from within. I rushed down the slope with Macgregor close behind, stepped onto the porch, pushed open the door, and entered.

We raised our swords, and—led by Macgregor's bright lamplight—searched for the animal. All was quiet as we crept down to the end of the hall and threw open the door. The wolf, the girl and the burning torch had all vanished.

We searched through the small house as well as we could, but upon finding nothing more, we had no choice but to turn away, baffled by the strange events as we strode up the path and out to the road.

I jumped into my carriage, anxious to get on with my trip. Almost before I was in my seat, I heard the sharp "Heeaaah!" of Macgregor's yell, followed by a sharp crack of his whip. The carriage lurched forward, wheels clattering across the small wooden bridge. I looked back again and again, staring through the mist.

What else could I do? She'd flatly refused my assistance and ordered me to go. Yet guilt seeped through me at leaving her...a helpless, injured girl trapped in the woods by a vicious wolf.

I turned again, struggling to see as the bridge disappeared into the murk.

I had only one choice... alert the local constable.
CHAPTER TWO

After the substantial delay, our morning's journey finally pressed on with the sun coming up over the horizon. The weather seemed oddly cold for a morning this early in September. A thin layer of frost covered the grass and bushes surrounding us, transforming the landscape into a great sea of white. Bright sunbeams had begun to peek over the horizon, shooting down from the jagged mountaintops like thick fingers, splayed out, beckoning us ever forward.

Today is a day for great competition, however it is dismally unfortunate that my father cannot be in attendance to watch me compete for the honor of our kingdom. We rarely know the exact whereabouts of the king, only that he is either fighting or traveling. We last heard he was courageously defending our land south of Wallachia, along the border of Bulgaria but he could be anywhere. I miss him more than I can explain with mere words and my only hope is to make him, and our people, proud on this most important day.

My thoughts momentarily went back to how my father ascended to the throne of Wallachia, cleverly securing the powerful support of the Catholic Church by joining the Roman Emperor's new society called The Order of the Dragon. Membership into The Order was limited only to the finest nobility and their primary focus was defending the word of Christianity.

It was a brilliant move and brought our castle tremendous power. Since then, he has unfortunately spent virtually all his time away, risking his life in battle, valiantly defending our great land from the ongoing attacks of the evil Ottoman Empire.

He also regularly travels to the other Wallachian kingdoms to strategize and better align our forces. His years of absence have, however, taken a heavy toll on me. I miss him dearly and fear for his safety constantly.

His extended time away has also made it nearly impossible for me to prove myself a humble warrior, worthy of his praise. My father alone holds the power to grant me the privilege of becoming his official successor and once I have acquired my father's blessing I will be the sole Heir to the House of Draculesti...and the next ruler of this great land. And, if I succeed today at the tournament of champions, it will mark a most significant step toward demonstrating my combat readiness, assuring my future as the next great Wallachian king.

Until now, I have only watched my father rule from afar—leading us with a steady, but mighty, hand over the many years. He is a great warrior and a king with a brilliant mind for the strategies of war. He has become known as the best negotiator this land has ever seen. He plays chess with men's lives and wins...always wins.

As the sunlight touched the terrain, its heat began burning into the morning's chill. A fine mist rose up like smoke, as if the bright white frost secretly concealed red-hot embers just below the surface. I watched the beautiful trees, wide green-blue rivers, and deep lush valleys from my carriage window and listened to the sound of the horses as they hoofed their way forward on our journey...on to the academy's storied Tournament of Champions in our capital of Targoviste.

I have spent most of my life until now training for combat, but I have also studied many other subjects. The king summoned the finest instructors from Bucharest to educate me in mathematics, science, geography, classical art, and philosophy. I also spend part of each day studying other languages, such as Latin and Slavic. All of my classes are taken privately inside our castle's grounds. I have never known another student from the time my studies began—until now, the day of the tournament, the last day I am to be called a student.

The competition is held annually in the great city of Targoviste. Other graduates from the surrounding castles, who are also of royal lineage, compete against one another to be crowned the champion scholar. There is always great interest from the many royal families, as well as the townspeople who gather to watch and cheer us on.

The competition consists of a simple tournament with three separate rounds. Win all three rounds and become this year's champion. There is no cause for shame if you lose, as this remains a friendly training competition. However, and most importantly, the champion's castle will receive respect from its peers, and it is also said a victory brings good luck into the victor's castle, promising a fruitful spring harvest for its people.

My heart raced with hot blood pumping through every vein in my body as I waited in my carriage, leaning forward, fingers constantly kneading the edges of the sword's hilt.

I had trained for years. I was fully prepared. And I wanted to win...desperately.

Even though I had never seen my competitors in training, I had just as good a chance for winning the tournament as anyone. I was sure of it.

And I would soon find out.
CHAPTER THREE

We arrived at the coliseum late—definitely not a good start. The city was buzzing with interested onlookers as our carriage rolled down into the bowels of the huge arena, underneath the towering rows of seats above. I was rushed into a dressing room by a frowning, obviously displeased attendant.

Quickly, I slipped on our black and red ceremonial robes, both shoulders proudly displaying our castle's great crest. A dragon reaching out from behind a red shield, one sharp talon clenching a long dagger, the other a royal scepter, its tail coiling up into a barbed point.

Next, I lifted my chainmail over my head, sliding my arms through and firmly into place, then my helmet. I took a sharp breath.

I was ready.

We strode up to the floor of the arena. The seats were full of restless onlookers who seemed to know I was the reason the games had fallen behind schedule. They stared down at me in silence as my attendant directed me up a stairway and onto a large podium where the other seven contestants stood.

The other competitors possessed the same steely eyes and stone-cold expressions of grit and determination. I could tell they too were not pleased with me for arriving late as I heard a double blast of horns blow, signifying the beginning of the draw.

A man walked toward me with a creased brow, lips pulled back sharply into a grimace. He gripped a black velvet sack in his hands, pushing it forward as he approached. I reached in and pulled out an emerald green stone, knowing each stone was part of a matching pair. I looked down the line, trying to see who had drawn the other green stone, but the other contestants and their attendants unfortunately obscured my view as they were directed where to go. Everything happened too fast. I didn't have time to take in the scene before someone quickly ushered me backward.

All eight of us were led from the podium and onto the dirt floor of the arena, where there were four separate fighting rings. I entered a ring, and for the first time saw my opponent. He looked smaller than me, and lighter too.

I watched him pace back and forth in his corner, stretching his lean muscles while trying to get his adrenaline pumping. I could tell he had strong legs for his size and that strength would probably make up somewhat for his lack of height. A pure horn tone sounded, catching me by surprise, then rose by the familiar royal fifth of an octave. The fight had begun.

We rounded on each other and I immediately noticed his quickness. I admired his excellent footwork as he nimbly stepped forward and back, left, then right. He was wiry and agile, but I already knew what he would do to utilize his obvious skill set.

He stepped up without pausing and his body jerked down, then lunged suddenly forward. He dove in hard and low, intending to grab my legs, drive me backward off my feet, but as he shot toward me, I threw my legs out behind me and pancaked flat down on top of him with a thud, restricting his movements with a simple arm lock.

He squirmed to his side, showing impressive flexibility, trying to break free, but I expected that as well. I slowly released, giving him enough room to spin, but as he did, I shifted my weight around and wrapped my bicep flush under his chin, successfully engaging a deadly sleeper hold.

He scratched and clawed at my arms. I gently flexed, cutting the oxygen going to his brain. I could have easily broken his neck if this was a real combat situation...but it wasn't.

Without any air, his body convulsed, arching wildly in my arms like a small antelope with its throat caught in the jaws of a lion. He couldn't escape, and he quickly realized it. He surrendered by tapping hard three times on the dirt and I released him.

We stood, bowed, and shook hands. Relieved to make it past the first round, I sucked in a deep breath and walked over to the holding area, awaiting my next opponent.

Large sheets of red and yellow canvas obscured each of the fighting rings, making it impossible to gain any strategy by watching the others compete. Three other winning fighters soon joined me, and then an attendant led us back to the podium.

I looked down the aisle: two men were about my size, the last a giant, standing almost seven feet tall, an angry scowl hanging low on his face. I heard the double blast of horns, the referee approached...time for another draw.

I reached in and, this time, drew the color red. Again, I looked at the others. The giant opened his enormous, skillet-like hand and there, on his palm, lay the other red stone. I drew a sharp breath that sounded more like a gasp as I dragged my gaze from the tiny red stone, up to his huge, menacing face.

Abruptly, someone pushed us backward and into the arena, then someone else handed each of us a wooden training flail and wooden shield, and then led us back into the ring. The training flail consisted of a length of chain attached to a block of wood on one side, and a strong handle on the other.

A horn's blast sounded pure and loud, then rose by a fifth.

The giant man lumbered across the dirt floor of the arena toward me while swinging the heavy flail around in a huge circle, like a lasso, high over his head. A bellowing "Aaaaarrrrrrrhhhh!" rang from his enormous mouth and seemed to fill the still air in the ring. With just a few long strides, he towered over me.

My flail felt suddenly useless. The chain was too long and there wasn't enough time to get it turning with much velocity. The huge man looming above me turned his hips with more agility than I expected, and I saw his flail hurtling toward me. I lifted my shield to take the brunt of his tremendous blow. Even though it was only a wooden flail, not iron, and only a training competition, not a real fight-to-the-death battle, I still feared for my life.

The thundering crack-crunch! of his flail hitting my shield exploded in my ears. The impact felt like I had been hit by a cannon ball, and the force splintered my shield in two.

The collision knocked me onto my back, sending painful shockwaves vibrating though my hands and up my arms. But now we were both too close together to have much use for a swinging flail. Without showing any emotion, the giant lifted his pointed shield high into the air, pivoted his hips sharply and dropped down on one knee as he brought the heavy wood powerfully earthward.

Watching it slice though the air toward me, I waited...then rolled my head to the side just before it made contact...and glanced off my helmet. His shield landed like a falling tree, shaking the ground where I lay. I turned to see the shield, which appeared to be his new weapon of choice, was sunk deep into the dirt...only inches from my face. Like a spade splitting hard soil.

This was my chance. With the giant's flail useless, I gripped onto half of my destroyed shield and spun around with everything I had. The sharp edge slammed into his oversized, horse-like right leg just inside his kneecap. A hollow, echoing thwack! of wood smashing against bone shot through the arena.

The giant toppled like a crumbling stone wall and sprawled on the ground, clutched his knee and howled in pain. I stood immediately and grabbed the heavy wooden block of my training flail with both hands. As I lifted the weapon, the chain dangled down to its unused wooden handle.

Sitting now, the crippled giant looked up at me, horror, shock, and surprise showing in his eyes. My heavy block came down squarely on top of his helmet, jerking his head awkwardly to the side. His body went limp, then he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. I heard the roar of the crowd erupt from all around me. My heart swelled in my chest as I realized I had won round two.

And yet, even as I stood looking on the unconscious man at my feet, I could only think about how I wished my father could have been here to witness the skills I had learned over the many years of training. Soon, I would be fighting side by side with the king and none of this was ever going to matter, but I still dearly missed his presence.

My attendant led me back to the podium, where the last remaining competitor stood. He stood about my height and weight. I could see a trail of blood running down his forehead. We were each given a wooden training sword and ushered quickly back out into the arena.

The horn sounded long and pure, then rose by a fifth, and finally, the arena went silent. He didn't charge like the others had. We began to circle each other like hungry wolves, and I watched how he held his sword down low and firm and I knew then I would win the competition.

I raised my sword and stepped forward. The surprising action caught him off guard and his basic survival instincts took over.

He lifted up hard on his sword—exactly what I wanted him to do.

The full weight of my training sword pounded down on the hilt of his, Thwack! I heard bones crunching as his weapon fell to the ground.

In one fluid motion I flew in close, pivoting my weight back for more power, then brought my elbow down and forward, connecting squarely to the center of his face.

Again, bones shattered. Blood exploded from the bridge of his nose and across both cheekbones. His eyes rolled back into his head as he fell to the ground. I raised my weapon high over my head and paused in the kill position. The crowd went wild. The horn blew again, this time a quick flurry of fifth-octave blasts.

The competition was over.

I had won.

My heart raced as an attendant led me back to the podium. The headmaster placed a champion scholar medal around my neck. The crowds cheered louder as the horns trumpeted their splendid fanfare. I looked down and saw the other seven competitors looking back at me stoically while clapping.

I pulled in a full breath of fresh air and then exhaled slowly, feeling all of my anxiety melting away. Just then I spotted my driver, Macgregor, coming out of the crowd, approaching the podium.

I felt glad to see him there. Over the years I'd become accustomed to having the great big Scotsman by my side. He wore the fine wrinkles of time around his eyes like badges of honor, and a full supply of reddish-blonde hair on his head like a crown.

Macgregor had an easy way about him, and always gave me a knowing smile. Each morning he helped me get ready for whichever training events the day held, and then each night, before bed, he helped me to fall sleep by telling a story about my father's glorious and unheralded bravery on the battlefield.

Macgregor had a tear welling in his eye and he hugged me tightly. I still couldn't help feeling saddened that my father had not been here to share this moment. I missed him, as always, and knew he would be home soon, but it was still nice to have Macgregor at my side.

"Vladdie my boy, you made me more than a wee bit proud, ye hear me now, young lad," he said in his always affable—and thick—Scottish brogue. "And I know, as sure as the sun rises, your father would be more than a wee bit proud of you as well."

I nodded back to him, realizing Macgregor had become more than just my driver or my caretaker. He had become more like family. I bid adieu to the other competitors and returned to the carriage, still glowing with the thrill of victory, still yearning to tell my father the news.
CHAPTER FOUR

As we traveled home from the competition, my thoughts again went to the poor injured girl in the woods. I instructed Macgregor to head into town instead of going directly back to the castle. As we pulled to a stop on the town's main road, the sounds of the open market filled the coach. I noticed the townspeople gathered at today's street fair urgently bartering with one another, buying or trading for their needed supplies. Some men were paying with golden forints and others trading with their various goods like animal skins, meat, and tools.

"Macgregor, where can I find the constable?" I asked, stepping down from the carriage.

"Aye, Vladdie, the constable goes by the name Augustin, and I would be guess'n you'd find him somewhere out there in the market watch'n over the tradin' for thieves and hooligans and the like."

"Very good, Macgregor, thank you," I said as I walked directly into the crowd. I thought about how long it had been since I'd stood out amongst our good townspeople. The last several years had become so overwhelming with the many responsibilities of being the prince of Wallachia, I rarely even left the castle grounds anymore, instead spending all of my time training and studying.

I watched the traders buzzing around with high energy, aggressively haggling with one another, attempting to acquire their needed rations while giving up the very least amount in return. I had not been to one of our street fairs in far too long, and I began to realize things had changed. The bartering now seemed overly aggressive—even angry and bitter at times. Bands of hooligans gathered around, yelling threatening remarks at our townspeople as they passed by.

I spotted the constable in the crowd and approached him.

"I say, are you the one called Augustin, the town's constable?" I asked. "I am the Prince of Wallachia, Vlad, the third."

"Yes, my lord, how may I be of service?"

"I happened upon an injured girl in the forest, just off the road and away from a narrow wooden bridge. She had a particularly interesting injury to her neck," I explained. "I tried to be of assistance to her, but, oddly, she ran off into the forest, vanishing in a small, dilapidated house."

I watched the man's eyes go wide, then his face go white.

"In-injury to the neck, you say?" his startled eyes shifted left to right.

"Yes, and a large wolf roamed about as well. Would you mind going out and finding her? Maybe just ask her if she needs any assistance?"

"Of course, my lord," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Those woods can be very dangerous for a girl at night. Not a sane man would dare enter those woods after dark. The creatures are stirring, my lord. The moon will be full as well," he said, his voice low and trembling.

"Thank you, Augustin, and will you please send word up to the castle regarding her condition?"

"Yes my lord, I'll gather a search party just soon as the sun comes up."

"Very well. Good evening to you, sir."

I turned and started walking back toward the coach, gazing out one final time at the fervor of the crowds. I immediately noticed one particular girl selling wool. Something about her drew my attention. She had bright eyes that seemed to shine through the crowd, almost glowing under the dirt smeared across her face.

Her clothes were stained and threadbare, even torn in many places, and I could see she wore no shoes. I couldn't help but feel saddened as I stepped up onto the carriage and got inside, still looking back as Macgregor called out to the horses and cracked his whip, leading us home.

Just before sundown we arrived at the castle, tired and hungry. I bid Macgregor a good night and walked through the enormous common room, thoughts of my great victory still swimming around in my mind. I felt like celebrating the win, but with who? While there were many people working in the castle, I may as well have been alone.

I watched the servants milling around, working and cleaning and cooking, all looking so serious. Something about the castle seemed so empty...so cold. I stood in the enormous entrance hall, suddenly missing my mother. I told myself that soon I would be gloriously riding into battle, side by side with the king. I would join our army in battle, become a celebrated warrior, and make my father proud.

The castle's head caretaker, Alexandru, suddenly approached from out of the shadows.

"Good evening Vlad," he said from behind thin strands of oily-black hair that hung over his eyes. His icy voice grated on my mind as he stood there rigidly, staring at me.

"I've come to find that you arrived late to the Tournament of Champions in Targoviste today."

"Yes, Alexandru, but—"

"But nothing!" he snapped back, a flash of anger showing in his eyes. "You have brought shame into our castle, and you will soon learn, one way or another, of the importance of showing respect to your superiors. By the authority of the king, you shall remain in your quarters until further notice, and you shall go without your evening meal," he declared. "No arguments. You are dismissed." And with that, he turned on his heel and hurried away.
CHAPTER FIVE

I made my way up to my quarters still thinking about how unfair my punishment had been, and realizing I had not eaten much all day. After several hours my stomach began to growl.

I found myself pacing the floor in my quarters until a soft knock sounded at my door. To my pleasant surprise I found our head chef, Mr. Iordache standing outside my room in the hall. In his hands he held a small plate under a high-domed silver cover.

"Our secret then, Prince Vlad?" he whispered with both eyebrows rising high. He opened the lid, showing me a plate of freshly grilled pork and onions, sliced apples, and several pieces of fresh bread. "And by the way," he said, "congratulations on your most honorable victory at the tournament this morning—the townspeople will be deeply pleased to hear of it as well."

I felt a smile tugging up at my lips, and my heart suddenly begin to thaw. I slowly nodded back to the man, taking the meal from his hands. I saw his eyes suddenly dart down the hallway nervously, as if someone might be quickly approaching.

"Thank you, chef," I replied, and silently closed the door.

I strode across the room, placed the dish on the windowsill and ate, quite possibly, the best meal I had ever had while standing up.

Later that evening, I climbed the long, spiraling stone stairs, to the top of the highest point in our castle. I walked out under the high-arched doorway made from smooth, hand-carved stone blocks, and then silently gazed past the wide landing and beyond.

Soon, in my honor, there would be a tremendous celebration. The townspeople would gather in the castle for a traditional gala to commemorate the day I turn eighteen years old, rightly coming of proper age and officially qualified to be the next leader of Wallachia if needed. And now, the ceremony will also acknowledge my great victory at the Royal Training Academy, bringing good luck to our critical spring harvest. I should have been happy, but as I stood there, silently, on my perch atop the castle's highest point, watching for my father's return, none of that mattered.

The view from this high perch overlooked greater Wallachia and farther out into the great expanse of Transylvania, with its fortress-like snow-covered mountains, and lush, deep green forests. From here, I could see for many miles, far past the sheer cliffs of the Transylvanian Alps, across the gorge and into the flat marshlands near Balteni, before finally leading out to the vast Black Sea. From this spot, I could see an approaching army from a whole day's travel. I could see my father's men returning from battle and have many hours to prepare to greet them.

They had built this perch to be a lookout for approaching armies, but rarely used it. No army would be foolish enough to march onto this castle, considering its location on top of a steep mountainside with only one winding road leading up it...and protected by the hundreds of feet of sheer cliffs on three of her four sides. We also feel safe here because the great strength of the combined Wallachian armies strike such deadly fear in the hearts of our enemies.
CHAPTER SIX

So I waited, longing to see my father and tell him of my victory. We had received word that he would soon return, but as the hours dragged on, I began to worry that something terrible had happened. I feared my father had been injured or, worse, maybe even killed. I told myself it would not be possible—the king of Wallachia is the greatest warrior this land has ever seen, and ever will see. I knew he would return with stories of great victories.

And soon, as a man of full age, I would be able to hear those stories directly from my father's lips instead of from a servant's relay.

I counted the minutes from my high perch as I watched the sun travel across the blue, cloudless sky and then begin its nightly demise down beyond the mountains, bleeding out into the sea. As the dusky night began to settle in around me, memories of my mother suddenly came flooding back into my mind. My chest ached as I lamented how she fell tragically ill and died from the plague when I was only five years old.

Macgregor had broken the horrible news to me by saying, "She's sleeping in a wonderful land called heaven." I didn't begin to understand what that meant until months later when I asked Macgregor when my mother would be waking up from heaven. Then he told me "never." And I cried harder than I ever had before. He'd cried too, letting me know the importance of the future king to show courage.

I realized then that my legacy would be bigger than a boy missing his mother, and I would have to consider the fate of every man, women, and child in our land, protecting them as best I could.
CHAPTER SEVEN

As the days came and went, I found myself still there on my perch, waiting for the king's return. Tonight, as the velvety shawl of nightfall embraced the castle, I stared out, over the cliffs and across the vastness of the valley below and beyond to the unrelenting sea. I still felt a sharp loneliness as it gripped at my heart. A tear appeared from nowhere, slowly rolling from my eye, sliding down my face like a glistening shard of broken glass, shattering into a million pieces against the castle's cold and unforgiving stone floor.

I missed my mother, and yearned to see my father again. The day had finally come. I knew in my heart that tomorrow, when I turned eighteen and joined the ranks of great warriors who fought for our kingdom, they would both be very proud. Even though my mother was no longer with me, my father was, and I couldn't wait to tell him everything.

I opened my eyes the next morning as the sun came up, its warmth soothing my skin and pushing away the morning's bitter cold. The wind blew in hard from the east and I could hear our flags whipping loudly around from above. I had again fallen asleep sitting on my landing, waiting for my father. I quickly stood and scanned far into the distant terrain, but saw nothing. No sign of him or our army.

Despite my disappointment, I felt a wry smile forming on my face as I realized that, as I slept, I had turned eighteen. I had become of age, the official Prince of Wallachia, and this will be the best day of my life.

I heard the echo of footsteps approaching from under the huge archway, up from the long flight of stone stairs that led down into the castle's interior. It was Macgregor.

"Young Vladdie!" he scolded me in his usual gruff voice. "You've been sittin' there all night a'gan, have ya? You'll catch your death of cold out here, don't ya know. Come inside man, and I'll have a warm bath drawn for ya at once, son."

"Good morning, Macgregor," I said. "It is a cold morning, but a glorious one indeed."

"That's for certain, I say, and I'll not have you catching ill on y'ere biggest birthday. No sir, young Vladdie, won't be hearing of it." A careful smile flashed across his lips. "And, by the way, happy birthday to you as well, son."

Macgregor held a thick goose-feather quilt under his arms, and he immediately wrapped it around my shoulders, rubbing the chill from my bare arms. "We'll need to be prepar'n your finest suit then. It's sure to be a grand celebration this evening," he said with a wink.

"Thank you, Macgregor. I hope my father will be here to share in the festivities as well," I said as I stood, still shivering, and then walked under the archway and down the great stairway for the first time not as a boy...but as a man of proper age to be the official prince of Wallachia.

The ball was to begin at precisely sundown. I realized, painfully, that there was still no sign of my father or any new word of his safe return. I knew he would not miss my coming-of-age ceremony unless some horrible tragedy had befallen him and his men. I stood in front of the full length mirror in my quarters with the gritty distress for his welfare washing over me time and again. I held my chin high, grinding my teeth with frustration as I dressed in my formal attire.

If my father could not make this once-in-a-lifetime event, it meant he was risking his life, saving our kingdom, saving his people. It would be selfish of me, even foolish, to demand he refrain from his sworn duty to uphold the safety of the Wallachian people.

Nevertheless, in my heart, I hoped he would somehow make it home before the night was over. I took a deep breath and walked to the castle's common area, where intoxicating aromas filled the room, and a servant placed my favorite dinner in front of me with a deep bow. The mouth watering sight of roasted goose wrapped in sugared bacon and glazed with plum sauce immediately spiked my appetite and I ate my full share wholeheartedly.

As I was finishing my meal, I noticed Macgregor walking toward me. His eyes showed sadness, and I realized they held bad news.

"I have received word of the whereabouts of the Wallachian army," he said in an official air, concealing any emotion. "Our men are due to return in one fortnight." He paused and let the horrible news settle into my mind. "The Ottoman Empire has established a stronghold on the border of Bulgaria, bearing down on the opposing Bulgarian forces. Our allies have requested our additional support and it has been granted by the king."

"Our allies need to learn to fight and win their own battles!" I heard myself growl as my stomach sank.

"Vladdie, you don't understand, lad—the Ottoman Empire is now putting up much more of a fight than expected, and unfortunately, we've just received more terribly grim news. Our own General Dragomir has been captured, dragged off the battlefield, and taken behind the Bulgarian borders."

I knew General Stephan Dragomir's reputation of being both a great warrior, and my father's right hand on the battlefield. His capture surely cast a heavy sadness over our army, even though he was not killed, only taken. There still remained a small chance of negotiations to bring him safely home.

"The Turks will be sorry they ever crossed my father," I ground out as my jaw clenched, my brittle heart cracking in my chest as I sat there. The food in my stomach turned sour, and I stood, feeling awkward and rigid. I felt my chin absorb the news with a quick quiver I hoped no one saw, and I tried my best to disguise my emotion as I walked into the main ballroom, where the festivities were just beginning.

Music from the royal orchestra floated through the air of the enormous ballroom. Hundreds of townspeople milled about and talked amongst themselves. A trumpet's fanfare announced my presence and everyone stopped in place, clapping and smiling. With Macgregor by my side, I took my place behind the royal table, which had been placed on an elevated stage overlooking the ballroom.

Members of other royal families in attendance were seated at the table as well. They looked at me, passively smiling, as they made clapping motions with one or two gloved fingers against the backs of their other hand.

The whole night now seemed meaningless and empty without my father's presence, but I shrugged it off. He would return soon and I would be fighting at his side. With that in mind, I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, determined to enjoy the evening's celebration as best I could.

And then I saw her.

The most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. Her long blonde hair ran down the length of her slender body, her dress accenting every beautiful curve. She stood tall and lean, with long, gazelle-like legs and an ample bosom. Her sapphire-marine eyes were bright and hypnotizing, like deep pools of clear blue water.

And then I recognized her.

This was the poor peasant girl from town I had seen working at the trade fair selling sheets of cloth woven from wool. This was the girl who dressed in ragged, unfitting clothes and without shoes.

Now she looked so different, so ravishing. Her beauty stole my attention. I realized at once that this unmistakable attraction was indeed a powerful one. She seemed to look over at me and smile. She straightened when she noticed my gaze and her eyes flashed with interest. Not knowing what to do next, I raised my glass of wine in her direction just as she turned away.

Macgregor, again appeared at my side, whispering in my ear. "Young Vladdie, it is time for the ceremony to begin. You must rise and approach the head priest who will ordain you, with God's acceptance, as our royal prince."

I stood and took a deep breath, then walked up a few stairs to the center of the main podium. Once at the top, I looked on all the happy townspeople in attendance, but only searching for the blonde girl with the sapphire-marine eyes.

The priest began to speak. "Vlad, the third, in the presence of God, do you accept, from our ruler and king, your joining of ranks into the royal army, and do you swear to defend her with all your might even if the resulting effort shall surely mean your own death?"

"I do," I said softly, and at that moment, I spotted her in the crowd. Again, I became mesmerized by her poise. I watched her move around the ballroom in wonder.

How could this girl, so elegant, be a peasant?

She moved like royalty, like a princess. I decided I would ask her for my first honorary dance. The priest still spoke, though I had all but stopped listening.

Finally, the priest concluded the ceremony, and the crowd responded with roaring applause. He handed me a sacred chalice to drink from. I raised it to my people, and then drank deeply.

Macgregor returned again, whispering at my ear. "Traditionally, lad, the first dance goes to the princess who is the frontrunner to be your wife." He pointed to the end of our table with his elbow. "That would be Princess Agnes from Eastern Wallachia." But I barely heard him.

I absconded from the podium and blindly made my way through the crowd. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as my mind raced through the words I would say to her. I spotted her playfully chatting with a few of her friends, who seemed to be giggling as I approached.

The crowd separated. She turned. Her porcelain doll-face flushed to a shade of pink rose, but her eyes would not be denied. I took her hand and led her onto the dance floor. An audible gasp of shock swirled through the room as the townspeople cleared the floor, and the band began to play the traditional coming-of-age waltz. I put my hand around her waist, holding her tightly against my body as we danced.

"Congratulations Vlad, Prince of Wallachia," she said tentatively. "I know you will be a great warrior and you will protect our kingdom for many years to come."

"May I ask your name, miss?"

"Helena," she said in barely more than a whisper. "My father raises sheep, and we sell the wool cloth each weekend at the town's trade fair."

"Yes, I remember seeing you there," I responded, watching her cheeks again redden. "You are looking more beautiful than ever, Miss Helena," I said, and inexplicably leaned in and kissed her cheek just as the song ended.

I spent the rest of the evening speaking with the royal families from surrounding castles. All congratulated me and wished me well. As the gala concluded, I watched Helena leaving with her friends. She smiled one last time in my direction as she walked out into the royal courtyard, disappearing from view. I secretly vowed to find her and ask her back to the castle when we would have more time to talk.

That night, I must have fallen asleep again on my secret perch. When I awoke, I found myself wrapped in the fluffy down quilt, and I knew Macgregor had been here.

Sensing a low rumbling in the distance, I stood and peered out over the great expanse before me. I saw a large plume of dust rising from the south and could almost hear the thunderous pounding of approaching horsemen. I stood excitedly waving my arms high overhead, even knowing I could not be seen, but I didn't care. Excitement ran through my body in a powerful jolt, energizing my mind, uplifting my soul as happiness flooded my heart.

I turned and ran through the archway behind me and down the spiraling stone staircase that wrapped around the tower's interior. When I arrived at the common area, Macgregor was there waiting. He gazed at me with a knowing smile, then gave a slow nod that told me he, too, knew the king was approaching the castle. In his hands, he held my new battle garb, gleaming chainmail and helmet, and on the floor in front of him were new war boots, shined to perfection.

"The king is due to arrive in two fingers, as the candle burns, Vladdie," he said with the corners of his mouth curving up into a bright smile. "We had better get you dressed and ready to greet him in the receiving yard. A warm bath is being heated for you as well, son."

I smiled gleefully and felt much better knowing how much time I had to prepare. If it were not for Macgregor I would surely have rushed to the castle's drawbridge and waited in my wrinkled underclothes.

I bathed and dressed quickly before appearing in the common room, where a full breakfast greeted me. Thick slices of honey-cured ham, freshly scrambled hen eggs and warm-from-the-oven fluffy golden brown bread were placed in front of me.

I pushed the plate back, untouched, much too excited to eat, and stood. Anticipation rose by the second as I peered from the front window. I saw many of the staff hustling to line up for inspection in the receiving yard. I walked out to join them, barely able to contain my emotions, but the waiting just seemed to only continue.

I thought about how lonely my life had been in this castle, and I imagined how much my life was about to change. I had been raised solely by my caretakers, taught privately, fed by my personal chef, and clothed by my personal tailor. Some would say I've led a life of luxury. However, like most royal families, this life comes at a steep price.

My life is one of desolation and solitude inside the cold stone walls of our castle. With my mother passed on and my father gone away at battle, I have existed in a constant state of heartrending isolation.

I had never known a friend near my own age, never allowed to socialize with anyone outside the castle, never allowed to just be myself. I had come to understand the way things must be, the way it had been for the past generations. They say, "Heavy is the head, and the heart, who wears the crown," and, indeed, they are right.

But now, for the first time, I would become my father's son. I'd join the ranks of the great warriors who have had the distinguished honor of fighting alongside our king, the legend, who is my father. The waiting had been almost impossibly difficult, but it would be worth every moment. I'd now be able to assist with the planning of battle strategies and listen in on the negotiations with our enemies as they surrendered to our demands. I would also be able to attend other social functions that I had not been allowed to attend thus far, meet others my age, and even take a wife.

Over the years, I had longed to get to know my father better. Not as the king of Wallachia, but as the man whose blood runs through my veins. Most of his time is spent away on long mysterious journeys to faraway places, traveling to different royal meetings or on to the next battle. I had only seen my father twice in the last three years, and then just in passing.

But I understood his job did not include entertaining me, and I fully realized the importance of being a worthy prince. I must be prepared to make whatever sacrifice necessary to sustain prosperity across our land. My father's job is to rule our kingdom to the best of his ability and I had to respect that role, and even prepare to one day succeed him.

Finally, the drawbridge began its descent. Butterflies fluttered through my stomach and my heart raced after them. The wood creaked and groaned as the men released the great locks that held it in place. The drawbridge leaned outward over the water, suspended by thick ropes that led down to two enormous wheels, one on each side of the great door.

Each wheel was manned by six servants faithfully holding the tonnage of iron and wood in place. I could hear the loud tick-tick-tick-tick of the gears engaging, and then releasing as the massive bridge lowered inch by inch. I knew the moment had finally come when it landed on the far side of the moat with a solid and dusty thud...and for a moment everything went silent.

I held my breath as horses began to press somberly forward through the gate, their slow, clonking hooves echoing through the narrow stone tunnel that led into the castle's courtyard. The defeated looks on the faces of the men told the story of what had happened in battle.

This was the first time I had witnessed an arrival home of an army at battle. Our castle's tradition strictly forbids children from attending these ceremonies. If the casualties are too devastating a child may lose his nerve to fight on the battlefield. But I am no longer a child, I am now eighteen.

I felt like celebrating their return but couldn't help feeling the gloomy and morose mood hovering over them like a black cloud. Their heads hung low, their mouths held slack, their eyes disoriented. I could see many men were severely injured and still bleeding, and I knew many had not returned at all. A surge of panic flashed through my mind as I realized our king might be one of the casualties.

Then my father emerged from the group and dismounted from his steed. His waxen face looked gaunt, with stark shadows cutting down from his nearly emaciated cheekbones. His long hook nose, that seemed suddenly too large for his boney face, led down to thin red lips, ending in a rather pronounced overbite. His small black eyes flashed across the yard as he handed the reins of his great stallion to a servant, and we watched the great beast being trotted off to the royal stables.

He wore thick chainmail under his traditionally long black cape. His tunic displayed two brightly colored icons. Our castle's family crest clearly visible alongside the barren red and yellow cross belonging to the Order of the Dragon. I thought back to how my father's masterful plan had indeed come to its fruition. King Sigismund of Hungry wisely inducted him as a member of the Order just before his death and we gained the full support of the all-mighty Catholic Church.

I stood in awe of the scene, smiling as my father approached. I wanted to run to him with open arms and hug him in his return, but I knew I must stay in my place, waiting in the proper formation of other members of the royal court.

He walked to the first line and briefly greeted the many commanders and captains that had not accompanied him in battle because of previous injury or who had simply been held back to defend the castle if the need arose. I watched him whispering orders into the ear of his personal caretaker, Alexandru, and then he made his way up to the castle's staff, which stood rigidly in a straight-line formation.

He first addressed Mr. Iordache, the castle's head chef. I looked over at the man's ruddy red face with great respect and admiration, realizing life inside this dreary castle would simply not be the same without him. The king approached Mr. Iordache with an angry scowl on his pale, drained face.

"My men are hungry and tired. Roast your fattest hog immediately and open a barrel of wine. You have two hours." He paused and looked at the chef for some time without speaking. Then he added, "And one more thing, Iordache—if you overcook the pig again, it shall be your head."

Waves of shock rippled through me at hearing what he had said. I thought I must have misheard him, or at the very least misunderstood the seriousness and context of his words. I had witnessed my father's anger before but this seemed uncalled for. I decided his words came only from the frustration of the lost battle.

Yet, I stood, puzzled, as I watched our great king make his way down the line toward me.

The next staff member he approached, named Camelia, stood motionlessly—she was my chambermaid and one of the castle's many governesses.

He looked her up and down as if inspecting her immaculate black and white uniform. Camelia has beautifully striking features, with rich mahogany hair, unforgettably big brown eyes, and smooth, olive-toned skin.

She is more than a few years older than I and very wise in the ways of the castle. Her duties range from serving as the castle's head governess to acting as my personal chambermaid. She also coaches me on how to use the proper etiquette that someone of a princely stature would be expected to possess, from how to hold my head and chin with the correct posture...to which fork to use at which time.

Even though I have not yet had the opportunity to put my social skills to use, I understand their importance because Camelia has always been very careful to take the time to explain how our behavior represents the traditions and customs of the Kingdom. Now that I have come of age, I will be expected to participate in all of the castle's royal functions, and, thanks to Camelia, I will be ready.

I imagine she has done everything my mother would be doing for me if she were alive today.

My father stared at her in silence. Then his lip suddenly curled upward into a tight snarl, as if showing great displeasure. His brow began to crease together, transforming his bloodshot eyes into thin slits that bore into her. First he stared down at her full breasts, then into her beautiful brown eyes.

"Bring her to my quarters," the king said coldly.

Camelia's eyes shot open. Two men appeared from behind her, grabbed her arms and pulled her from the line. She screamed and struggled to the best of her ability but the men were too strong for her. I watched as they dragged her from the courtyard and back into the castle entrance.

My stomach tightened. My throat cramped. I wondered why my father wanted to speak with her and decided to ask him about it during dinner. It was Camelia who taught me to never question his royal highness for any reason—especially not in front of his men and our servants—but I have rarely seen this type of behavior from him in the past.

I felt the beads of perspiration break across my forehead and quickly wiped my brow with the back of my trembling hand as my father approached me.

He stood above me, looking down with a strained grimace pasted on his face, as if not recognizing me. Then I saw a glint of recognition in his eyes and his mouth parted just slightly, as if to speak. His head tilted slightly to the side as if judging me. I could sense his sour mood, palpable and intense.

"Hello father," I said, out of turn. "I've come of age while you were away and I've won the tournament at the Training Academy to become the champion scholar!" I looked up at him and gave a brisk and decisive nod. "And I am now ready to accompany you into battle and fight at your side!"

He stood frozen for a moment but did not speak to me, then kept walking down the line and disappeared into the castle.

It occurred to me how exhausted he must have been just then, how inconsiderate it had been of me to confront him at that critical moment, even demanding the honor of fighting by his side, all without warning. My spirits plummeted at the realization I had indeed spoken out of turn, and in doing so, I had insulted his power and rank in front of his men and our staff.

I decided to ask for his forgiveness when it was my place to do so. I thought after our first meal together, we could discuss the progression of the war against the Ottoman Empire. And perhaps then, I could offer my interpretation of our current war strategies. My father would be bound to notice how much I've grown, bound to be impressed, and finally, bound to take me seriously as a warrior and his successor.

But unfortunately, that night my father did not attend our formal dinner, instead choosing to eat in his quarters.
CHAPTER EIGHT

The next morning I got up with the sun still rising over the skyline. The orange and green colors were plastered against the horizon, swirling together like still-wet paint dripping down an oversized canvas. I dressed quickly, thinking about Camelia. She always started working well before dawn, but, curiously, this morning she remained nowhere to be found.

Soon, I saw Macgregor bringing fresh water and linens into my quarters. His eyes were sunken, dark, and weary.

"Macgregor, have you seen Camelia? I would like to ask her why my father seemed so interested in speaking with her in his quarters."

Macgregor seemed to freeze in place. He began to speak but would not raise his eyes to meet mine.

"Camelia has taken ill and is resting this morning."

His low, forbidding tone caught me off guard.

"We all pray for her recovery."

My heart sank upon hearing this tragic news. Camelia had never taken ill before, and I wondered if it was because of something my father had said to her.

"What is the condition that inflicts her?"

"I was not told the cause of her illness, sir, other than it came on suddenly and is quite serious," he replied, still without making any eye contact.

"Then I shall go and find out for myself." I stood and marched from the room and down into the infirmary, located just below the main floor, in the basement. Macgregor followed close behind me as usual.

Camelia lay motionless. Her usual olive complexion had turned to pale, ashy gray. Her eyes were sallow and sunken but opened about halfway as I arrived. Her hair obscured a face that looked weary, as if washed by deep despair. Long, disheveled locks of hair partially covered her tear-wet eyes.

"Camelia, how are you? I've just heard you've taken ill, are you okay?"

She attempted to speak, but her words caught in her throat with a dry sounding croak, followed by a long, moaning exhale. She did manage a slight nod of recognition just before her eyes closed again.

I noticed a small blood-red stain on the bright white pillowcase upon which she laid her head. I also noticed some sort of injury to her neck. Two swollen puncture marks were clearly visible directly beneath her left ear. It looked as if she were bitten by some type of animal. I bent closer to the wound and could see the two marks were still open and bloody and surrounded by bright red, swollen, and torn flesh. I also noticed her shirt appeared to be torn in front with buttons missing.

Confused, I shook my head slowly as I gently stroked her cheek, tucking her long hair behind her ear. "Rest now, Camelia," I whispered. "You'll feel better tomorrow just as sure as the next sun rises on the eastern skyline, I promise."

I walked into the hallway outside of the infirmary, my frustration increasing to its boiling point. "Macgregor," I said loudly. "This woman has obviously been bitten by some type of a wild animal. Judging by the bite marks, the creature must be about the size of a bat or coyote, perhaps even a wolf. We must have it found and killed before it attacks again."

"Yes, sir." Macgregor replied quietly. He didn't look up, and his face showed the signs of wanting to say something more.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, Macgregor?" I asked, feeling as if the man was holding something back. I looked squarely upon him, but he quickly turned his eyes away.

"No, sir," he said softly. "I shall alert the groundskeepers at once."

"And I will find out why my father needed to speak with Camellia last night. I shall ask him before dinner."

The evening's sun melted across the horizon and spilled down over the mountaintops as I walked the long hall that led back to my father's quarters. The dinner bell rang, so I stood there and waited. His door clanked loudly from the inside and I could hear him slowly unbolting the iron crossbar...then I heard the loud creaking sound as it opened. The area behind the door was laden with thick shadows. The door had swung all the way open as I waited for him to appear, but the doorway remained vacant.

"Come in," his deep voice rang out of the murky darkness. "I sense you have a question for me."

"Yes, father," I said. "I just wondered─"

"I said come in now, boy!" he shouted from somewhere in the black abyss. "If I ask you again, you will live to rue this day."

My heart began to race. My palms felt wet and sticky as I took the first small, trembling step over the threshold. I blinked several times to focus my eyes, hoping they would adjust to the lack of light. But they didn't. Then I took another step forward—encasing myself in the gloom.

"That's right, my son, you have now entered my lair of your own volition," and then the door suddenly swung closed behind me, slamming in the shadows with a low, rumbling klooong!

I stood there like a statue, immobilized, startled and unsure of myself. "What has happened to Camelia?" I finally managed, speaking into the darkness that engulfed me. "She has taken ill after being escorted to your quarters, and she remains too ill to explain why."

"Camelia is now my servant. She will serve my needs only," he hissed from somewhere in the distance. "I will assign another for your needs—unless you have a problem with obeying my wishes, that is." His deep, provoking voice dripped with condescension.

I knew better than to offer any discord to the king's official orders, but I still couldn't understand why he required the services of my Camelia, the one woman in the castle, and in the world, who felt most like a mother to me.

"Camelia has been my primary caretaker since the time of my birth. I have become satisfactorily accustomed to her care, father," I said, knowing in my heart it would be of no use.

"You have reached your eighteenth birthday, and your manhood," he explained. "You no longer need to rely on this woman." His smooth voice sounded much more regal now. "It shows your weakness, which reflects poorly on this castle, and that sickens me. Camellia shall no longer be any of your concern. If you wish, of course, I will see that she is...well taken care of."

Tears welled up in my eyes, and my heart thudded away in my chest as I stood there in the absurd lack of light, thinking about how crazy this sounded. This was not the man I felt I knew. All of these years, I had idolized him for being a great leader of men and superior warrior in battle. But now, I saw a different side of him—like his heart had rot with malice.

"Tell me what has happened to Camelia. She has become ill and has an injury on her throat," I blurted out.

"I can feel your anger," he whispered. "It gives you more strength than you know, and, soon, I will make you understand, my son."

The door swung open as if by magic, slamming up against the stone wall. Bright light flooded in, and my eyes burned.

The sound of rushing footsteps filled the hall. Alexandru entered the room with a sharply creased scowl etched into his thin face.

"Excuse me, my lord," he said with a deep bow. "But we are in the company of two messengers sent from Sultan Murad the second of the Ottoman Empire. They say they have urgent news regarding the state of the war."

I heard my father suck in a deep breath through partially closed lips and then let out a low growl as he slowly exhaled. "Messengers from the sultan, you say? Well, we mustn't keep them waiting. I shall formally address them on my throne."

"Yes, your highness."

Alexandru turned, hustling back down the hall. My father pulled his cape up high with a quick jerk and disappeared down the hall with long, flowing strides. I followed quickly behind, curiosity heightening in my mind with each hurried step.
CHAPTER NINE

Now that I am of age, I could for the first time observe the royal meetings and gatherings which I had previously been barred from attending. We entered the royal chamber, and my father took his place on his magnificently jeweled throne which stood against the rear wall. A tall wooden podium stood in the middle of the floor that was beautifully inlayed with different colors of wood, spiraling out across the floor in the shape of a dragon. Several life-sized statues seemed to watch us from each wall. I stood several paces back and to the left of the throne as Alexandru entered with the two messengers.

"Good evening, your highness," the first man said politely. "We come with an urgent message from Sultan Murad the second."

My father now looked more than simply angry. He looked furious—his brows drawn sharply together, his mouth open with lips pulled up tightly over a row of jagged teeth. He sat in silence with his head tilted forward, bloodshot eyes bulging with what looked like rage and staring at the presence of the two men in front of him. The stony silence seemed almost unbearable to me. But finally my father spoke.

"You have entered a land which is steeped in rich tradition," he said in the booming tone befitting a king. "I do realize, as foreigners, you may not have become accustomed to the ways of the Wallachia people, so I gladly grant you this one reprieve." He took a deep, slow breath. "In my kingdom, it is customary to remove your hats when addressing the king. So, if you would be so kind, we may proceed." His royal voice sounded low and calm, but did not match the intensity boiling behind his eyes.

"Please excuse us, your highness, and let me offer one thousand apologies," the second man spoke up. "These are not hats—these are our turbans, which we must wear at all times. Our religion, unfortunately, forbids us from removing them."

A malevolent smile formed on my father's lips. His eyes glowed orange in the flickering torchlight.

"Very well," he said softly, and then turned to Alexandru, who stood at my side. "I wish to speak to these messengers privately," he said, looking over the two, his smile growing wider. Then he looked back to Alexandru.

"Please have the chef postpone our dinner." He slowly shifted his gaze back to the two men in front of him, with his black eyes boring into them. "I will see you in the dining room as soon as I have finished our...discussion."

With that, Alexandru and I turned and walked away from the huge, gleaming throne. When we reached the hallway, I turned and closed the heavy wooden door. As I did, I heard the unmistakable cl-clunk-thunk! of the iron crossbar slamming into place behind us, locking the door from the inside.

We made our way across the common area and into the dining room. Chef Iordache and several of the kitchen staff stood at the ready near their service door. The chef's lip seemed to jerk up and twitch nervously, his eyes were blinking rapidly and his round face glimmered with perspiration.

"Wh-where is the king?" Iordache stammered desperately. "The sun is down, the food is now ready at his request. He will be upset if his meal is not cooked properly."

I looked at my old friend and couldn't help but feel terribly sorry for his unneeded worrying. "Please do not be concerned, Mr. Iordache," I said, attempting to soothe his fears. "My father is engaged in an unexpected meeting. He will be joining us shortly. His orders, to you, are to postpone the meal until he arrives. If it makes you feel any better, I will tell him the meal was perfectly prepared and right on time. Any complaints are hereby not the fault of the chef."

I looked up at the large, barrel-chested man with my brightest smile and then winked.

"You can, however, serve us the wine while we wait."

I saw just a hint of a smile break on his reddening face, and his eyes seemed to relax around the edges as he exhaled a quick sigh of relief.

"Thank you, young Vlad, you are so very kind. Of course, I shall have the wine poured immediately."

Two servants appeared with bottles of wine and rushed to the table, pouring generous portions of a beautifully bright, cherry red wine for Alexandru and me, and we drank deeply. We sat idly for some time chatting about the possible outcomes of any new negotiations that might result from the meeting. Alexandru felt the messengers would demand concessions, I felt they had come to surrender, begging his majesty for mercy. We continued to wait for quite some time without word from the king.

A loud shriek suddenly rose up from somewhere in the castle. It sounded like an animal's high pitched cry. Alexandru immediately stood, instinctively pulling his long sword from its sheath, as did I, and we bolted out of the dining room, dashed across the common area, and flew down the hall toward the royal throne room. As we arrived, my father was just leaving the room. He slammed the heavy door behind him and the familiar, resonating klooong! of thick iron against iron echoed down the hall toward us.

"Let us eat!" he said in a grand manner. He raised both hands up over his head, motioning us back the way we had come and into the dining room. He wore a wolfish smile, lips curling slyly up at each corner.

"I'm simply famished!" he shouted.

As I stood there, I again noticed his teeth. They were longer and sharper than I remembered them. His lips and the skin around his mouth were stained with deep scarlet, as were his hands. As we turned back toward the dining room the thought occurred to me to inquire as to why his lips looked so red, but then I realized they must have been drinking wine as they spoke, maybe even celebrating a great negotiation for a new peace in the region.

When we arrived back at the table, the servants immediately brought platters of delicious smelling roasted pig rubbed with honey and herbs. Colorful grilled peppers and onions were also elegantly presented to each of us. There were trays of fresh sliced apple, peaches, and cherries placed in front of each of us, filling the room with wonderful aromas. I started eating as soon as the meal arrived on the table and noticed Alexandru eating enthusiastically as well—both of us seemed to have voracious appetites after waiting so long for the king's meeting to end.

After enjoying most of my first serving, I looked to the end of the table and noticed my father picking at his food before pushing his plate away with a frowning and rueful stare.

"How did the meeting go, father?" I asked. "My wager is you were able to acquire a very successful negotiation for the good of the Wallachian people," I said, sounding a bit more zealous than I had meant to.

"Yes...I am very pleased," he growled, and then drank from his oversized goblet of wine. He took a long breath and then continued. "You could say we have...hammered out a successful negotiation indeed."

"Excellent!" I shouted. "A prospective peaceful settlement then?"

"Let's just say we concluded our meeting to my complete satisfaction. And now, I must leave you, as there is much work to be done. So I bid you good night!" With that, he launched to his feet.

I wondered if something about the meeting had caused him great concern as I watched him march from the room, head leaning downward with his black cape tucked tightly over his shoulders.
CHAPTER TEN

After I had my fill of dinner, I bid Alexandru a good night and walked back through the common area toward the stone stairway up to my quarters. I remembered the odd-sounding cry we had heard earlier and wondered if the sound had come from the very same wild animal that attacked Camelia. I searched the common area but found nothing of interest.

I turned and walked down the long hall, pausing in front of the royal throne room door. I thought about my father's odd behavior and wondered if they had indeed signed a treaty of some kind. And if so, would it still be lying on the podium, perhaps waiting for the ink to properly dry? Hoping to satisfy my curiosity, I pushed the great door open and stepped inside.

One torch burned on the far end of the chamber, its firelight spilling across the floor. The flame crackled loudly as it billowed in draft. An eerie, orange light, intertwined with long, inky black shadows danced toward me across the floor. As I took another step forward, I saw something on the floor in the center of the room, partially obscured by the leaping shadows.

I took another tentative step forward, squinting hard to decipher what lay in front of me. Then I saw a thick pool of liquid had formed underneath the mass...and I smelled the acrid stench of death as it clung to the air.

I continued forward, taking quicker steps now, my eyes growing wide as I stared at the twisted mass before me. The two messengers lay face down, one on top of the other, with their limbs awkwardly intertwined, almost braided together like a knotted rope. My breath caught, I gasped, then turned and ran for the room's single torch. Once at the wall, I wrenched the crackling flame from its iron bracket with a quick jerk, then dashed across the room to the injured, bleeding men.

Blotches of sticky scarlet glaze covered their clothes. A hammer, bathed in cherry red, lay next to the bodies. I gently turned the first man over and my stomach twisted painfully along with him. I stood for a long moment in frozen horror, staring at the lurid vision at my feet.

Bile burned in the back of my throat. I gagged, sickened by the sight of the first dead bodies I had ever seen, then I turned away and heaved, unwilling to imagine what had happened to them. After a moment I crouched down and held the crackling torch near the first man's face. Shock rippled through me as I saw the two puncture marks on his neck. I then noticed the man's turban had been horrifically nailed to the top of his head using four large carpenter's spikes.

I ran from the room, throwing the torch against the stone wall on my way, too upset to speak, too overcome by confusion to make sense of the things I had seen. I hurried to my quarters, fiercely resolving to question my father as to what had happened to the poor messengers.

I entered my quarters and paced the floor, breathing hard, still in a state of panic, but after some time had passed, I began to think rationally. My father was indeed a great king, giving our people the gift of security as well as general prosperity over these many years. Something must have happened.

I pondered the possibility that the treacherous messengers had obviously tried to attack him while they negotiated. Killing an unguarded king would have been a great victory for the Ottoman scum. They had simply underestimated his strength. I would ask him about the attack over tomorrow's evening meal. With this thought in mind, I lay on my warm featherbed and finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN

The following day I decided to find Helena and inquire if she would care to join me at the castle for a meal. I went directly to the village trade fair and began searching the many busy stalls and craft booths for her display of wool cloth. I watched the townspeople hurrying about, surprised again to see just how much things had changed there.

It seemed the hooligans were overrunning the fair. I could see a gang of scoundrels on my right, and more in the shadows and alleyways to my left. I had not seen these types of ruffians before, but they had appeared in considerably large numbers. A fight spontaneously broke out in my path, and I quickly sidestepped the fray and continued my search.

I walked up and down the busy aisles scanning each booth for the wool cloth but couldn't locate Helena anywhere. Just then, at the far end of the fair, about fifty paces down the last row, I spotted her. She wore a tattered brown shirt, stained and torn at the middle. Even from this far distance I could still see her sapphire-marine eyes shining brightly through the crowd as she worked.

I watched her loading the heavy cloth onto the racks while two men seemed to be haggling with her over price. Helena shook her head back and forth and waved her hands in the fashion to say "no, no, no" as the men continued their verbal barrage.

I quickened my pace when I heard one of the men shout something and point at her with a snap of his rigid finger. I watched helplessly as the first man grabbed her by her arm and pulled her toward him, tearing her shirt and exposing flesh that pressed hard against the man's dirty chainmail. I drew my sword without a sound as I stepped up behind the man.

Instead of running him through, I lifted the heavy handle of my sword high into the air and delivered a crushing blow to the side of his skull. The man went limp, releasing his grasp on Helena and collapsing on the dusty road, obviously unconscious.

Helena looked up in surprise. Her shirt hung open, exposing her beautifully supple bosom, but she quickly pulled the torn cloth together, tucking it back into place as best she could.

Mesmerized in the presence of her beauty, I stood oblivious to the busy market surrounding me, as well as to the second man...until he rounded on me. His first blow landed solidly above my left eye socket. Stars exploded, blurring my vision. His second blow landed with a crushing thud! squarely in my ribcage.

Pain rippled through my body as my torso absorbed the impact. Then my vision cleared, and I saw the man's grotesque, rotting smile. I heard the slick slide of metal as he pulled his dagger from its sheath, and I knew I had less than a second to react.

I tightened my grip around the sword's hilt, and in one powerful, jerking motion I brought my blade's razor-sharp point skyward. The blade drove up, piercing the soft skin under his chin and driving deep into his skull with a horrifically wet crunch! The sickening sound of the weapon slamming its way up and through his head was like a crisp watermelon being split in two by a heavy cleaver.

The first brute was still laying flat on his back just beginning to regain consciousness. His eyes opened wide with horror as he saw his friend hanging from the end of my sword then falling to the ground at my feet. The blood-splattered face landed in the dirt with a thud, eye to eye with him, only a few inches away. The first man wriggled away sideways like a crab across a hot stone as he scurried back onto his feet and dashed away as fast as he could, then disappeared into the crowd.

I placed my foot on the side of the dead man's face and pulled my sword free. The sight of my blade glazed in bright, dripping lines of crimson gripped my mind. My hands shook as I carefully wiped it clean on his tunic until the metal again glinted in the bright afternoon sun, then returned the blade to my sheath.

"Miss Helena," I said, still catching my breath, "are you okay?"

A tear ran down her face, and I realized she was in shock. I crossed to where she stood and wrapped my blue velvet cape around her shivering body, gently wiping the tear from her cheek with my gloved hand.

"Y-you've saved my life," she stammered, then leaned in and wrapped her soft arms around me.

For the next several moments I forgot I had just killed a man. I should have been more startled, at the very least—but, oddly, I could only think of Helena and her body next to mine, the heat being generated between us.

"I've come to ask you to share a meal with us this evening at the castle. The king, of course, will be attending as well."

I could see the invitation had caught her off guard. She looked startled at first, her face blushing light red, eyes darting to the left and right and then lowering to the ground.

She looked up at me with an unforgettably sweet smile, eyes gleaming beautifully in the sunlight.

"Thank you, Prince Vlad, it would be my honor to join you," she said, and offered back an adorable curtsey.

"Dinner is served precisely at dusk, I will have a carriage sent to bring you to the castle and our royal seamstress waiting to clothe you in a gown of your choosing." I smiled, once again losing myself in the depths of her beauty, then turned and left.
CHAPTER TWELVE

On arriving back at the castle, I immediately went to the basement to check on Camelia's condition. She still looked pale and weak, but certainly better than the last time I saw her. Flickering candles burned in the distance and the blue-black shadows jumped across the room and faded away into the gray walls. The light played across Camelia's bed, indiscriminately exposing her sallow face amidst a shroud of darkness. She opened her eyes and managed to rise to a sitting position when she saw me.

"How are you feeling, Camelia?" I asked.

"Oh, Vladdie, I'm doing much better now. It's so good to see you," she replied, and then lowered her voice to a quick whisper. "You shouldn't be here. If your father finds out you have come to see me, he may become upset...again."

"You let me worry about my father. I've come to find out what happened to you. I suspect a wild animal is running loose through the castle. I suspect either coyote or bat. I want you to know that we will find the vile thing and have it killed at once. Just tell me what you remember happening."

Her eyes searched mine for just a brief moment, as if struggling with a decision, but her lips remained silent. Her attention darted to the door behind me, then down the long corridor of empty beds where an attendant stood in the distance, out of earshot, making her rounds.

"Nothing happened," she whispered.

A palpable silence hung in the air. Then she continued in a hushed tone. "That is, nothing that I can remember."

"You were taken by force into my father's quarters the night of his arrival home from the battlefield on the southern border." I heard my own voice grow louder, now taking the stern tone of an official inquest.

"What was the reason my father needed to so urgently speak with you?" I watched her face, trying to read her reaction from behind the flickering mask of shadows alternately obscuring, then exposing her eyes.

"He...he wanted to discuss...to let me know...to inform me that his quarters were not being kept to his satisfaction," she stuttered. "I-I-mean, his...b-bedding was insufficiently kept...and that was all."

"Then how did you get those puncture marks on your neck?" I said, pointing directly at the injury to her throat with an interrogating gesture.

"I've told you already," she barked back. "I don't remember! Now, I'm very tired and must get my rest. Good evening."

"Please know, I aim to find the animal that bit you, and have it killed," I said as I turned to leave. "I promise you that much."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I waited in my room, gazing from the window as the sky turned from a rich blanket of blue-purple into a darker, dusky shade of purple-black and watched the moon grow brighter by each passing minute. It seemed to glow gray in the misty sky, like a lopsided oval stone.

Finally, I descended from the great stone stairway under the arches and into the entrance hall earlier than usual, hoping to speak with Helena before we sat down to a formal dinner. As I approached the foyer, I saw her...my heart suddenly seemed to skip a beat, then beat twice as hard.

She wore a royal gown of white silk and sky blue satin with her hair elegantly tied back, high on her head, exposing her beautifully smooth neck and shoulders. Just one long, curly lock of her golden hair had fallen loose and playfully lay across her face. My thoughts froze, but my heart only raced as I watched her move with stylish grace, as if each graceful turn in slow motion.

I approached her with a deep bow. "Welcome to the king's castle, my lady. You look ravishing. Please keep the gown as my gift to you." As I leaned in to kiss her cheek, I smelled a delicate rose perfume. I touched her smooth skin on my hand, feeling the overwhelming attraction...undeniable.

We heard the chef ring the dinner bell and, on cue, turned and walked into the castle's formal dining room hand in hand.

My father sat at the head of the table. His eyes flashed red when he saw Helena. I was certain that my father, too, would be pleased by her radiance, and we paused in his presence.

He looked deeply into her eyes for an awkwardly long moment. "Who is this that you bring to my table?" he finally said without breaking his stare.

"This is Helena," I replied. "Her family has a sheep farm just outside the village, and she sells the woolen cloth at the trade fair."

My father's eyes darkened as his lip curled up in disgust. "You've brought a filthy peasant into my castle. If you were not of royal blood it would be your head on this table tonight instead of a freshly slaughtered hog!"

I stared back at him, confused and deeply embarrassed by his behavior. My mind chased for the right words, searching for a suitable reply, but nothing escaped my lips but silence. I gazed at him, wondering why he held such hatred in his heart for the very people he risked his life to protect.

But then, as he looked at her again up and down, slowly from head to foot, his eyes softened a bit.

"On the other hand," he said with a slight smile that felt somehow disturbing, "she is quite lovely, isn't she?" His smile grew larger as it snaked across his bone-thin face, his eyes gleaming against the billowing torchlight.

"Please, be seated, Helena—it would be my honor to have you." His words seemed pleasant, but the intensity in his black, glaring eyes seemed to show more.

As we took our seats, servants appeared from each side of the room holding heavy silver platters. Each held a succulent roasted pheasant with sweet apple-plum sauce, caramelized garden vegetables, and freshly baked bread. Two servants then rushed in carrying a huge roasted hog, complete with a green apple in its mouth. I watched the reaction flash across Helena's face as she took in the delicately sweet aromas and bright colors that had suddenly appeared before her eyes. I knew that on this table sat nearly a year's ration of food for her family.

I watched a thick portion of bacon being sliced from the animal and placed in front of my father. He gripped his large knife tighter as he looked down at his meal, the displeasure in his eyes obvious. "This hog is overcooked—again!" he yelled, pounding the handle of his knife down on the table. "Bring me the chef at once."

He sat very still for the next several minutes. An uncomfortable silence filled the room. I watched as Helena lowered her eyes and then kept very still. The king did not look up from the plate that had been placed in front of him until the chef arrived. Mr. Iordache stepped up to the table. His hands were visibly shaking. Beads of sweat had formed on his face and brow, and shone in the moonlight that now streamed down from the windows.

I couldn't help noticing—just past where the chef stood helplessly trembling—a large orange harvest moon hanging low in the eastern sky, pouring its eerie light down onto our formal dining hall's stone floor, basting the frightened cook in a sinister yellowish-orange glow. He shifted his weight awkwardly from side to side, his round hat catching the moon's glow like a smoldering orange halo.

"Mr. Iordache," my father ground out, still without having looked away from the cold meat that lay in front of him. "Haven't I warned you about overcooking the hog?" His voice sounded calm, but then, as his eyes slowly rose from his plate and locked onto the chef, the true nature of his dark mood became more evident.

"I'm sorry, your holiness. I shall remake the meal at once."

"That won't be necessary. I have made other...arrangements that I hope will suffice quite nicely for this evening. You may leave now. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, your highness," he mumbled, and then ambled out of the room with shoulders slumped over, head down and defeated.

My father threw his cloth napkin onto his untouched plate in disgust. "Suddenly I seemed to have lost my appetite for swine," his deep voice grated in revulsion as he stood up and then strode off with his cape sweeping behind him.

I looked at Helena—her face white, hands trembling, eyes unsure and cast downward.

"Please do not be concerned with my father's behavior. He is obviously preoccupied with the treachery of the Turkish army and in great need of rest. He will feel better in the morning."

This seemed to ease her tension, and she looked up, taking in a deep breath and slowly exhaling. She gently smiled at me, nodding her head as if she understood.

As we enjoyed our dinner and wine we talked and laughed as if old friends. She thanked me again and again for saving her from the hooligans, and, as she did, she gently touched my leg with her hand and looked into my eyes. I felt a sudden rush of warmth run through my body as I took her hand in mine and gazed back at her. I knew we were connecting in a wonderful way. I realized we were no longer eating, but instead just staring and smiling.

"May I give you a tour of the castle?"

"Yes, that would be quite lovely, thank you," We rose from the table and left the dining room through the common area, and then up the stairway. We stopped walking, her body now closer to mine, and suddenly in my arms. I turned and kissed her mouth gently as our bodies came together. Her thighs, hips, and breasts pressed firmly against my body.

Large torches burned up against the stone walls as I led her under the great archway and higher up to the spiraling staircase. She blushed and giggled lightly, as if something always seemed so funny. We arrived in my quarters and kissed again, this time tearing each other's clothes off with an unspoken urgency. We rolled onto my bed, mostly naked.

Then her giggling stopped, and her breath became heavier.

"I love you," I blurted out. "And I want you to take my hand in marriage," I declared, passion racing through my body.

"I love you, too," she said between long, slow breaths. "I would be honored to be your wife." She rolled on top of me. I could see her full breasts above me, her smooth skin gleaming in the moonlight.

Fiery passion coursed through my body. I closed my eyes and saw a vision of our future wedding day. I imagined smiling faces, our children laughing and playing. I felt happy, as if my life had just taken a turn for the better. I was certain there would be no more sorrow, no more loneliness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The next morning I woke up and Helena was gone. I thought she must have wanted to get home so her parents wouldn't worry. I rolled over onto my back and stretched out, still basking in the glow of the previous night's engagement.

I decided I should rush down to my father's quarters and tell him the good news. I threw on my clothes and hurried down the stairs and through the main hall. The great wood and iron doors to my father's quarters were closed as usual, but I knocked loudly.

"Father!" I shouted. "I have important news for the king!"

I waited but heard not a single sound emanate from his room. I knocked again, pounding even louder, but still nothing. I turned the handle and pushed. The door did not budge. I spun away in frustration and marched back down the hall.

I saw Macgregor walking through the common room.

"Macgregor," I shouted. "I have great news!" I watched him pause, then turn back to me with pursed lips and a grim expression.

"Macgregor, I've become engaged to Helena!" I shouted while smiling, I'm sure, from ear-to-ear.

"Impossible, dear Vladdie my boy," he said softly, his gruff voice now sounding sorrowful. "Your father will not allow it. You are to wed Princess Agnes, the daughter of King Basarab from the eastern kingdom of Wallachia. It has been arranged since the time of your birth. I'm so sorry, but this is the way it must be."

"I don't care!" I shouted defiantly. "I am in love with Helena, and we will be together. Nothing, not even my father, can stop us."

"I wish the traditions of the castle could be changed so easily. I really do. I'm so very sorry, young Vladdie."

I felt my jaw jut forward as I looked into his gray eyes. Then I realized I had to see Helena immediately. I had to explain the castle's obstinate traditions, tell her how I would fight to change them.

I ran out across the courtyard and into the stables, then saddled up my Arabian stallion, Helios. In one great leap, I mounted the huge animal and headed toward the sheep farms at full gallop.

I arrived at her family's home several minutes later, tied Helios to a large tree and hurried to her front door and knocked loudly. The door finally creaked open and an older woman peered suspiciously through the small opening. "Yes?" she said, her eyes narrowing. "What is your business here?"

"I am the prince of Wallachia, and I am here to see Helena. It's important I speak to her immediately," I announced.

"I'm sorry, but Helena has taken ill and she is resting at the moment."

My jaw swung open as I stepped closer. The shock, mixed with gritty determination must've shone on my face, letting the woman know I would not be denied.

"Okay, you may see her. However, only briefly until we can find out what ails her." The woman took a step back and opened the door farther, motioning me in.

Warm sunlight streamed in through open windows as we walked through their quaint home. Fresh air mixed with the smells of flowers filled my nose as we walked through the kitchen and into Helena's room. She lay on her back with a damp cloth draped over her forehead, face ashen and mouth twitching with discomfort. Her eyes were closed as she tossed and turned from side to side.

Then I saw it—the two puncture holes on the left side of her throat. Torn and swollen red skin encircled each of the marks. Fresh beads of blood glistened around the punctures. I straightened with a painful jerk of recognition, shockwaves jolting my body as I gazed down at the familiar injuries. My stomach turned sour at the outrageous notion that she had surely received these wounds inside the royal castle.

"It almost looks as if she has been attacked by a wild animal, perhaps bat or coyote. I have seen wounds like these before," I whispered, immediately thinking of Camelia, as well as the injured girl in the woods with two steaks of blood running down the length her body. My head spun. I couldn't think...my mind suspended in a state of disbelief. "She must see a doctor at once. I shall immediately send for the royal physician."

I turned away from Helena's bedside and marched through the small home. As I struggled to untie Helios, my hands trembled with anger. Unstoppable thoughts of dread collided with the logical plan of forming an official inquisition. What kind of animal attack is this? My intuition urged me to solve this simple riddle, the answer seeming so close.

My instincts screamed warning signals that I just couldn't quite comprehend. I mounted my steed in a high bound with dark and foreboding thoughts manifesting somewhere deep within the recesses of my mind and charged back to the castle to find help.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

As I approached the castle's exterior grounds I spotted an odd shape just outside of the main gate. A long wooden shaft was driven into the ground with an object suspended in the air near the top. It looked like a pig cooking on a spit, only it sat stuck in the ground vertically instead of lying horizontally atop a fire pit. I slowed my horse and moved closer.

My stomach sank, then burned, crippling me as I realized it wasn't a hog...it was a man. He was impaled from groin to mouth and left to rot in the hot sun on the castle's front grounds. I saw his familiar eyes staring up at the sky. The eyes, frozen in horror, bulged out of his bloated face as it burned in the searing afternoon sun. The thick wooden stake protruded from his open mouth painted with dry ruby-red. I recognized him at once. It was Chef Iordache.

My heart ached with despair as confusion ripped its way through my mind. What kind of monster could do such a thing to this good man and leave him here to die like an animal? I gently lowered the stake to the ground, and placed my old friend on his side, knowing full well he was already long dead.

"I'll find out who did this to you, and there shall be swift retribution," I whispered near to his ear as I knelt at his side. "This is my promise to you."

Tears flooded my eyes, forming large, black beads as they landed in the soft soil at my feet. I jumped back onto Helios, rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands as my steed galloped to the castle's main gates.

Once inside, I marched through the common area and down the unlit hall that led to my father's quarters. The large wooden doors, still locked from the inside, barred my entry as usual, and again I knocked loudly. I heard no response, so I knocked again, pounding harder and harder until my fists ached, burned and bled... but still nothing.

"Father!" I shouted. "I must speak with you at once! Please, there is something of great urgency that needs to come to the attention of the king!"

I stood there for some time, alone in the obsidian shadows of the corridor, slamming my bloody fists on the great door...until I realized the hopelessness of my situation. Not a single sound emanated from behind the securely bolted entrance. I fell to one knee, touching the cold stone floor with my hands as warm tears slid from my eyes and rolled down my cheeks like two lonely drizzles of rain.

The anger roiling in my stomach escalated into rage, storming up from deep within, rumbling through me like powerful thunder. I screamed in anguish, until I couldn't any more, and then rose to my feet, still staring at the thick wood and iron.

Finally...defeated...I turned and left.

As I rounded under the archway that led to the infirmary, I scanned the room until I spotted the castle's physician. I motioned him aside, described the injuries to Helena's throat, and insisted he immediately go to check on her welfare. He gave me his word that he would and I pulled in a long breath of air, feeling slightly better.

I went back outside to the stable and retrieved a large spade that hung from a wall of tools. Hot tears welled as I made the agonizing walk into the fields where I had found Mr. Iordache. The sun burned down on his ever-reddening skin as I dug his grave. The hole needed to be extra large to fit such a big man, and it took me quite some time. Dirt and debris flew up in the strong wind, entering my nose and stinging my eyes. Once I had the plot open, I stopped and looked at my old friend.

"Goodbye, my dear friend, Mr. Iordache," I said "Heaven is surely waiting for you with open arms. May God rest your soul."

I placed my foot on his massive shoulder and gripped both hands tightly on the spear-like wooden stake. I began to pull it from his mouth. My sour stomach turned and ached at the thought of doing this ghastly deed.

It moved slowly at first. My stomach churned as blood spilled from his mouth, nose, and even from his open eyes like scarlet tears that pooled in the dirt below. Then it broke free, sliding out with a loud, sickeningly wet shhhhhhhhhhkkkkkk!

I threw the stake to the side and pushed the enormous man over. As he rolled into his new home, more warm tears filled my eyes and ran down my dirt-covered cheeks, mixing with his blood in the dirt. I buried him as quickly as I could, my anger increasing with each shovelful, and when my odious task was completed, I turned and looked up at the sky.

"I shall take vengeance for your soul, my friend!" I yelled. "I shall bring the wrath of hell down without mercy onto the one responsible for this, my dear, dear Mr. Iordache."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I walked back to the castle lamenting what I had just seen and done, the horrible images still flashing behind my eyes. I went directly to my quarters and quickly washed the dirt and dried blood from my skin, my mind still racing through the increasingly painful questions.

Macgregor stepped in from the hall, as if sensing my anguish. His face wore a grim look of concern.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Macgregor spoke first.

"The Ottoman Empire has created a stronghold on the southern border of Bulgaria. Their army is successfully pushing back the combined Wallachian armies. If our forces cannot hold them at bay, they will break across the border and surely advance for another hundred miles...and into our villages."

I felt my body turning cold as the visualization of a full-scale war formed in my already spinning mind. I realized this impending battle could possibly lead up to the castle itself. A daunting new fear spiked through my stomach as the situation's bleakness became clear. The Wallachian people would surely suffer a horrible slaughter of innocent victims—town by town, village by village.

The Turks were merciless. We had already lost our highest-ranking general in the last battle, and now we were losing the battle for our very borders. They would murder children and rape the women without hesitation. I thought of Helena, wondering how I would protect her if called away to fight at the border.

"We must prepare for an all-out, full-scale war...at once," Mr. Macgregor said, his gray eyes turning cold, locking onto mine.

I fled my quarters and rushed down the stairs and into the main hall, where the men had all begun to gather around. A low hum filled the room as the men spoke of the dismal situation amongst themselves. Everyone, without question, knew what must be done.

My father appeared in the room and stood motionless. His eyes flicked over the men as they readied their gear. Groups of men were walking from the main castle into the courtyard, where another fifty men stood already prepared and waiting to depart.

I put my thick leather vest on as I stared out of the window, sliding my chainmail over the top and securing my long sword to my belt. Then I silently walked to the stable and again mounted Helios. Outside of the drawbridge hundreds more men had arrived and gathered on their restless horses. Every one of them seemed to know the significance of winning this battle.

I had received Helios as a gift from my mother right before she died. I named him after the Greek God Helios because he looked so much taller and stronger than all of the other horses, as if he did indeed drive the chariot of the sun goddess across the sky as the ancient Greeks had proclaimed. I tightened his saddle and entered the fray.

I watched my father appear from his private stable. His horse towered above the others, including mine. He trotted his horse over to a group of field generals and commanders, each with equally focused, bulging eyes, partially concealed beneath sharply creased brows.

There are several different ranks and positions in our army. Only the rank of general would be allowed to ride by the king's side. Then there is a platoon of commanders that guard the generals. A wide line of lieutenants flank the commanders, and all are protected by the masses of soldiers who make up the front line. I was told to ride along with the commanders and did not question the order.

Our combined army numbered over five hundred strong, and we were sure to be joined by additional forces along the way. No one had any illusions about the significance of this war, and no one believed this would be anything less than a bloodbath.

Our army did indeed converge with several armies from other castles along the way. Surprisingly large groups of warriors rode in from Targoviste and Bucharest, as well as Upper Transylvania. They looked battle-hardened and ready as they entered the fray. By the time we arrived at the southern Bulgarian border our combined forces were over ten thousand strong. We had received word that the Turkish army may have been somewhere around eight thousand men.

The land flattened as we approached the border. The men quietly lined their horses along an elevated ridge that ran across a wide-open valley that lay in front of us and between the two armies. I heard the low swoosh and clatter coming up the line as hundreds of men simultaneously pulled swords from their leather sheathes, then the sharp click of brass buckles, one after the other as they strapped their helmets tightly in place.

The cold air bit down under a clear, bright sky. It was a perfect day for battle. I could see the Turks lined up in the distance, across the great plain of the border. They had begun to stir as they prepared to defend their stronghold.

A loud horn blew from the south, far out in the distance, and then our own forces returned the tone. This meant the two leaders from each side would come together in the center of the battlefield for last-minute negotiations.

My father emerged from the front of the line and waited patiently. He was soon flanked by two scouts, each of them holding the Wallachian flag high in the air. The flags snapped violently as they whipped around in the biting wind.

The Turkish leaders grouped together, and I watched as their flags rose and two men rode out toward the center of the battlefield. My father took a measured approach, steadily trotting his huge horse forward.

Not a single man spoke as the two leaders came together. The silence filled the valley between us like a flood of rushing water from an invisible broken dam. We all simply watched and waited.

After what seemed like an eternity, the two groups parted. My father and his two flanking scouts galloped up the hill toward us. My father's face bore a tight, grim smile.

"There will be no battle today!" he bellowed to the men, raising his sword skyward, slashing through the air. His words were followed by a thunderous chorus of joyous cheers. Today, no blood would be spilled on the hard earth below them. The men began smiling and laughing as they realized they would be able to again see their loved ones.

"I have completed a grand negotiation with the Turks!" the king shouted as he rode up and down the line with sword flashing in the sun high above his head. The men suddenly went quiet, listening intently. After a moment, a low hush of whispers swirled through the ranks like a snake's low hiss.

"The Turks shall gain the ownership of Lower Bulgaria only, but their forces shall never approach the Wallachian borders again!"

With this statement, a halfhearted cheer rose from the stunned men. The men already knew the Turks had possession of Lower Bulgaria and the land had been practically conceded to them many months earlier.

"The Turks have given me their solemn oath to never breach our borders. They shall also pay the Wallachian kingdom twenty thousand golden forints! And in exchange, they will have undisputed rights to own and tax Lower Bulgaria as they see fit."

A small smattering of applause rose from the army as the king continued. "They shall also return to us, my greatest advisor and strongest asset of the Wallachian army, the great General Dragomir." With this declaration a loud roar of approval rang out across the line of men.

I looked across the plains and saw a group of riders depart from the Turkish army with a prisoner. I assumed it to be General Dragomir.

"Unfortunately, they have also demanded to hold a loyalty prisoner from our ranks to ensure we stay true to our word. That we shall in no way attempt to drive them back and out of Bulgaria. Their prisoner of war, of whom they demand, unfortunately, will be my son—Prince Vlad the third."

My heart tore across my chest like it had been ripped from my body. I tried to cough, but my stomach knotted, wrenching painfully upward into my mouth, constricting my breath as it choked off the airflow to my lungs. Fear permeated my mind, and confusion diluted my already scattered thoughts.

Numb to my surroundings, I could only think it must be some type of mistake. I must have misheard my father, the man I'd loved dearly and idolized for the last eighteen years. Dizziness engulfed me as I tried to stay calm. I finally pulled a bit of oxygen into my lungs as I leaned forward and held tightly onto Helios. I straightened, then sucked in a full breath, forcing myself to show bravery in front of our troops as I waited for someone to tell me I had misunderstood and all was well.

I took another deep breath and looked over the great expanse that separated the two armies. In the distance, I saw another set of riders from the Turkish army approaching at full speed. There were three men, but four horses. Tears welled as I thought of Helena. Her beautiful sapphire-marine eyes and full red lips seemed so close. And, as my nightmare changed into my reality, my heart sank low and heavy in my chest and the tears that had formed in my eyes rolled slowly away.

As the riders approached, I could hear the footfalls of the galloping horses increase in volume. The ground gently rumbled as my father's army suddenly separated. I didn't know if I should draw my sword and fight or turn and gallop away to safety. But the men arrived and quickly tied my hands behind my back, and then placed a black cloth bag over my head.

The men hoisted me off Helios and onto their unoccupied horse. My new horse turned and we rode south. There were no shouts of surprise or cheers of victory from the Wallachian army behind me, just a deep silence floating in my wake as I departed.

In the past, I had heard the horrible stories of torture and suffering that the Turks would administer to their captives in order to garner vital pieces of strategic information. They would also occasionally let one broken man return after years of suffering to tell the stories of unspeakable pain to his people, instilling in them a truly sharp fear of the Turkish military.

Darkness.

The heavy hood placed over my head blocked all light. The horse on which I rode trotted so agonizingly slowly that I thought we had gone too far, past the Turkish army, and were already heading directly back to the Ottoman homeland.

Each step of the journey served to draw out, even increase, the torturous thoughts pervading my mind. I prepared myself the best I could for the impending suffering as I imagined the cold dungeon that I would soon know as my new home. I felt I was already dead, but my body just didn't yet know it.

I could hear the men speaking, laughing, and shouting to each side of me, but I couldn't understand their Turkish slang.

The words my father had spoken seemed to haunt me as they ran through my mind time and time again. The coldness in his voice, a tone that seemingly held some gladness in letting me go in exchange for a bit of land and a few gold coins. My father had negotiated for his general's life and in turn sentenced his only son to death.

But my fate would likely be worse than death—a difficult, drawn-out demise awaited me. They would want information I simply did not have, they would take their time with me—it would be agonizing.

My horse slowed to a stop. I heard many more men shouting angry things directed toward me that I could not understand. Then, after a long moment, an awful silence hung in the air around me. I felt a crushing blow on the back of my head, and everything faded to black.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When I awoke, the bag had been removed from my head and each wrist securely shackled to a length of slack chain that led out to both sides of a large iron cage. A bit of soft yellow hay was piled up near my head. My cage sat on the back of a cart being pulled behind four sturdy-looking horses.

I saw a large black rat scurry out to the center of the floor. It sat there quietly, watching me with its beady black eyes. Then, with a quick squeak, he scurried into a knothole and vanished. I sat there hour after hour in misery as my tears came and went.

I opened my eyes slowly, realizing I must have passed out again. We seemed to be making steady progress down an open, dusty road, and I could now see large thunderheads angrily broiling above. The cart rocked sideways as it bounced forward over the uneven path and the cage and chains jangled incessantly against the wood, slamming up and down and emitting a loud ka-clang! Shink -ka-clang! over and over as the cart lurched ever forward.

I had little idea how long I had been unconscious, but the position of the setting sun and the color of the sky told me at least several hours. I assumed we were headed due southward, possibly to the Ottoman stronghold in Adrianolpe

The clamoring of the heavy iron chains that secured the cage was starting to become unbearable...continuously slamming down hard around me, iron against iron, iron against wood, wood against wood. The deafening sound weighed on my mind, cluttering my already fractured thoughts.

On the third day of the journey, I watched from my cage as our cart clattered along an enormous bridge which stretched over the great Danube River. I had not yet been given any food or water and the deep blue river surrounding me seemed cruel and taunting. I would surely die in this cage before we arrived at our destination. I decided if I were to die in this manor, it would indeed be a blessing.

My sand-dry throat scratched and burned and swelled and bled. The heavy chains continued smashing down around me, seeming louder each time. I could feel my ears beginning to bleed so I covered them with my hands to deaden the sound. I felt so weak, my core shook with exhaustion and I lost my ability to focus.

The hours went by, and I drifted in and out of delirium, forlorn and heartbroken. I thought back to how odd my father's behavior had become since he had returned from battle—aloof, drunken and reckless with his power. I thought about how he took Camelia to his quarters by force, then how she had become ill and then about how he had berated Mr. Iordache's cooking and how the chef ended up murdered.

On day four it rained lightly. The water splattered across my cage and dripped down from the rusty iron bars above me. I put my mouth to the closest bar and drank, then slurped the muddy water from the cage floor and caught drips that came directly through cracks in the ceiling above me.

Day five I noticed my ribs were showing stark shadows, like the deep ruts on a freshly tilled field. I watched the rat begin to scurry across the hay-speckled cage floor. This time I was ready for him. My hands and wrists suspended high into the air, waiting for the moment he made his move. He took four or five quick steps out, then stopped and looked up at me inquisitively, his beady black eyes staring directly into mine, tilting his head to the side—as if waiting for a reply. My heavy iron bracelets cut through the humid air and came down with a hard thud, like a studded mace, slamming down on a small kitchen table. I ate well that night, even the bones.

Day six passed slowly under a thick blanket of clouds, which held in the muggy, damp heat. I woke up once or twice, but most of the day I must have been unconscious. As night fell, however, the temperature cooled nicely, and I began feeling strangely better, more energized. I thought back to the early days of my life. I thought of the time I was able to spend with my mother, joyfully playing on the soft grass in the castle's interior gardens, bathed in a warm yellow sun under a deep blue sky. I focused on this bliss the best I could. I tried to remember the warmth of her embrace, the happiness in her touch.

The sky had begun to clear, and the stars shone brightly from above, giving off a whitish glimmer across the skyline. As I watched the glow increase in intensity, I realized the light was not coming from the stars, but somewhere else, somewhere inside the cage.

A bright white-blue aura appeared in front of my eyes, pulsating and emitting a whirring sound that seemed to draw me in. Then, directly in front of where I lay dying, I saw the image of my mother clearly manifest from out of the haze. On her wise face she wore what seemed to be an all-knowing smile. Goose bumps rode up my legs and tickled the back of my neck.

I sat up as much as I could and leaned forward. Her translucent form shimmered under the starlight, glistening as it floated there in front of me. Tiny filaments of hazy, electrified blue and red beams of energy seemed to be encompassing her body, spontaneously emerging and gently rising into the air. These beautiful fibers of colors whirled into the air, then vaporized again and again. The outline of her silhouette emanated beams of white light that played through the bars and lit up the cage with a beautiful star-like array.

I raised to my elbows, leaned forward, and stared back in awe, smiling at her.

"Be strong, my son. I have come here to deliver a message of vital importance." Her ethereal voice sounded so sweet, soft like silk with the slightest echo.

"Mother!" I shouted. "I've missed you so!"

"I know, my son, for I am always with you...always at your side...always watching..."

The sound of her voice beckoned me forward and I tried to move closer to her, but the chains snapped taut and I could move no further.

"I do not have much time, young Vladdie. I must speak my message before it is too late..."

"Yes, of course. What is it, mother?"

"Your lineage means much more than you know—more than you could possibly imagine. The fate of this land will be your burden...in ways you could never yet begin to know..."

"Yes, mother, I understand. I shall someday be king and the fate of our people—"

"No!" She cried out. "This has nothing to do with you becoming the king of Wallachia." Her eyes narrowed, her stare ominously insistent. "This has to do with you being the centerpiece of the fight to preserve the future of humanity. An evil force grows even now as we speak. A harbinger of death nears by the day. We cannot allow the evil to remain and spread across the land. A monster threatens mankind and it must be stopped for he brings only darkness. This monster is connected to you in ways you do not yet understand—but you are the only soul, living or dead, who has the power to stop it."

Her pleading voice became weaker. Her aura began to dim. The filaments of swirling light and energy that surrounded her paled, and then began to fade, evaporating into the cold night air.

"Everything depends on you, my son, and you alone..."

Darkness suddenly filled the cage. My eyes began to adjust and I could again see the starlight twinkling from above.

I smiled and tried to ease my head and shoulders back onto the soft hay underneath me, but found myself already lying on my back, head flat on the hard wood floor. I had not lifted my head even an inch.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hours later, the terrain dipped and fell away from my view, the slopes getting steeper and steeper as we took on a great mountain's grade. I slid across the floor of the cage toward the rear. My shackled wrists were held in place to the far left and right sides of the cage and my body stretched out taut and thin, like a crucifixion without nails.

The vivid images of my mother were still ringing through my mind, serving to calm me, and giving me some semblance of hope as the cart's progress began to slow. I could still open my eyes wide enough to see parts of the surrounding area without lifting my head from the cage's miserably hard wooden floor. The view rivaled anything I had ever seen in my life.

Sharp peaks rose high into the sky, penetrating the clouds. Enormous valleys ran lush with thick green veins of abundant foliage spreading in all directions. The valley led out to more huge snow-covered mountain ranges, their serrated peaks reminding me of a freshly sharpened woodsman's saw.

Finally the terrain leveled out, and the cart came to an abrupt halt. My wrists were bloody and raw, but I didn't care, all seemingly already lost. I heard footsteps approach and a low hum of general activity around me. We had arrived at an enormous castle.

"Bring the boy to me at once," a sharp voice ordered from somewhere beyond my view. I heard the sound of keys rattling, then locks turning. I felt the iron bracelets on my wrists springing open and the weight of the metal lifted away. The rusty cage door then swung open with a loud and heavy clunk! followed by the long eerrrreeeeck of the rusty iron. The sounds seemed to represent my impending fate as they pulled me from where I had lain for so many days.

"What is this?" the now-enraged voice rang out. "What have you done, you fools? Do you have any idea who this boy is? This is the son of Lord Draculesti, the heir to the kingdom of Wallachia. His life is worth more than we can imagine but only as long as he lives. You daft fools!"

Even though the bright noonday's sun still shone from above, I felt the world slowly fading into darkness. Everything moved away from me as I slipped once again into the warmth of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER NINETEEN

I woke up in a lavish bed with satin sheets...and pillows softer than the ones in my own bed back at home. Beautifully handcrafted and finely polished furniture adorned the large room. I looked to my left and saw a pitcher of crystal-clear water and a large, clean glass on the nightstand.

As I lifted my sore body to a sitting position, pain shot up my arms. My huge, bloated wrists and ankles were badly lacerated and still bleeding. My lips were dry and parched and my throat burned as if I had just swallowed a mouthful of red-hot coal.

I poured the water with trembling hands and drank a small amount. In the center of the room I saw a table containing many trays of food. Cured meats of all types, huge grilled prawns, fresh olives, sliced tomatoes drizzled in olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Baskets of freshly baked bread lay on each side of the trays of meat and my mouth watered from the sweet aromas filling the room.

I poured more water and carefully sipped at it. The cool liquid soothed my throat more and more with each swallow and I began to feel stronger. After a moment, I stood, then limped over to the trays of food, eating a few bites at first, only as much as my severely shrunken stomach would allow. Then I ambled to the soft bed to rest under the silky-smooth sheets, feeling better as the nourishment started to take hold.

Taking in a full, deep breath, followed by a long, drawn-out exhale, I realized that, indeed, I had survived the journey.

But I still didn't know why. Or what horrors awaited me.
CHAPTER TWENTY

I awoke the next day to find another full pitcher of water and many new platters of fresh food. I drank more water and ate my full share of food this time, feeling stronger and stronger with each bite. I noticed no bars were on the windows, and no shackles locked around my sore wrists and ankles—nothing telling me I was even imprisoned.

The next several days passed by peacefully and quietly, but my fear of some kind of Ottoman trickery only increased. Each day I awoke to more fresh food and more clean water. I continued to get stronger, my mind clearing away the painful memories of the past events and my treacherous journey.

On the seventh day after my arrival, I heard loud voices outside of the door. Keys rattled, and I heard the cl-click! of the lock engaging, then snapping open. The door swung wide and a short man with light brown skin entered. He closed the door behind him using great care to not slam it and then turned back to face me.

Deep lines of age framed his eyes, making me think he held the wisdom of many seasons. He had a flowing shock of long white hair and wore a brilliant, blue and red royal satin tunic. He looked at me for a moment, smiling kindly and holding his hands out in a welcoming fashion.

"My name is Amir Hassan, and, officially, I am the advisor to Murad the second, Sultan of the Ottoman Empire. I wanted to welcome you to our castle here in the great city of Adrianople, and to apologize for the unacceptably harsh treatment you received on your long journey here. I also wanted you to know those men have been disciplined for their actions." He spoke softly and articulately—even compassionately.

"I hope you find these quarters to be satisfactory. Please let me know if you require anything to make your stay more comfortable. If you have any special needs we shall do our best to acquiesce to your wishes. We have much to discuss. Your stay here may be extended, or it may be brief, but you never know about how these things will go. So we'll just need to make the best of it while you are here."

I listened to him speak, trying my best to mask any reaction of surprise. But with each stunning and mystifying word he spoke, I grew more and more hopeful.

"You will find we treat royalty as royalty. And in the unfortunate event that one member of our royal family is captured by your father's forces, we hope your family will return the royal hospitality. Are we understood?"

"Understood," I replied, still suspended in a state of shock by this amazing revelation. "I take it you have released General Dragomir in good health in exchange?"

"General Dragomir is not quite as lucky as you. He is not of royal blood, and therefore we needed to set an example for those who support your father's army. It is nothing personal, I assure you."

We sat in silence for several moments, and then he continued. "I have more news for you as well, prince," he said, with eyebrows raised and the corners of his mouth suddenly forming into a bright smile. "Would you care to meet your half-brother, Radu?"

My mouth swung open at this statement. "I don't have a half-brother. I am an only child."

"The truth is, Prince Vlad, your father has other offspring, but only you possess his true royal blood. Your father had delivered your younger brother to us, when you were very young, as a hostage to secure his loyalty in our business arrangement. In exchange we supported your father's continuing rule of Wallachia."

I stared back in utter surprise as he spoke.

"Your father has since broken his loyalty to the Ottoman Empire by joining the Order of the Dragon. Sultan Murad strictly forbade it, but your father went forward nonetheless...and in no small way. He aligned with our greatest enemy.

The sultan went as far as to issue an official order to dethrone and behead your father by any means necessary. He decided, however, to grant your father one last chance, one provision to prove where his loyalties lay, saving a bloody war and thousands of innocent lives in the process. Our grand bargain, as you know, consisted of the Ottoman Empire taking possession of Lower Bulgaria, with full rights to tax the people."

I watched intently as he took another quick breath and then continued. "In exchange for his concession, we informed your father that he would continue to have our full support if willing to release you into our custody—but this was not the true reason why we brought you here—not even close."

I heard a knock at the door, and it swung open.

I turned to face a man who looked so much like me, it was like standing in front of a mirror and looking back into my own eyes. We could have been twins with the only obvious exception being his light auburn hair color and my dark brown. All of my doubts about the veracity of the claim of my brother's existence instantly dissolved. I stood and looked into his eyes, and he into mine.

"I shall leave the two of you to get acquainted," Amir announced and then quickly exited the room.

"It is so nice to see you, young Vladdie," Radu said.

I noticed he had oddly referred to me by my nickname, "young Vladdie."

"It's good to finally meet my dear brother, whom I have heard so much about. I have indeed waited many years for this moment."

He spoke softly, but his words vibrated with excitement.

"First, I want to congratulate you on your amazing victory at the Royal Academy's Tournament of Champions." He paused and let the information settle in. "Yes, I was there, watching my brother perform in battle at a higher level than any other scholar in the land. I was deeply and profoundly pleased by your demonstration of superior combat skills. I could not have been more proud."

One corner of my lip curved up into a little smile as goose bumps ran up both arms.

"You are looking very well, considering the circumstances," he declared graciously as he approached me with a now gleaming smile and then a warm embrace.

"You, too, are looking well for being kept under the enemy's lock and key for these many long years."

"I'm not in jail here, Vladdie. I've been able to come and go as I please for many years. I do not wish to leave. And you, living in suppression under our father's bizarre rule in that dismal and barbaric castle—unable to move about as you wish, do what you wish..."

I stood speechless, listening, knowing all too well that his stinging words held some truth in them.

"We have spies in the castle and villages, and we hear things." His eyes narrowed slightly and his gaze darkened.

"You were treated more like a captive in your own castle than I, here in our so-called enemy's home."

I couldn't argue with his logic. Even though I wasn't jailed in my castle, its rules and overbearing traditions certainly constrained me, bringing me nothing more than loneliness and isolation. I realized I might as well have been a prisoner there. I drew in a quick breath and continued listening.

"I have lived an extraordinary life of royalty here at the sultan's castle," he said, "one without any overbearing constraints and without concern for severe punishment. I have been given the finest education, the most faithful servants, and bequeathed the best comforts available anywhere in the land and at any cost. I have been offered every luxury I could possibly think to ask for and much more. It may be hard to accept right now, but in time, you may realize this is the best thing that has ever happened to you, Vladdie. Our father has joined the Order of the Dragon and he now hails from the house of Draculesti. He has become the son of an evil dragon, and I shall prove it to you."

I stood there stunned, trying my best to absorb the new information.

"I have much to tell you and many things to show you. Please keep your conclusions open ended until we have had more time to discuss the matter."

"Fair enough," I mumbled. "I appreciate your hospitality."

"Of course, please, no need to ever mention it again. Now I want you to rest. You have been through an extraordinarily difficult journey and you will need much time to recuperate."

Radu looked at me, a cheerful smile forming on his face, and then he turned on his heel and marched from the room.

I took a deep breath, soaking in all the information I had just heard. Radu said my father had "become the son of an evil dragon" and I had little idea about the meaning behind it. I knew something had altered my father's personality—he was definitely different, but I always attributed it to the bitter torments of war. My hand braced my heart as I went down a mental checklist of the way the events had unfolded. I again recalled my father's treatment of Camelia and the mysterious puncture marks on her neck. I thought back to poor Mr. Iordache and the horrific death he must have had to endure.

I thought back to my father's harsh and unfair treatment of Helena, with the shocking visions of the wounds on her throat replaying my mind. My chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, remembering how coldly he gave me away to die as a prisoner of war. His only son happily traded for a few golden forints and the return of his best general. My heart slammed hard into both sides of my emaciated ribcage as my mind rounded on the only possible conclusion—my father had indeed changed...but why?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The next few weeks went by peacefully. New meals arrived each day and the food seemed to get better and better. I had grilled venison with cloves and thick cherry glaze, then lamb chops spiced with saffron, cinnamon, and ginger, then wild boar with pepper and nutmeg, and on and on. They always served freshly baked bread and water, as well as a variety of truly exquisite wines.

Each day I continued to get a little stronger, and each day I put a little more weight back on, and each day I thought more about my father and wondered who this man I grew up idolizing really was?

I heard the rattling of keys outside my door, and then a loud shink-clink! of the lock springing open. Amir gracefully stepped inside...wearing his usual pleasant smile.

"Good morning Prince Vlad the third. I've come to tell you that we will no longer be locking this door. You shall now have free rein to go anywhere in the castle at any time you wish as long as you do not leave the castle grounds. I recommend sitting in the garden for some time each day, as the fresh air will do you good." He politely nodded, turned, and left.

The following morning I received a message from Radu requesting I join him in the garden for tea. I immediately accepted and moments later a messenger led me through the lavish castle. The large windows brought in the morning sunlight as well as a fresh breeze and pleasant aromas. I thought about the stark contrast between this palace and my father's bleak and dungeon-like castle. The people there were filled with fear and hatred, they were unhappy, even afraid—and, it now seemed, with good reason.

Sultan Murad went out of his way to display his wealth and opulence. Two long rows of beautifully hand-carved white pillars rose up to the high arching ceilings of the main hall. Brightly painted canvases, fresh flowers, and pleasantly smiling faces bombarded me from all directions as musicians softly played stringed instruments in the background.

I wandered through the castle's impressive interior gardens until I spotted Radu sitting on a long stone bench under a well-manicured magnolia tree. I joined him there and our tea was promptly served. I opened my mouth to speak, but Radu spoke first.

"You are aware that our father has joined the Order of the Dragon?" he asked me, his voice sounding business-like and calm.

"Yes, of course."

"You probably did not know, however, that he has also joined a secret society within the Order of the Dragon. This society calls itself The Dark Order. They are an elite group of men who will stop at nothing until they get what they want. And they are not Christians—they worship only Lucifer."

"Absurd!" I launched to my feet. "I know my father is disturbed and he may be suffering from the torments of war, but he is certainly not a part of any secret society that worships the Devil."

"Vladdie, please sit...and then listen to me closely."

Stunned by his words and the sincerity in which he spoke, I did as he suggested.

"Our father has fully embraced black magic as his new bible. He has used a demonic ritual of forbidden sorcery to align himself with ancient evil spirits. He traded away his soul for an unfathomable power, just as he traded you away to his greatest enemy for a mere twenty-thousand golden forints. Now he must consume the blood of innocent women to survive.

The information hit me full force...like an icy wave of ocean water, pushing my senses off balance.

Consume the blood of innocent women...

His chilling words resonated through my mind and seeped into my soul...and I knew my father was forever lost in his quest for greed and power.

Still stunned, and even though it would hurt to do so, I had no choice now but to tell Radu about the bizarre events that had transpired at the castle.

"I've recently had the misfortune of finding several women who were mysteriously attacked in Wallachia, each of them going ill after receiving deep puncture marks along their throat line. I assumed a small animal had attacked, perhaps coyote or bat. But now..."

Radu's eyes darkened, brows knitting tightly above his narrowing gaze.

"Yes! The monster must feed at night when the moon is full, my brother. He feeds on the innocent, the weak, the vulnerable...he feeds on the women!"

"F-Feeds?" I repeated. "You mean he... d-drinks their blood?"

"Yes, this monster, who once was our father, must drink the blood of the innocent to survive."

I thought back to my poor Helena, who had been attacked in my own castle. My heart ached, swelling in my chest like a balloon as I yearned to protect her.

I thought of my chambermaid, Camelia, and how she had taken ill after being attacked. My mind flashed to the poor injured girl in the woods—and the blood streaking down her back. I took a quick breath that sounded more like a gasp for air, and continued listening...staring back as shock claimed my body. His words tore through my mind like a powerful riptide pulling my thoughts under a frothy ocean's spew, dragged forever out to sea.

Never to be the same again.

Radu's eyes again narrowed, looking directly into mine.

"The Dark Order is by far the greatest threat to every civilization in all of the land. They are using blind faith to unite massive numbers of good people, only to then strike fear in their hearts, convincing them that a holy war must be fought—and all under the guise of spreading Christianity. They are also backed by the Holy Roman emperor and have the full support of the Pope."

Radu now spoke loudly and passionately, both hands flying up to emphasize his many points.

"If they succeed, it will undoubtedly begin the biggest bloodbath the land has ever known. The innocent will be slaughtered in the streets and the Order of the Dragon will reap more and more political power and riches. Please, my brother, have no doubt—their aim is nothing less than the eradication of all other forms of religion, and I will prove it to you!"

My eyes went wide as his statements made more and more sense...and I knew at once something must be done.

"Our father is a monster and he must be stopped at all costs." I jumped to my feet, balling my hands into fists. "I now believe you speak the truth!"

My head throbbed, as if filled with too much information. I pulled in a deep breath to calm myself. "I could not accept it at first. I suppose maybe, somewhere deep in my heart, I did suspect his involvement in these brutal attacks."

We both paused there for a long moment without speaking, then Radu stood.

"Very good, Vladdie," Radu said, nodding his head, the corners of his mouth curving up into a playful grin. "You have come a long way. You have come around faster than I thought you would. I think you are now ready for the next step in this process—the books."

"Books?" What good could possibly come from reading a book?

Radu just smiled and gave me a firm nod, as if he had internally made some sort of a final decision.

"Come with me, my dear brother. You need to see something with your own eyes. I owe you this much. I will show you things that may begin to help ease your mind."

"Where are we going?"

"Please." His hands motioned me to follow him. "I want to show you the sultan's library. His is the largest and most complete library in the land—but there is more to it than just that."

Now Radu lowered his voice to a whisper. "Inside the sultan's library, there is a secret vault. Inside the vault there are certain forbidden documents that will be of great interest to you. These ancient books cannot be found anywhere else in the world. The volumes depict the transformation of the dragon and will help you to understand why it is so important that it must be stopped."

We walked back through the garden, into the castle and up several flights of stairs. Along the way we walked past brilliantly painted works of art and hand-carved statues of the different Greek gods. I stared at each piece of artwork in awe as we went through a huge pavilion-like room only to find yet another stairway.

We finally arrived at what looked like the highest level in the castle. Then we entered a large chamber and I stood in front of volume upon volume of neatly shelved and bound parchment. It was indeed the finest library I'd ever seen. I gazed down row after row of classical literature and philosophy written by great thinkers like Plato, Socrates, and Pythagoras. We strolled to the far end of the library, where Radu paused.

He stepped up close to me and whispered directly in my ear. "Just as we have spies that dwell within the walls of Draculesti's castle, there can be spies here among us as well. We may never know who we can trust, young Vladdie. The information I am about to show you can be very powerful in the wrong hands and this is our last hope, so we can take no chances. We'll need to exercise the utmost amount of caution—understood?"

Goose bumps crawled up the back of my arms as his words settled in.

"Understood," I whispered, looking over my shoulder for lurking spies. We continued walking to the very last row of the library and looked down a long aisle. There, at the end, an old, peculiar-looking shelf rested against the back wall.

Radu craned his neck to look over his shoulder, scanning to the left and right, as if we were possibly being followed. Then he ducked into the aisle...and I followed.

Golden sunlight poured through the high windows as we approached the far end of the hall, lighting up the colorful rows of literature.

Radu approached the last shelf and pulled firmly on a bright red volume. The book moved halfway out from the shelf and I heard an audible click, then he pushed the book back into its original location. The shelf rocked slightly forward, toward us, and then swung open...
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A thin, angular stream of light cut across the floor of the vault, but beyond that I could see only thick black shadows. Radu stepped forward into the gloom and I inched in right behind him. Once we were both inside, he turned back and quickly locked the hidden door behind us.

We now stood in complete and utter blackness, and I could hear Radu's footsteps moving away from me. I reached out in front of me, seeing nothing, feeling nothing. I stepped forward again, farther into the void, swinging my arms around, back and forth as if treading water through a deep black abyss.

The stone floor rumbled beneath me with a crash. Sunlight suddenly flooded into the vault, splashing down around us. Radu had opened another hidden wooden door. I lifted my hand to cover my stinging eyes, waiting for them to adjust as I surveyed the small chamber around me.

A long stairway to my right ascended along the far wall and led to a large arched doorway at the top. The vault contained only the most basic furnishings with a large table and two soft chairs. A pitcher of water and two glasses were set on the center of the table.

Radu waved me up the stairway before he disappeared over the threshold. I hurried to the top...and my eyes stretched wide. Seeing a perch, not unlike the one on which I stood at the castle of Draculesti, waiting for my father to return from battle. My heart swelled. The breathtaking panorama from this vantage point shocked my senses and reinvigorated my mind.

Jagged, snow-covered mountains sliced through the clouds and rose toward the heavens all around us. I wondered if this was the highest possible perch to stand anywhere in the world. I could see in all directions for countless miles, across the shallow valleys and over the endlessly rolling hills.

"I like to come up here to think, to read, and to watch for the approaching horsemen," Radu said, motioning with both arms into the great expanse that lay before us. We both took in several deep breaths of the cool fresh air and exhaled loudly.

"Yes, I have a place similar to this at home."

"I know."

I spun around, surprised, and looked him directly in his eyes. My question didn't need to be spoken.

"Macgregor told me." The corners of his mouth curved into a mischievous-looking smile, then he gave me a slow nod of his obvious recognition.

"He is one of our spies. He cares for you very deeply, young Vladdie, and he only wished for this day to have come sooner."

I realized Radu had again used Macgregor's nickname for me, "young Vladdie," and knew very few people who would address me so casually. I thought back to my caretaker's husky Scottish brogue, and thought about the many years of learning and growing that he had stood by my side.

My eyes suddenly blurred with emotion, moisture welling in confusion and vulnerability at the same time. Tears spilled from my eyes as I stared out into the vast ravine below us, feeling my life forever changed.

Nothing would ever be the same.

Macgregor, the one man I could trust....a spy?

Everything I knew and everything I was had crumbled around me... crashed to the ground...shattered like so many shards of broken glass.

I pulled in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fresh air of a new day, exhaled, and then attempted a smile.

"It's good to see you, my brother. It is good to see you indeed."

"Come, we have much reading to do and very little time."

We turned and took long strides back down the stairway, not like two princes who were destined to become kings, but like two brothers excited to go exploring.

"These are the forbidden books of black magic." Radu pointed at the single shelf in the vault, containing around twenty to thirty books in all. Most of the vellum looked well worn—some even partially destroyed, torn, and burned.

"Have no doubt, dear brother—wars have been fought over these parchments which lay here in front of us. Men have willingly laid down their lives to keep these writings out of the wrong hands." Radu motioned to the table, and we both settled into the oversized chairs.

"Our father arrogantly holds an allegiance to both sides in this holy war which we fight. The Order of the Dragon is shrouded by lies and backed by massive numbers of followers who have been blinded by their own faith. Unfortunately, they did acquire possession of many of these forbidden writings in the year 1425 and our father, Draculesti, immediately put them to use.

"Then, miraculously, in 1427, the Ottoman Empire infiltrated The Order and retrieved the stolen documents."

Radu paused, took in a deep breath, slowly exhaled, and continued, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke.

"Draculesti had, unfortunately, already acquired the ancient curse of the dragon, transforming himself into something...un-human." He leaned closer to me and lowered his voice to a whisper, as if someone may be listening.

"Now, he is doomed to serve the evil master and dwell only in darkness. He is not a man anymore, but a creature of the night. He has also become a much more powerful entity."

My heart contracted. Fear-fused adrenaline spread through my body.

Seeing my reaction, Radu's eyes glinted...suddenly not as my younger brother, anymore, but now as a warrior.

"And he must be killed...by his first born son of royal blood. By you, brother. Prince Vlad the third."

My heart leaped up in my chest. I felt fine beads of perspiration form and roll down my forehead. My hands went moist and sticky, throat dry as desert sand.

"No...not me. I couldn't."

"Take your time with this," he said slowly. "This is not easy to take in all at once. Let me show you the most valuable book known in all of existence."

He went to the shelf and took out a well-worn vellum. The thin parchment's cover was torn, cracked, and stained black with soot, as if someone had tried to burn it out of existence. He placed the book on the table and opened the first tattered, yellowing page. The book was dated 666AD and written in Latin. Each letter looked like it had been scrolled in blood, as if Satan himself had scribed it in his own hand.

I'd heard about the use of black magic before, but had never seen a document that looked so evil. It appeared to be an ancient guide containing instructions on how to communicate with evil spirits. The cover showed men dancing with demons, wielding the same long sword.

The first few pages declared a stern warning to all who dare to gaze upon the incantations, condemning all non-believers who bore witness to be burdened with a black curse in this life, and on into the next.

The text then instructed that a ritual must be preformed only on the sixth day of the sixth month and must be carried out by exactly six men.

We turned another page. I saw a horrifying illustration of a woman lying on a stone slab. A man stood over her holding a dagger near a long slash under her chin. Her throat hung open, blood spilling out into a large black cauldron below. My hands shook as I jerked to the next page, but the images didn't get any better.

The next page showed the men now impaling their female sacrifice. A long wooden spear driven through her, in from the groin, and out from the mouth like a pig on a spit. The ghastly image immediately made me think of the way poor Mr. Iordache was murdered.

We turned the page.

The next drawing depicted six men sitting in a wide circle. One man held the dagger in his hands, carefully stirring the cauldron as thick smoke billowed up.

Another page...

The image showed a distinctive likeness of a demon rising inside the cauldron's swirling clouds of smoke. Looks of obvious horror flashed across the faces of the participants. Some of the men bore the furrowed brows of revulsion and confusion, others showed anguish, regret, even hysteria.

My hand trembled as I turned to the next page.

Another picture of the same scene, this one just slightly different. Six demons, each smiling wickedly, each ecstatic and demented in their own way were positioned around a cauldron, which now hung over a fire, all paying homage to a much larger man who sat on a full-sized throne.

The man on the throne had huge, animal-like red eyes and sharp teeth with long canine-like incisors. From his head grew great horns like that of a ram, and his muscled hindquarters led down to huge dragon-like talons and a thick cable of curling, barbed tail.

Sickened by the frightening images before me, I wanted to look away, but couldn't. The next page contained lines of Latin text—

€ЩMalos domini sui partem obscuro ejus traduxisset animæ in cor merenti candidatesΩ€

I translated the text aloud. "The evil master shall transfer part of his dark soul into the hearts of six kings."

The text went on to list the requirements for the ritual:

-Tantum malum a Domino ponat in terra animam viventem in dato tempore Regis et ille vocabit Lamia

-Lamia rex rursus tres tot obscuro impetus servi vult, tradens sanguinem victimæ super collum et consumentes. Victima illa regum iussa in vicem gerere cogatur

-Lamia debilitare virtutem regis, et aquam benedictam, et alia praesentia tantum vulnerati suum primogenitum, qui per sanguinem purus. Filius primogenitus, nisi ut vulnera mortem eius

I again translated aloud: "Our master's soul shall dwell only in these six hearts at any one moment in time and by the power of Lucifer they shall each be ordained, Vampire King.

"A Vampire King holds the power to command as many servants as he wishes by feeding thrice from their life force. A servant is forever compelled to carry out his King's every bidding.

The power of the Vampire King is weakened in the presence of the garlic plant and is held at bay by the touch of holy water.

He may only be mortally wounded by the hand of his first-born son who is of pure royal blood, or by the hand of another Vampire King.

The only way to kill a Vampire King is—

The page was torn.

The rest of the book gone.

Gooseflesh exploded across my back, prickling up to my neck. If this book was correct, then I was indeed the only man who could stop Draculesti. I looked at Radu. A dreadful silence permeated the vault. My body went numb as cold fear spread through my mind. I turned my head from side to side while quietly allowing this stunning revelation to pervade the depths of my soul.

I thought back to the dream I had about seeing my mother's ghost. In the dream, she had clearly said I was the only soul, living or dead, who could stop the monster. All the pieces of this sickening puzzle seemed to revolve around me—the lives of those I loved lay outstretched and vulnerable in the outcome.

My throat clutched up, painfully tight and dry and suddenly I couldn't get enough air into my lungs. I re-read the text, searching for another conclusion, any other possibility.

"Our father has become one of these monsters," I said. "I am his first-born son of pure royal blood. I alone, have the ability to kill him—and we have no idea how."

Radu nodded slowly. "This monster was our father, but that man is no more."

I thought about what it would take for me to return to my castle and murder my father.

"I can't do it!" I bolted to my feet. "He's too strong, and too wise. He'll kill me first!"

Radu's eyes softened, looking almost sorrowful, but his chin squared up with firm determination. "Don't worry, we have a plan that will give you all the help you need. Please, just trust me."

I took a deep breath and exhaled a long sigh across my sand-dry tongue.

"Tell me about your plan."

"I know where the final pages of this forbidden book are. We must find them. And to do so, we must leave immediately. The moon will be full, and they will be gathering. Tonight we ride to the city of Haskovo!"

Radu led me back through the castle and out to the stables, where two small horses stood.

He handed me a coarse gray tunic and a pair of torn peasant's trousers.

"The clothes of the local peasants will aid in blending in as one of their followers."

Astonished, I watched him throw down his royal blue satin robes and change into another set of tattered peasant clothes. I changed as well, and Radu loaded our saddles with small rations of food, water and supplies. We mounted the small horses and set off down the road, away from Adrianople.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

It was well after dark when we arrived in Haskovo. Radu pulled his reins suddenly to the side, leading his horse off the main road and onto a small trail that led us deep into the forest. Our progress slowed as the horses gingerly stepped through the thick jutting roots and over the jagged rocks that lay on our ever narrowing path.

We finally emerged in a large clearing beyond the thick tree line, and I could see a large fire burning brightly far off in the distance. A group of people, all wearing black, moved in rhythm, dancing around the fire's perimeter. We paused a good distance away from the gathering and stared across the open field, trying to make sense of what was happening. Radu led the horses back into the forest and secured them to a small, sturdy tree, all the while never seeming to take his eyes from the glowing crackle of orange flames.

A misty haze settled over the field and a bright full moon shone down from high above, as if watching our every move. Radu retrieved a satchel from his saddlebag and led the way as we walked toward the flames.

I heard the men chanting words and phrases in Latin. They danced around the flames in front of a large wooden stage, but I couldn't quite see their faces. As we got closer to the fire, I understood why. The participants were wearing white masks that glowed by the fire light, their heads swaying back and forth above thick black robes. The eerie vision caught me off guard and I stopped in my tracks. My pulse raced as my legs went rigid.

Radu opened the satchel and handed me a mask that looked similar to the ones being worn: shock white with two perfectly oval holes for eyes and a smooth ridge in the center, stretching into a long pointed beak-like nose. The mask came down around both cheeks but curved up just above the mouth line. Radu then gave me a thin black robe, which I slipped over my head, and then I placed the mask over my face. Radu did the same.

Then he whispered, "Vladdie, please listen carefully and do not speak to anyone until I instruct you to do so." He looked at me, his eyes lost behind the mask's blank expression. "They only allow their members to participate here, but we have no other choice."

An ominous premonition gripped me, and some place deep within my mind, I knew this would come to no good end.

Radu continued, "The book's lost pages which we seek are located in the catacombs beneath the Order of the Dragon's most heavily guarded church. It is known as The Church of Divine Wisdom, located in Constantinople. Our fearless spies have informed us that the lost pages are inside the crypt of King Sigismund, and his tomb is located just beneath the main alter."

Radu paused, his body straightening as he pulled in a long, deep breath...and then slowly exhaled. He gripped my arm, his strong fingers digging into my flesh, demanding my full attention. From behind the mask, his eyes glowed orange in the fire light. I heard the intensity rising in his voice and there could be no mistaking how passionately he felt about our situation.

"They caught and killed our informant shortly after he delivered the information of the location of the lost pages. He suffered a horrific death, but gave his life willingly to relay this last desperate opportunity—but time has drawn short. We have just received word that the Dark Order is planning to move the remains of King Sigismund to the town of Nagyvarad and destroy the lost pages of the forbidden text. Don't you see, Vladdie? My dear brother, please understand...this will surely be our last chance. The administrator of The Church of Divine Wisdom, a man called Mikhail—he is here tonight among the followers. I will find him and point him out for you. Then, I want you to approach him."

A jolt of panic shot through my body as I listened to Radu and realized what task he asked of me.

"Tell him you are the captured prince of Wallachia and you have just escaped. Tell him you are in great and urgent need of shelter and protection from the Ottoman Empire."

I nodded with a quick jerk of my head, trying to show as much courage as I could.

"He will surely take you to the church in Constantinople, and he will surely give you asylum there. All you need to do is wait until the members have all retired and then go down into the king's sarcophagus and steal the last pages of the forbidden text from within his crypt. I will follow closely behind you, waiting with the horses at the ready. As soon as you emerge with the text we ride together back home to Adrianople. I never said it would be easy, but there is no other way."

Even though I was trembling inside, I understood the logic behind his plan and I realized he was right—there was no other way.

"Okay, find Mikhail," I growled, "and let us retrieve these final pages of the forbidden book."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

As we moved toward the fire, the chanting grew louder.

"Ohhhhhmaaaaaaaaaah...ohhhhhhhmaaaaaaaaah..."

A rhythmic drum beat in the distance marked each step as we stole farther into the gathering.

Our disguises were firmly in place.

No one paid attention to us.

There looked to be around fifty to seventy participants, all mindlessly moving around a sturdy wooden structure that encircled the blazing fire. They were bending and leaning, swaying forward and back, up and down in syncopated rhythm while staring into the fire. We approached the flames and joined the fray.

A tall man appeared with a black hood draped low over his white mask. He strode through the parting crowd and walked onto the stage. He paused, head bowed at the crowd as they continued chanting but now turned their attention his way. His arms shot up with fingers splayed outward toward the deep purple-black sky and the crowd responded by dropping to their knees, remaining quiet as if in prayer.

Radu and I quickly did the same. I chanced a look at the man, no more than ten feet away from me, and noticed a tattoo on the inside of his wrist...a dragon stretched out in a circular shape, its sharp, dagger-like teeth tearing into its own tail.

"We gather here tonight to pay homage to our great lord," the man said.

The crowd responded with a low, drawn-out chant.

"Ohhhhhmaaaaaaaaaah...ohhhhhhhmaaaaaaaaah..."

"Our dark lord gives us his power and strength but requires his sustainment in return..."

"Ohhhhhmaaaaaaaaaah...ohhhhhhhmaaaaaaaaah..."

The chanting grew louder.

"Our dark lord gave his life for us...and in return we shall give life back to him..."

"Ohhhhhmaaaaaaaaaah...ohhhhhhhmaaaaaaaaah..."

Then, with a flourish of his hand, the tall man waved two men forward. They gripped the arms of a young girl and pulled her along. She was stripped of all clothing, save the black hood on her head. Her long, disheveled blonde locks spilled down around her shoulders. Her arms were bound behind her back and her supple white skin glinted in the angry firelight.

The first man reached out and pulled the hood from her head with a sudden jerk, revealing the stark white mask on her face beneath. I heard gasps run through the crowd as the second man tied her ankles together. He ran a round wooden pole down along her back and through the ropes around her hands and feet and then lifted her up horizontally, like a freshly hunted animal.

"Ohhhhhmaaaaaaaaaah...ohhhhhhhmaaaaaaaaah..."

I suddenly realized why the fire had a wooden structure on each side—they needed support posts. They were going to roast her alive.

"Ohhhhhmaaaaaaaaaah...ohhhhhhhmaaaaaaaaah..."

My stomach turned sour, bile shooting up into my throat. I watched as the two men carried the girl from the stage and toward the crackling flames. Moisture broke across my face, my palms went wet. I stood within only a few feet from the flames and the heat seemed to grow hotter by the second. My skin burned under my clothes.

The wooden supports on each side of the flames were about six feet high. The fire leaped around five feet. My heart went out to the girl's poor soul, yet what could I do...if I tried to stop them, I would ruin Radu's plan and all would be lost. The world would surely fall under the control of a diabolical society...and my father.

Bright orange firelight danced up and across the eerie masks of the men, making them look even more ghoulish. The blood drained from my head and my body seemed heavy and awkward as I watched them lift the young girl up over their heads. The firelight splashed across her bare torso, bathing her fair white skin with fingers of wicked flickering orange and with each measured step they took her body only glowed brighter.

"Ohhhhhmaaaaaaaaaah...ohhhhhhhmaaaaaaaaah..."

The sickening smell of burnt wood filled my nose.

My heart leapt to my throat.

"Stop!" I heard myself shouting as I tore off my mask and stepped in front of the two men, blocking their deadly progress. "My father is the king of Wallachia! He is a member of the Order of the Dragon, and I order you to stop this madness at once!"

The chanting ceased. Dead silence filled the air. The participants turned, staring at me from behind their frozen black eyes.

I stood alone, identity exposed, hands still held out in front of me, barring the path to the flames.

Within seconds, the men converged upon me. I looked over my shoulder for help from Radu, but saw him backing away, disappearing into the crowd. Someone grabbed my hands and tied them behind my back. I screamed, "I am the captured prince of Wallachia!"

The men paused momentarily, seemingly confused by this new information, not knowing what to do next, looking to each other for direction.

"I have escaped from the Ottoman Empire, and I require immediate asylum!"

Sudden pain exploded through the back of my head, then shot down through my body like I had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Stars burst in front of my eyes, and I sensed my body falling...dropping...collapsing to my knees...everything fading away...
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I awoke with my hands still bound behind my back, tethered to an iron beam on a cart behind a horse-drawn carriage. My head throbbed with searing waves of pain, my eyes watered and my vision blurred.

I eased my head from the dirty floor of the cart, recounting in my mind the horrible turn of events that occurred at the gathering, and as I looked to my left I saw the girl from the sacrifice lay next to me. Her hands were tethered behind her back as well, and her body was covered with a loose tunic.

She looked at me longingly, the corners of her mouth quivering into a grateful smile as tears welled in her big green eyes. She mouthed the words "thank you."

I tried to smile and nod back to her, but the pain and dizziness forced my head to the floor again. The last thing I remembered as darkness closed in was feeling great relief that she had lived through the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

When I awoke it was dark and the air had become very cold. The girl shivered in the corner of the cart, her eyes upon me...as if waiting for me to wake. She moved toward me until her body lay directly on top of mine, conserving our body heat. The cart rocked and bounced along the uneven road, and together we rolled forward through the night.

The journey lasted all through the next day, spilling deep into the late evening. We were given food and water along the way and then even a blanket for warmth. I tried to communicate with the girl, but found she knew very few words I could understand, mostly speaking a dialect of Slavic unknown to me.

Finally, the cart rolled to a stop, and I heard muffled voices, then footsteps. A man appeared in front of me and loosened the ropes that secured my hands to the cart.

"Good evening." His baritone voice resonated. He was tall and thin, with long silver hair running down the center his back and he wore a black robe displaying the white collar of a priest.

"I am Mikhail, the administrator of the Church of Divine Wisdom. I am told that you are indeed the captured Prince of Wallachia, Vlad the third. I am so pleased to hear that you have successfully escaped from the torment of the Ottoman scum and I assure you that you will be a welcomed guest here for as long as necessary." He paused for a moment as if in deep consideration and then continued. "It shall be our honor to offer you asylum here."

His words sounded welcoming, but his eyes remained cold and unmoving.

"I have also received word of the terrible event you witnessed in Haskovo, and the unacceptable treatment of this young woman." He cast his narrowed eyes down onto the half-naked girl on my left. I noticed his brows crease, chin jut out and expression drop into a disapproving scowl.

"Thank you, Mikhail. I am eternally grateful, and I am sure my father will reward you and your church handsomely for your most timely assistance."

"Yes," he ground out, "that is indeed what I have been told. We shall soon have word from your father—but for now, I offer you all the protection our great church can provide."

He reached out his hand to help me out of the cart. As he did I saw the dragon tattoo on the inside of his wrist in the same circular shape, the dragon's mouth consuming its own tail.

A snake-like smile was pasted across his face as he looked at me, and I saw the same cold and unforgiving expression I had seen at the fire and immediately recognized him as the man who had ordered the girl's sacrifice in Haskovo.

I jumped to my feet and helped the girl out of the cart. A slender monk appeared from behind two huge church doors and approached us. He wore a long brown robe that dropped to the ground and dragged across the dirt as he walked. His hood draped low over his eyes, covering his face.

"This is Roman. He will...see you to your quarters," Mikhail said, his voice now sounding sour and condescending. He motioned toward the brown-robed man, and, as he did, the frail-looking monk brought his hands up to his face and pulled the hood back with a sharp jerk.

My mouth dropped open as I immediately saw both of his eyes were missing, twisted knots of sunken scar tissue in their place seeming to blindly gaze back at me. The girl gasped with just the slightest whimper—the shocking sight apparently catching her off guard.

The monk replaced his hood and motioned us back toward the church entrance. "Come this way, please," he grumbled hoarsely, then turned and walked toward the church's huge vestibule. We followed close behind.

It was a magnificent structure. The ceilings exhibited a brilliant feat of architecture and engineering, soaring at least a hundred feet high. Enormous arches stretched overhead, showcasing wall-like panes of the multicolored stained glass. Long rows of seats lined the center of the room and led to a large, ornately decorated altar. Long tables held several rows of burning candles.

I quickly scanned the room for a possible access point into the catacombs—a crypt of some type, or even a basement—but saw nothing.

The altar was raised several feet upward from the nave and displayed stunning ribbons of golden inlay, glinting with jewels and adorned with bouquets of red and white flowers. On the far wall of the sanctuary, just behind the podium, a huge white cross hung with a likeness of a bloodied and dying Jesus affixed to it. I looked over again, this time past the altar, and noticed a small, almost hidden, archway with a recessed door.

The monk paused in front of me but did not speak. He motioned for us to follow him through the aisles. We approached the rear wall and he reached out, both hands making wide circular motions as he searched for the door. Finding it, he slid his hand to the side until he located the large iron doorknob and then opened the door, which led into a small, windowless room. A bed and a nightstand with a pitcher of water were the only things visible.

"Miss, if you would be so kind," he grumbled, gesturing with a sweep of his arm and without turning from the wall.

As he motioned for the girl to move forward, I saw the fear in her eyes escalate, presumably because we were to be separated. I nodded my approval, which seemed to reassure her and she entered the small room. The monk closed the door behind her and then led me down another aisle where he again felt for the wall and located a second door that led into another room. He motioned me forward and I acquiesced. As I stepped in he softly closed the door behind me...and I heard a bolt slide into place. My stomach dropped. Another trap.

I paused near the door, listening for any sounds outside my room, but heard nothing. I examined the heavy door from the inside, looking for some way to get out, but saw only the heavy doorknob on the left side and three strong hinges on the right. I paced across the small room, more adrenaline pumping into my system with each step.

I walked to the bed, examined everything on and around it. I pulled it away from the wall...looked behind and underneath it...but saw only the stone wall and floor. I glanced at the nightstand, which had two empty drawers, each with an ornately crafted and polished handle. I noticed the base of the drawer handle had a flat iron piece laying flush against the wood on the outside and attached by a square bolt from the inside. I grabbed the fixture and twisted it firmly with both hands. Hope sprung up in my chest when I found it moved slightly as I gripped it.

My pulse raced as I worked the bolt back and forth, pulling and pushing with all my strength until it finally began to turn. I continued unscrewing the thick bolt until the apparatus came apart. I fingered the metal piece in my hand and, to my surprise, found it strong and thin, resembling a flat edge tool.

I practically sprinted across the room to the door, bent to one knee, and drove the thin tool under the pin of the bottom hinge. As I worked it, the pin began to move upward and finally slid free from the slot. I repeated the process for each of the other two hinges and the door rocked slightly forward, then dropped down toward me. I gently eased it away from the brackets and the doorframe just far enough for my body to slide out. Once on the outside, I eased the heavy door back into place.

Moonlight glowed through the cathedral's huge stained glass panels, giving off a warm, reddish-green radiance that spilled across the church floor. I crouched as low as I could, then dashed across the aisle and into the arcade just as two huge centurion-like monks with long swords strapped across their backs emerged from the shadows and marched passed.

Ducking to the side, I hid against the base of one of the massive support pillars that led up to the huge arches overhead, and scanned the area for other wandering monks.

Seeing no one, I took one final breath, then walked across the nave, past the altar and approached the door at the rear of the sanctuary.

Beads of sweat rolled down my forehead as I ran through all the different scenarios I might imminently face. I tried my best to quiet my breathing as I reached out, placed my hand on the ancient doorknob and turned.

It clicked...then creaked open.

I pushed hard against the heavy door. A blast of cold air hit my face as I waited for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. A long flight of narrow stairs disappeared into the shadows. I grabbed a burning candle from one of the small tables and stepped forward over the threshold and sealed the door behind me.

The stairs spiraled down, deep into the earth and underneath the altar. Heavy moisture filled the air and the stone walls trickled with condensation. I finally reached the bottom where a small archway appeared in front of me, leading into a long hallway. As I walked forward, the ground was covered with moisture and each step I took landed with a small splash that echoed down the hallway.

I noticed several rows of arched cutouts, almost window-like in shape, carved into the stone. Something was neatly stacked inside but I just couldn't quite see exactly what.

I moved in closer and as my flickering candlelight splashed across the ledge, I squinted, trying to focus in the dim light and I saw... Skulls. Hundreds of skulls...stacked like books in a library—all staring back at me, playing on my fears, demanding me to leave.

I lowered my candle and hurried forward—passing cutout after cutout, all stacked with the dead—feeling their ghostly presence pressing down around me.

Finally, I saw the hallway ended in a high arch that separated off into another room. I silently approached the chamber and peered inside. In the center of the room lay an enormous stone sarcophagus held up, off the ground, by flat stone blocks. I paused momentarily under the high arches then stole closer to the crypt.

Holding the candle to the stone, I read the name scripted on the side. "King Sigismund." On each side of the crypt a full skeleton lay flat on the ground, each holding an ancient ceremonial sword across the bones of its chest as if protecting the king even in death.

The heavy stone cover on the crypt fit tightly in position. I placed the candle on the floor and put both hands on the heavy stone lid and pushed with all of my strength, but it wouldn't budge. After many attempts I stood back and scanned the room, my gaze eventually landing on the skeletons and the ceremonial swords they were clutching in their bony hands.

Kneeling, I gently pulled a heavy sword away from the king's guardian, watching as his hand bones crumbled into dust. I then wedged the blade under the crypt's stone cover. Once I had the blade underneath, I was able to lever the stone free and slide it several inches to the side. I picked up the candle, now carefully covering the small flame with both hands to be sure it didn't accidentally blow out, leaned forward and peered inside.

The king's body lay in the shadows of the tomb more than half decayed, the flesh still clinging to parts of his face. What remained of his lips curled into a distorted smile as if taunting me from beyond the grave. His arms were neatly folded across his chest and I saw he did indeed have something clutched in his grisly hands—a tattered and yellowing roll of parchment.

I reached in, pulling the torn and stained vellum as gently as I could, as if not wanting to wake the dead. It slid from his fragile grasp and into my candle's glow. I saw two pages of Latin writing. I bent closer, squinting in the dim light to read the worn and faded words on the first page.

Sicut lignum palum compellendum ex cor ejus

I quickly translated this to read, "by driving a wooden stake through his heart."

Knots first tightened, then burned in my stomach as I re-read the text. I thought of my father while trying not to visualize the horrible act of creeping into his lair, placing a stake on his heart, and slamming a heavy mallet down as he slept.

As I turned the page a voice rang out from behind.

"Good evening, how nice it is to have the chance to meet again so soon,"

My breath caught in my throat. I turned.

Mikhail's large frame blocked the doorway. "We have received word that you were not captured in battle by the Ottomans, but instead went with them willingly. I realized you might come nosing around down here, where you do not belong. Did you really think obtaining the forbidden text would be so easy?"

His voice was a low seething rasp, sounding more like a snake's hiss than a man's whisper. "Well, you are severely mistaken, and your remaining moments alive shall be spent in bitter regret of your foolish and treacherous actions."

Mikhail was flanked by a giant monk standing in the shadows just behind him. He stood a full foot taller than me, carrying what looked like twice my weight. I could see the hulking man holding a large iron spear high over his head, knees slightly bent, shoulders turned, cocked, and ready to throw.

His black eyes locked onto mine as if I were his hunted animal, his mouth tightened, lips pressed into a determined grimace. I froze in place, fully convinced he would impale me if I so much as flinched.

Mikhail walked over to me and slowly pulled the parchment and then the candle from my hands.

"I hereby condemn you to death Prince Vlad the third of Wallachia, as this act is one of high treason...and you have been proven to be a traitor. You will be executed immediately under the authority of the Dark Order."

His mouth hung slack, but his chin jutted out as he spoke. His raspy voice laced with the same condescension and finality that I had heard in my father's voice so many times since he had returned from war.

"These lost pages of the forbidden book shall never see the light of day again—and neither shall you."

He held the page over the candle and we watched as the ink caught fire, first bubbling up, then melting away. The flames sparked and snapped, then suddenly leaped high with a bright flash, the burning ambers catching the sleeve of Mikhail's long robe that hung from his wrists. The flame rose up, bathing the walls in a bright flash of orange light.

As I stood there fearing for my life, I knew I had only one chance to get out of the catacomb alive. I turned toward the crypt with a quick jerk of my shoulders, reaching for the hilt of the ceremonial sword as the two men attempted to put out the flames. I set my feet apart, bending my knees slightly into a low and balanced stance and in one continuous motion pivoted my hips and brought my shoulders around. I gripped the sword tightly with both arms held out straight, locked at the elbows and watched it gleam high overhead, arching through the flickering candlelit air.

The surprisingly high velocity of the stroke was startling, the power it generated awesome. The heavy weapon met its mark with a wet splatter. A sickening thwack! sound, like an axe chopping through chicken bone, echoed around the small chamber. The sharp blade landed squarely on Mikhail's neck just below his ear, slicing through skin, sinew and bone.

His head rolled backward, spinning to the side, falling to the floor. Mikhail's body remained standing in place with a fountain of blood surging straight up with each of his last heartbeats. I stood witness as it splattered across the walls, then dripped down like thrown black paint. The candle in Mikhail's hand extinguished in a bright flash, and his body fell to the floor, taking all the light with it.

The last thing I saw as the room plunged into darkness was the huge monk again lifting his iron spear over his head. I dove to the floor just as the weapon came hurtling toward me. Iron, smashing into stone, echoed through the inky black air with an unnervingly loud cl-clank-cl-clank!

Then everything went stone silent.

I jumped to my feet and swung my sword through the sheer darkness. I could hear the whssssh of air sliding over my blade as it missed its target. I spun around, pressing my body flat up against the cold, wet chamber wall and stood there motionlessly, listening for any clue as to the location of the murderous man who hid so close to me.

I heard nothing but the slight sound of his breath. He lurked so near I could feel his body heat, but couldn't risk another blind swing. Time seemed to slow down as if somehow watching, waiting, wanting to see what would happen next.

Silence prevailed for several moments, neither willing to reveal our location. I carefully reached into my pocket and retrieved the piece of flat metal that I used to pry apart my door's hinges. I took a deep breath and nearly coughed, smelling the coppery foulness of death in the air. I paused for a quick second, then gently tossed the metal piece onto the floor a few paces in front of me.

I heard the sudden rustle of robes coming forward and knew the giant monk had fallen for my trap. Again, I swung my blade blindly through the cool darkness with every bit of strength and power I could generate. And again I heard the sickening thwack! of sharp metal on bone, but this time it seemed to make even more solid contact than the first. I heard the splashing gurgle of fresh blood spilling, then smelled the renewed acrid stench of death in the air.

I jerked my sword back, but it stuck, frozen in place like an axe driven too deeply into a heavy block of wood. I tried not to wonder which part of the enormous man's body had received the blow as the bloody sword handle slipped from my damp grasp.

Giving up on the weapon, I turned and stumbled back toward the door, reaching out with both hands like the blind monk who had earlier showed us to our rooms, searching for the door with his hands.

I inched through the darkness, feeling the rough hewn walls, then the smooth cold skulls, until I found my way back to the stairs, and finally, I could see light again, glowing from the stained-glass panels above.

I dashed to the top of the stairs searching for an escape route and saw an open window high on the wall near the altar...and immediately decided what to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I sprinted past the altar, across the nave, and back through the aisles of seating until I reached the room where the girl was held, then unbolted the latch and threw open the door.

The poor young girl, sentenced to be burned alive just days ago, shivered in the corner under a tattered scrap of blanket. Her terrified eyes widened as she looked up, then eased a bit upon recognizing me. When I motioned for her to follow, she jumped to her feet and hurried to my side.

I directed her across the nave and past the altar to the open window above our heads, hoisting her up and through the opening. Then I quickly pulled myself through and, jumping to freedom, I landed next to her on the soft earth with an awkward thud. We paused in place as I searched the large expanse of the church's exterior grounds. I drew in a deep breath and exhaled a much-needed sigh of relief as I spotted Radu.

He was crouching in the high grass just beyond the forest line, holding the reins of both horses as he stared back at us. After a moment, he mounted one steed and charged across the field. I picked up the girl in my arms, gently pushed her onto the horse, then leapt on behind her. Seconds later, the three of us were safely moving through a maze of small tree-lined trails that ran through the forest and away from the great city of Constantinople.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

We arrived at an Ottoman stronghold hidden in the nearby countryside. Radu had arranged for the sultan's men to be waiting for us if we were lucky enough to make it out alive. Upon seeing us, all the men stood, clapping and cheering, knowing full well what it would have meant if I had failed. They promised to return the girl safely to her home and provided us with a horse-drawn carriage, driver and platoon of armed warriors to protect us on our journey back to the Ottoman castle in Adrianople.

I told Radu that I had indeed read the final page of the forbidden book just before Mikhail destroyed it. I told him the only method of killing a vampire, and then collapsed in exhaustion.

We both slept well that night and rose early the next morning, setting out on a long journey home and guarded by twenty of the Ottoman Empire's finest warriors.

I sat quietly staring out the carriage window, trying to get the grisly images of Mikhail's headless body out of my mind, when Radu spoke up.

"Over the next several months we shall arrange for you to be delivered back to your father's castle," he explained. "You shall supply him with new information that he will find most critical. This is important for two reasons. First, it should put you in his good graces, at least for the time being. And second, it will influence him to do exactly what we want."

I drew in a deep breath, feeling my chest tighten, then exhaled, nodding my agreement as he continued.

"Tell your father that you have overheard Sultan Murad ordering a convoy to transport a small fortune in golden forints through the marshlands of Balteni. He will, of course, want to bring his forces down through the marshes—and there, an ambush will be awaiting him."

I'm sure Radu noticed the strained expression on my face ease as I listened, because he quickly added, "It will take some time for the Ottoman army to secretly amass our forces there in Balteni, but once we do have them in place, we will outnumber him ten to one. I will make the journey as well, and I will be waiting to meet you there."

He paused, taking a deep breath and looking directly into my eyes. I could feel his intensity suddenly shift, becoming even more determined now.

"Together we shall commit this deed, turning the curse of darkness back into light. There, in the marshes, we will capture this monster and you will kill it."

He exhaled a long sigh, and I watched his eyes soften a bit.

"You will have all the help you need. It's our best chance. We must try."

His stare seemed to beseech my very soul. Somehow, I felt I could trust him more than any other. Maybe because we shared the same blood, or maybe because I knew in my heart that my father had become something evil. I nodded again, acknowledging my agreement.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The next few months passed quickly. I took my time to thoroughly rest and recuperate. I also had the opportunity to have many further discussions with my newfound brother, and I discovered we had much in common. I felt a strong bond growing between us and the time together gave me great joy. I had found another family member and I had found a true friend.

Finally, after four restful months, Radu informed me that the Ottoman forces were in place in the marshland and waiting for my arrival. He said I must travel to Wallachia at dawn, back to the gloomy castle I used to call home.

When I awoke the next morning, a royal carriage suited for the Sultan himself waited in the courtyard. Radu handed me a bag containing a strong wooden stake, a mallet, a small vial of blessed holy water and a braided necklace of flowering garlic vines. He told me that all of these things were intended only for emergencies, in case something went wrong, and I hoped in my heart that his intuition would hold true.

I bid Radu and Amir a heartfelt goodbye and boarded the coach. The wheels rolled smoothly across the well-manicured grassy courtyard as the horses trotted into the crisp morning sun. We rolled down the same roads that had brought me here many months ago, but this time I traveled like royalty and for a very different reason.

Memories from my old home in Wallachia came flooding back to me. If our plan succeeded, I would take the place of my father as ruler of the land and take Helena's hand to be my queen. My heart ached miserably as I thought of her. My eyes missed her beauty, my heart yearned to hear of her safety. I knew the journey would take at least seven days and each day I would miss her more. The journey did pass slowly, but we eventually arrived as planned.

The sun burned brightly overhead as my coach pulled up to the castle's exterior wall. The sky seemed to be an endlessly deep sea of blue. The great drawbridge lowered to greet us, stretching over the shallow moat, one click at a time, then landed on our side of the water with a ground-shaking thud.

I peered across the wide open space of the castle grounds unsure of what to expect for a welcome-home reception, but what I saw immediately unnerved me. Except for Macgregor, the courtyard lay ominously empty. Not one man or woman except my caretaker waited to greet me on my grand arrival home.

The coach came crunching to a stop. I opened the elegantly hand-carved wooden door of the coach myself and stepped out. I turned and thanked the driver, and with a crack of his whip the coach sped away. I watched as the drawbridge ticked its way back up after he had passed, then bolted securely in place by the watchtower guards.

I had no luggage with me, no belongings except the small bag of emergency weapons given to me by Radu and the clothes on my back, but I didn't care. The only thought in my mind was to find Helena as soon as possible. I needed to be sure she was safe, explain what happened and hope she could forgive me. It seemed like only yesterday that I had seen her last, touched her skin, kissed her cheek. I decided to immediately go to her home and explain my long absence, beg her forgiveness.
CHAPTER THIRTY

Macgregor stepped up to me with a firm embrace, then looked me up and down with care, as if checking my body for injuries.

"Welcome home, and top o'the morn to ya, lad. How have you been, young Vladdie?" he said with the affably gruff voice that made me feel immediately more at ease.

"I'm doing quite well, thank you, Macgregor," I said, realizing it seemed as though I had been gone for years instead of just months.

"I must admit I have been in communication with Amir Hassan and your brother, Radu. I am sorry I couldn't tell you sooner." He kept his voice low and his eyes darted around the empty courtyard.

"Are you are aware of our plan?"

"Yes," replied Macgregor. "Amir and I have formulated this plan together. You just lead the king to believe one small bit of false information. Listen and remember: A small convoy of Ottoman businessmen will be transporting a fortune in golden forints across the marshland near Balteni. The supply of gold would serve to greatly replenish his majesty's depleted army. He will certainly form a party to intercept the convoy and steal the gold, leaving him vulnerable, leading him right into our ambush."

"I will do what you ask of me, Macgregor, do not worry." I smiled, staring directly into his ancient-looking eyes. "I must go now to find my love, the fair Miss Helena."

I watched his brows rise up as if startled, then a deep sadness appeared in his tired eyes. His face went gray, as if washed with remorse and a sudden dread came over me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

"What is it, man? You look as if you've just seen a ghost."

He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could...I saw her.

Helena had stepped out through the castle's main archway. My heart leaped in my chest as she walked into the courtyard toward where we stood. Her rounded belly protruded from her blouse, which hung open at the bottom. It was obvious that she was with child.

Her eyes seemed cold and her once healthy face now looked sickly and severely emaciated as if she had stopped eating altogether. Sharp, angular shadows cut under her protruding cheekbones and a repugnant expression hung low on her waxen face—a face that held no smile for me.

"Congratulations, prince," she said with the flat, emotionless tone of a stranger. Her words burning in my stomach like a knife wound. "You shall be a father in no less than three moons." Her voice, like her manner, seemed cold and listless. Her eyes looked dull and clouded, staring off into the distance. To my horror I could see a new set of open puncture marks on her neck right above the first set. They were red, and swollen while the first set looked smaller and well faded.

My heart sank hard, like a rock falling from the sky, plummeting into an angry broiling sea below. Unexpected emotions tore through me. The thrill of finding that the woman I loved was having my child was dashed by the pain of realizing that she was in imminent danger of attack by the monster I once knew as my father.

I walked over to embrace her, but she turned away, her eyes still unfocused and staring out into the nothingness of the empty sky.

"You are looking well," she mumbled, then turned and walked toward the castle without looking back.

My eyes stung and my lip jerked and twitched. I thought about the man who had done this to her and red-hot anger coursed through my veins, clouding my mind...and I stood there, helplessly watching her walk back into the castle...away from me.

"Macgregor, she has been bitten twice already," I growled. "One more attack and she will be lost to me forever. I shall not let that happen. He'll have to kill me first!"

I searched Macgregor's face for some explanation. His eyes did not show sadness any longer, but now seemed to share my rage.

"We shall not let him do this again," he ground out through a clenched jaw.

"Again?" I questioned "What do you mean 'again'?"

We stood in the center of the expansive courtyard, no one else near us for several hundred paces in any direction, but Macgregor still craned his neck toward the castle then nervously up to the guards in the tower before his attention came back to rest on me.

Macgregor's eyes drew into thin angled spikes, tight under a sharply furrowed brow.

"Your mother," he said with the slightest quiver. "Years ago the king of Moldavia brought her here for an arranged marriage. She had never met your father until their wedding day. On that night, the marriage was consummated, and you were conceived. Your father then went away to battle. He didn't return for two years."

Macgregor's words sounded heavy with vengeance.

"In that time, when he was away, I never left your mother's side. I helped her give birth to you and then treated you as my own. Then your father returned, and soon I noticed puncture marks on your mother's neck. I wasn't sure what they meant, so I went out in search of someone who could give me some sort of an explanation. I soon found Amir Hassan traveling through one of the outlying villages. He was good enough to describe the curse and the meaning of the third attack. But by the time I had returned, she also had a second set of puncture marks on her neck. The battle against the Ottoman Empire raged on and soon your father went away again to continue the fighting."

His eyes now grew round with doubt and regret. I could tell he held vitally important news for me, something he may have wanted to tell me much sooner, something tormenting him over the many years, digging away at him like a thorn tearing a hole into back of his mind.

"I told her what I had learned about the meaning of the curse. She was devastated, confused, and, to make things more complicated, she was pregnant—with my son this time, Radu."

My eyes shot wide.

"We had made the difficult decision to wait until Radu was born and then flee shortly after. I fell deeply in love with your mother...and she with me. Soon after he was born, we found out the battle had been won, and our victorious Wallachian army would be returning to celebrate."

His eyes now welled up, filling with the long held back tears from another time.

"Sh-she..." he stammered, now breathing harder. "Jumped...from the very perch which you have made your own."

And with that, tears dripped from his eyes, staining his cheeks with the shining streaks of suppressed pain. His face contorted into a forced smile, and then he buried his head on my shoulder and sobbed. I thought of how many times I had stood there looking down from my perch, over the castle's expansive drop, like it was my second home. I thought of how far she would have had to fall before she met the jagged rocks below.

My blood broiled and shock and anger raged through me. Thoughts of revenge coursed through each vein in my body as I tightened my grip on the bag of weapons Radu had given me.

"Vengeance shall be ours, my friend," I whispered to him. "I think it's time we took action."

"No, Vladdie! Please, you mustn't be chang'n things now, lad. An ambush is our best chance. I know how you must be feel'n right about now, but you just can't do it alone lad. It won't help anything with you being dead, son. We need to stick with our original plan. Give me your word now, please. I'm begging of ya!"

I drew in a full breath and considered his words, "Yes, of course. Not to worry, my friend. We will stick to the plan. I'll convince my father to intercept the convoy. Just make sure the men are ready and waiting out in the marshlands."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I turned away from Macgregor and walked under the great archway that led into the castle's entrance hall. There in front of me stood my old chambermaid, Camelia. Her hair, once a long, deep Mahogany, had turned shock white and was pulled back, tied over her head like a towering crown of ivory. Her thin eyebrows were drawn in and down over narrow black eyes with a tight grimace pasted across her angry grey face.

"I see you are home Prince Vlad, that's very well," she hissed, "You will go to your quarters at once and remain there until the evening meal is served." She wasn't even attempting to conceal the contempt in her voice, then her lips lifted up high, smiling wider, exposing long white fangs that dripped with thick strands of saliva. "If you are one minute late you get nothing!"

I felt my eyes go wide as I back pedaled away, staring in horror at the woman I had known for so long...and at what she had now become.

As I turned away, heading to my quarters I noticed the full moon hung low in the eastern sky, just beginning its nightly campaign to battle against the fading daylight. Its soft glow was just beginning to permeate the rich purple-blue sky as I bathed and changed. My mind raced forward—to a destination unknown to me. I decided that I must speak with Helena at once. I knew how distraught she must have been feeling, and I knew how much anger she felt toward me for getting her involved with the man that had attacked her twice already.

However, I also knew she would be thrilled to hear of our plan to kill the monster out in the marshland with the help of the Ottomans. She would be happy again. She would realize that if our plan succeeded, she would be forever free from his torment. She would become my wife, the new Queen of Wallachia, and we would be happy together. I got up and hurried through the castle looking for her, but I first spotted Macgregor.

"Macgregor, have you seen Helena? I would like a word with her."

"No Vladdie, I haven't," he whispered. "You may be want'n to check her quarters. She is staying in the guest quarters up on the third level."

I turned and dashed up the stairs as they wound around and up to the castle's higher stories. Desperate to find her, I searched each room, but to no avail. Frustrated, I decided to go up to my familiar high perch and have an overdue look over our great land.

I walked higher up the spiral stairs and under the great stone archway above me and there, I saw her.

She was standing against the railing, facing out into the vastness of the chasm below, staring up at the massive Transylvania Alps. She wore a beautiful white and blue satin gown, and I watched as its fine material fluttered gently in the cool breeze pouring over the castle's highest wall. I recognized the gown as the one she wore when we first dined at the castle, the night we had consummated our love.

"Helena!" I shouted. "I must speak to you immediately. I have urgent news." And I started toward her.

Just as I approached, she looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes were sunken and forlorn and I could see fresh red blood dripping from her neck, glistening in the young moonlight. She leaned forward...letting her body go limp over the rail just beyond my grasp.

My heart seemed to fall down after her as I watched her dropping through the air. Her shrill scream echoed off the castle walls as she fell over the hundreds of feet of sheer cliff. I watched her body fall away through the fog like a child's doll, toward the hard, jagged rocks below.

I wrenched around, away from the railing, tears streaming down my face as I blindly stumbled back to my quarters...hatred tearing at my soul, twisting my thoughts about what now must be done.

The silver-white moon had now risen ominously high in the eastern sky. From my window it looked like a giant glowing medallion of courage meant only for me. I placed my weapons on the bedside table under its watchful white beams. I wrapped the thick strands of flowering garlic vines over my shoulders and around my waist, and then slid my silk tunic on top.

As the tears rolled down my face, I thought of Helena and what the monster had made her do...and I saw visions of red.

Fury and lust for vengeance propelled me forward. I focused on the wooden stake, feeling the hungry, wanting eyes of an insane predator overtaking my thoughts. I gazed down, sharpening the wooden stake with my dagger again and again, all the while feeling my sanity slowly sliding away with each of the slivers of wood that fell from my knife. My usual thoughtful mind had vanished, replaced only by the white-hot rage rising from within.

I knew I would not be able to enter his lair straight away, because the doors to his quarters were always bolted closed...but there was one other way.

I went to the window of my quarters and looked out. I could see the only window that led into his room down below. It was directly below mine. I took a long rope from my tool closet and laid it flat on the floor, tying one end tightly around my massive bed frame. Once I was certain it would hold my weight, I lowered the rope down, inch by inch, being careful not to alert any of the castle's watchmen or to awaken the evil monster dwelling below. I slid the stake and the mallet into my belt and began to quietly descend, like a python slithering down a thick vine, silently approaching an unsuspecting rodent.

I appeared in his window within mere seconds. I sat perched on the high windowsill at the far end of his room, feeling the murderous eyes of a gargoyle bulging away from my twitching face.

Right beneath the window stood a large armoire with a wide top, giving me an easier path in as I crept downward to the floor. Shafts of moonlit courage poured down through the window, leading me forward. I saw a large coffin sitting open on a high platform in the middle of the room. I approached it as carefully as I could, controlling the sound of each slow, steady breath.

I pulled the mallet from my belt as I placed my right foot on the first stair that led up to the elevated coffin. My stomach tightened in anticipation of what the next few moments held...

I took a second step up to the platform, and as I did, I slowly pulled the stake from my belt. The sticky wood felt damp in my hands. Another step and I heard the wood beneath me creak and groan under my weight, but I continued. As I neared the top, I grasped tightly to the wooden stake and raised the mallet high up over my head, stepped forward, adrenaline spiking...

Empty.

I took in a long breath and exhaled a slow sigh of relief, trying to clear my head, trying to make sense of what I saw. If his coffin was empty, where had my father gone?

Then it occurred to me in a sudden flash of memory. The girl in the forest...the dilapidated house...the coffin...and I suddenly knew exactly where he was. I should have known it before.

I charged to the door and released the heavy iron cross bar, casting it to cold stone floor and set off down the hall and out through the common area. I raced across the courtyard and out to the stables, where I found my trusted stallion, Helios. I led the huge beast from his stall, leaped onto his back without wasting a second's time to prepare a saddle, and thundered away from the castle, pushing my steed to his very limits, racing straight through the thick wall of mist guarding the forest.

Soon the road descended into a murky vale and narrowed at a small wooden bridge. I recognized the place where I had first seen the injured girl. A thick carpet of moisture rippled and swelled across the path in front of me like a densely simmering stew, splashing and bubbling up with each of Helios' footfalls, then swirling away, dissipating into the darkness.

I slowed Helios to a stop and quietly dismounted, wishing I had taken the time to bring a lantern. I took a deep breath, let out a rush of air through barely parted lips, and stepped in beyond the tree line. The forest seemed to close in on me. A heavy blanket of foliage hung down from above me, blocking the moonlight like thick black canvas across my eyes. The path was now so dark I could only inch my way forward with outstretched hands. I recognized the well-worn path and cautiously progressed down the slope and soon emerged from the canopy's shroud and into the open space that led down to the dilapidated house.

The moon's full glow lit up the swirling silver mist at my feet. No light was emanating from the house this time as I crept up the rickety front steps. The door stood partially ajar. I pushed it forward and silently entered. Once inside, I stood in the foyer for a moment hoping my eyes would adjust to the gloom, but they didn't.

I walked down the hall listening to the floor painfully groan under my weight. I reached the first door, gently turned the knob and the door swung open. An elegant black coffin raised three steps up on a platform lay against the far wall and a large open window directly above the casket allowed the moon's giant, watchful face to glow through.

Pushing my dread to the side, I stepped forward.

I placed my foot on the first step of the platform, taking great care to not make a sound, then paused in place while my nightmare intensified. I took another breath, pulled the stake and mallet from my belt, and crept forward over the second and third step. My heart thudded away in my chest as panic scratched and clawed its way into my mind.

I placed the stake and the mallet in my trembling left hand and gently lifted the coffin lid with my right. As I did, I heard a low, agonizing errrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeek! as the lid reached its fully open position.

I looked in and saw the face of my father. He looked so peaceful, lying there with both hands crossed on his chest, eyes closed. My hands shook violently, and I feared I would surely drop my weapons. Realizing the sound of my pounding heartbeat might be loud enough to wake him, I quickly placed the sharpened point of the stake on the dead center of his chest and lifted the mallet high above my head, barely pausing as I took in a final deep breath...

His eyes suddenly snapped open and locked powerfully onto mine. His hand jerked forward, grabbing my wrist, twisting sideways and wrenching the stake from my grasp. A wicked, toothy smile grew across his face, his long incisors, sharp and bright white. Fresh bloodstains smeared around his mouth.

"Good evening, son," he hissed. "I have been expecting you."

I didn't have the stake in place, but I still had the mallet raised high. I brought it down hard toward his twisted smile. He moved to his head to the side just at the last second and the hammer slammed down into his left cheek with a thwack!

His eyes closed momentarily, only to snap back open in a focused rage. The blow had afforded me just a few seconds. I snatched up the stake that lay flat on his chest, and struggled to raise the mallet again. But it was too late. With one powerful backhand, he knocked me off my feet. I tumbled head over heels down the short flight of stairs. I landed with a thud, my head making solid contact with the hard wooden floor.

At that moment, I knew all was lost. I had failed Helena.

As I looked down, beams of moonlight streamed across the floor, illuminating the spot where I had landed, encircling me with white light in the shape of the window's arch. I sprang up, looking back over my shoulder, through the glowing moonlight, watching him rise from his coffin as if levitating by a force unknown to man. Then he dove straight toward me faster than I had ever seen a human move.

His cape flew high above and behind him as he descended upon me I raised the wooden stake upward, thrusting it forward, but he moved faster. He grabbed onto the stake with an iron-strong grip, trying to wrench it away as his sheer strength drove me to the floor. Now lying flat on my back with my fingers still clenched around the wooden column, I fought him for control of the weapon.

He was too strong and I knew he would eventually overpower me. He opened his mouth and I watched in horror as his long white fangs lowered around my neck. I heard his evil hiss just at my ear, felt his warm breath on my throat...

Miraculously, he arched back in anger when he spotted the garlic braids. I continued to hold the stake with all my strength as I watched its sharp point begin to turn slowly toward me. My arms shook violently, ready to give out at any time. The weapon began slowly inching closer to my face. I felt the point suddenly shift, now pressing down into the middle my throat, cutting through the soft, flesh under my chin. Using all my strength, I held back the weapon the best I could, but he continued driving it downward, choking off all breath as it ground downward, pressing harder and harder into the center of my neck. I could taste coppery blood running down the back of my throat. He had damaged my airway. I was now limited to only the use of air already in my lungs.

I was suffocating. His iron grip was immovable.

I bucked up like a spooked horse, catching him with too much of his weight leaning forward. He fell off me and rolled forward, flipping over on his back. I gently pulled the stake from my throat and rolled over, spitting out mouthfuls of blood and sucking in big breaths of fresh air.

He leaped to his feet, hissing like an enraged evil demon. He raised his cape high and across his face, showing me only his seething red eyes as they peered out at me. Then he came forward.

Jumping to my feet, I retrieved the vial of holy water from my belt, pulled the cork out with my teeth just as he charged toward me. I flung the liquid forward at close range and then dove to my left. I heard the blessed water splash loudly across his face and into his eyes.

His skin instantly started sizzling and smoking. He lifted his hands to his face, turning away from me, then doubling over in pain. I could hear the crackling sound getting louder as he writhed back and forth on his feet, giving me a few needed seconds to think. I slowly backed away seeing the effect of the holy water had begun to wear off and the smoke clearing away.

I paused in place, realizing I was severely outmatched and made the decision to attempt a quick escape, but unfortunately, he stood directly in front of me, blocking the doorway.

I dashed back up the three stairs of the platform and leaped onto the coffin, grabbing the high moonlit windowsill while pulling my body up and out of the window.

But I was too late. He was right behind me in a flash, standing on the coffin and reaching up. He gripped both of my legs and pulled me backward, throwing me like a rag doll back to the floor.

I landed hard on my back, again with a painful thud, this time seeing stars spinning around my head. I turned and looked up at him, still standing on the soft padded interior of the raised casket and from my vantage point directly in front of the huge open window. The bright moonlight glowed behind him, transforming his body into a black silhouette. He raised his cape open wide on both sides, now making him look like a giant black bat, preparing for a deadly flight.

Still lying flat on my back with only seconds to live, I searched for a weapon...any weapon. I suddenly realized I was still gripping the stake tightly in my right hand. He turned toward me and dove down through the air above me with an eerily shrill scream...and I lifted up the stake to defend myself.

As he landed, I heard a horrendous tearing sound. The long wooden stake braced against the strong wooden floor and ripped through his heavy coat. It sliced its way through his chest then drove directly through his black heart, protruding from his back. His cape momentarily draped over the wooden point, but then slid off to the side, exposing stark red streaks, dripping down, glistening in the soft glow of white moonlight.

His eyes lit up in horror, then went blank as if searching for something off into the distance as he slowly rolled off me and to the side.

I froze in place as he began to writhe to the left, and then the right, convulsing as if in great pain. He arched his back and his muscles seemed to go tight and painfully rigid. His mouth suddenly sprung open much wider than it should have and his jaw began stretching grotesquely downward and away from his face, dislocating and falling away, save one thin sinewy ribbon of flesh.

In abject horror, I stared at his mutilated body...a black mass began to appear where his mouth and jaw used to be.

The swirling force transformed into the shape of a slowly rotating cylinder, like an endlessly deep cone of black matter. It gave off an eerie whirring sound as it turned faster and faster, mesmerizing me with its awesome power, and I saw a large, bright red figure forming inside of the dark mass. The silhouette of a great horned demon appeared in front of me. Its huge red eyes locking me into a trance while hundreds of wickedly hissing snake-like tongues shot forward, flicking around at the exposed skin on my face. It beckoned me forward and the black mass pushed closer. The sound grew louder, its power growing stronger as I lay there frozen by fear, wrought with the dread of new escalating horror.

A vortex formed around the figure now hovering directly above me. I pushed myself away from the entity, kicked my feet wildly and slid my body backward, but barely moved. I was caught in a paralyzing web of evil, its presence closing in all around me, encircling me with its raw power.

Then it was at my mouth, prying it open as I violently twisted on the ground. I arched my back and fought it with all of my strength, but it was too strong. It forced open my jaws and I felt the living being entering through my mouth, choking me as the thing crawled down my throat.

I began to feel noxious and dizzy, like it was eating away at my soul. As the darkness closed in, I knew I would surely die in the next few moments.

Then, as I looked up, I saw the form of my mother hovering above me, smiling down and all-knowing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I awoke lying on my back next to my dead father. I sprang to my feet, feeling surprisingly well. I ran to the door, down the hall and back through the forest where Helios stood patiently waiting. I untied him from the oak tree and we galloped back to the castle. I dashed across the courtyard, into the castle and back to my quarters, where Macgregor sat waiting with the strained eyes of a worried father.

"It is done," I said, breathing hard and panting for air, yet feeling a wry smile creep across my lips. "I have killed the monster."

Macgregor stood silently, staring at me in disbelief, his forehead glistening in the moonlight.

I didn't tell him about the living black mass that had entered my body. I didn't tell him that I felt stronger and more powerful than I ever had before. I didn't tell him that I suddenly had the urge to tear into his throat and drink my fill...

DRACULA BEGINS...

~~~~~

Sneak peak of

DRACULA REIGNS

by Jackson Stein

(continue on to sample the first three chapters)

DRACULA REIGNS

### CHAPTER ONE

FEBRUARY 1, 1448

Cutting across the long strip of sod in the center of our wide-open courtyard, I headed out to the stables with one hand gripping my sword's hilt. It was just after midnight and the crisp night air filled my lungs. The full moon glowed like a white-hot stone, burning its way through an all black sky.

I stepped up onto the carriage where my good friend, Mr. Mcgreggor, sat waiting. The great big Scotsman's mane of scarlet caught the moonlight in a blood-red halo. He gave me a deep nod, both slow and grim. Shadows hewed the old man's face, the interplay of light exposing deep creases of time as they etched their way in around his eyes. The familiar crack of his whip started the horses moving forward with a jerk of sudden motion. Our carriage rolled into the long tunnel that led out to the castle's huge wooden drawbridge, wheels clattering against the hard stone. Just beyond the bridge, a wall of fog stood guard at the foot of the forest. It stared back as if alive and hungry, patiently waiting for us as we rolled toward it.

I produced a well-worn leather satchel from a bag I had slung across my shoulder and carefully placed it on the carriage seat next to me, slowly exposing the lethal contents inside—one strong wooden stake and one heavy wooden mallet. I slid both weapons inside my belt and covered them with my black silk tunic.

I couldn't see more than twenty feet of road ahead of us, but Mcgreggor knew the terrain better than any man in the land. I sat back, watching the gray moisture slide by from the carriage window. Thick, arm-like tendrils of swirling mist reached up from the ground, gripping our coach as we pressed forward into the murk.

The dead forest was a place known and feared by the villagers. The old myth held that if you entered under a full moon, the thing that hunted there...shall be waiting.

But that legend had changed.

The creatures now grew bolder, venturing out from the darkness of their hidden lairs across our great land. They crept into our towns and villages under sinister yellow moonlight to snatch our young women from their very beds as they slept at night. The number of missing villagers increased, as did the roiling dread in the minds of my people. Many were starting to panic, some moving away to the bigger cities if they had the means to do so. As the Prince of Wallachia, I must act to protect our people. I could no longer stand by and watch as this madness unfolded in front of me.

An old woman called Griselda was said to live deep inside the forest, just outside of Targoviste. The people in the nearby towns, driven by fear, had long ago run the poor woman out. They called her a witch, but my father once referred to her as the only living prophet in our land. He even admitted to consulting with her in the past. Now, as the lives of our good people were threatened with each approaching moon, I must find her and seek her wise council.

We rolled along an open thoroughfare until we came to a fork in the road. One path led straight to our capital city of Targoviste, the other veered to the right, where a narrow trail climbed up a steep grade, vanishing under a dark canopy of thick trees and thriving foliage. I stood up in the carriage and thrust my head out from the small side window. "Mcgreggor!" I shouted over the rustling wind and clamor of rattling wheels. "Turn here!" I yelled. "Into the dead forest."

"Whoa there, lads," he called to the four horses in front of our carriage, pulling back on the reins. We came sliding to a stop at the center of the split.

"No, Vladdie, we can't, son. Why would we be wantin' to do a foolish thing like that, laddie? And not ever at night! Even during the daylight hours, no one enters that forest without a small army of soldiers." I could sense the fear in his rising voice. "Those trees are cursed, they say. The devil himself dwells there. He'll cast a spell onto all those who dare enter. Vladdie, we can never go into that forest until the sun rises...those who do, won't be comin' out...ever."

I swung the carriage door open and stepped down to the dirt. I walked to the front of the coach and looked up at my old friend. "We must find the prophet called Griselda. Her cottage is just there." I pointed into the sea of shadows created by the huge gnarled trees blanketing the hilly terrain. "They say she is a seer of great wisdom and I need that wisdom now. The future of our people may hinge on the very words she speaks."

"Can't you see, lad? That's what I'm tryin' to tell ya. There won't be any future if we go into that forest...not at night...please, I'm beggin' ya, Vladdie."

I slowly pulled my long sword from its sheath. It offered the smooth metallic ring of hard iron sliding on leather, as if pulled across a wet sharpening stone. I held the blade up in the moonlight, showing Mcgreggor its fine glinting edge. "This is all the protection we need, my friend. She won't let us down...I promise."

I sensed Mcgreggor's conflicted thoughts, as his eyes searched the gloomy hillside, his gaze following the road up the hill as it vanished into a murky void of shadows looming on the horizon.

Moonlight splashed down through the parting clouds, lighting up the top of the tree line with a silvery blue edge. The trees overlapped each other as if stitched into a continuous black fabric suspended above the emptiness below, and the fog pushed over the top of the trees like a huge misty ocean wave, a crash of sea spray, all but frozen in time.

"Aye, Vladdie," Mcgreggor said in a low and foreboding tone. "If that is what the prince wishes, but keep your eyes cast downward. Whatever you do, don't look into the eyes of that who dwells there...he'll surely put you under his spell."

"Please proceed, Mr. Mcgreggor," I called back to him as I returned my sword to its home and stepped up into the carriage.

"Heeeya!" he called out and the carriage shot forward, up the grade and straight into the inky black abyss.

### CHAPTER TWO

Mcgreggor led us forward, the horses straining hard to haul their heavy load up the sharp slant of terrain. We plunged deeper into the murk, under the thick layers of tree cover, and everything outside our coach's glowing lantern faded to rich blackness. All else seemed to go still and quiet. The temperature grew warmer, almost humid now—as if we had just entered someone's home uninvited.

The town's constable once told me that if you entered Griselda's forest, you wouldn't need to worry about finding her...because she'd find you first.

The road reached its apex, changing from a steep grade to one descending down to a deep vale. The horses now worked hard to slow the carriage. I listened to the measured klip-klop, klip-klop, klip-klop of their footfalls as they led us along the narrowing path, deeper into the foggy darkness.

The road ended at a clearing, and the ground flattened, our path blocked by a wall of thick tree trunks and overgrown bushes. We had gone as far as we could by carriage.

The warm terrain just beyond our coach issued swirling wisps of blue-white haze, rising up like long-forgotten spirits, floating from their graves, gliding through the deep shadows, reaching toward us as if pleading for help...help we were not able to give. A loud whinny rose up from the suddenly spooked horses. They reared back, straining on the reins with Mcgreggor doing his best to calm them.

I opened the carriage door and called out into the darkness. "Griselda!" I shouted. "I am Prince Vlad of Wallachia. Please show yourself." I paused in place, anticipating some kind of response, but the only reply I received was silence.

"Please, if you can hear my voice we must speak to you at once! Griselda, can you hear me?"

A current of blue-black mist rose and fell, rippling around my legs as I waited. The agonizing minutes ticked by. Mcgreggor turned the carriage around to face the direction we'd come in, facilitating our quick exit, or possibly coaxing it.

I looked across the circle of blackness that surrounded our glowing lanterns and realized it would be impossible to search the entire forest with just the two men. I turned to look at Mcgreggor, his eyes were anxious, seeming to beg me to give up and head back to the main road. Then I heard the slightest movement from somewhere deep inside the forest.

### CHAPTER THREE

From across the meadow, a woman stepped out of a thicket, her body remaining obscured by a mantle of shadows. Moonlight broke through the clouds, illuminating her lean frame cloaked in a long black shawl. She lifted a gnarled wooden staff off the ground in front of her as if it were a shield, then froze in place as if to mimic the trees. My heart began to pump harder, adrenaline spiking, as I stared back at the chilling shape before us, wondering what she would do next.

She stepped forward, out of the thick shadows. Hazy moonlight splashed down around her face, illuminating her crooked and bulbous nose. Thick strands of matted black hair hung over her forehead, and animal-wild eyes glinted at me in the bare white light of the moon flooding down from above.

"Who dares to enter my forest?" she asked. Her voice seemed playful, as if taunting something new, something entertaining for her amusement. "State your business," she shouted, her voice now rising in pitch. "Or I shall defend myself."

I took a few steps forward, away from the carriage, then paused in place, not wanting to approach her without warning.

"It is I, Prince Vlad of Walachia," I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

"You fools should never have come here." She scolded us like children. "The moon is full...the beast...it will be hunting tonight..." Her haunting voice rang with finality, as if her words were absolute.

"I had to take the risk, for it is vital information which we seek," I said.

"Come for knowledge, have you? Willing to risk everything to get it, are you?" she asked.

"Yes. It is a matter of the utmost urgency and we come in need of your guidance."

"Very well," she said. "Follow me. My humble cottage awaits us."

We walked across the meadow, approaching the woman. She turned with a quick jerk of her shoulders, disappearing into the darkness. We followed behind her into the thicket with the aid of the hazy glow of my lantern.

The woman suddenly stopped short, spun around, and came toward us. She raised her hand, holding it in the air with one long grizzled finger pointing skyward.

"The flame," she whispered, "it attracts your approaching peril. Draws out the things which are undead. If you value your lives, you will heed my warning."

Then she waved her hand, closing it into a tight fist, and with that quick motion the lantern's light sizzled out, leaving our path flooded in a rushing sea of darkness. We followed the woman farther into the ink-black void, mostly by listening to the sound of her long shawl as it dragged across the dirt and moss of the forest floor.

We walked through the woods for a distance without speaking until we reached a disheveled-looking cottage nestled deep within a tall grove of trees. I could hear the sound of a trickling stream running in the distance as we stepped onto the rickety porch and entered.

Once inside, she lit a small candle, then pulled the shades down. She led us forward, and, with a wave of her hand, motioned for us to sit around a small wooden table. She sat down and closed her eyes. Her breathing became deeper and more rapid, each breath louder than the last. I watched in great anticipation as her body tightened then arched as if in pain. The old woman lowered her forehead onto the wood table, rubbing her temples with long boney fingers, murmuring in low tones. She jerked her head up, eyes still closed, brows drawn down to a sharp V shape, her jaw jutting forward. Her lips pulled back into a tight grimace, ghoulish-like and demented, and her body twitched and flinched from left to right as if she saw disturbing images flashing through her mind. Her mouth dropped into a wide-open oval, and she sucked in a long, moaning gasp at some unseen revulsion unfolding in her mind. Her body suddenly wrenched-up straight and froze in place, her hands gripping at the table for support. Then she slowly opened her eyes and stared at me, her thin lips now parting as she let out a long, haunting hiss of breath, her body slowly releasing the tension, slumping over with exhaustion.

She removed a clear crystal from a thin silver chain around her neck, caressing it as if it were alive and breathing, rubbing the chain between her fingers with great care. She gazed down into the crystal, as if coaxing it to communicate, then closed her eyes again, this time her head rocked back with a slight smile playing on her lips.

"One of you holds a great secret from the other," she said in a breathy moan. "Another holds a great fear from long past and clings to a noble, but ancient ideal," she said from behind closed eyes. "And both of you search for something wicked...yes, your quest holds a great importance in its balance. Your path shall require great sacrifice...I see five...five wolves searching for one." Her eyes suddenly snapped open, glaring at me. "That which you search for," she spat out, "is also seeking you." Her lips rose up in a crooked toothy grin and she let out a dirt-dry cackle.

This new information took a moment to settle in. Mcgreggor's eyes rounded in the flickering candlelight as if he felt an understanding of her words.

"Looking...for us?" I said, my eyebrows rising. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as the sun rises on your castle each morning, your majesty. And that which hunts you can be found both to the north and south of the great Danube river...and it is closer than you may thin—"

Her eyes suddenly rounded as if filling with wonderment. Her gaze rose over my left shoulder as we waited for her to speak again.

"Behold," she said, raising her arms into the air. "A spirit guide joins us here tonight. A woman with hair of blonde and crown of gold. She wears a gown of flowing white...behold...a queen from long past..."

"Mother!" I cried out.

The old woman stared up toward the ceiling, and her smile faded away. "She says she is connected to both of you in a very powerful way. Each of you holds the bond of her love, which must never be forgotten... she says to beware of the shield of red and white. Now she shows me a long sword piercing through its crest...severing the head of a dragon...she wants me to tell you that your quest is one that must be completed at any cost. She reveals the red flag of warning...she says there will come a time when a great decision must be made and the two of you must be more than brave, for there can be no regrets...as there shall be no return...for the future of mankind teeters on its outcome."

The old woman closed her eyes and slumped over in her chair as if fatigued from the heavy toll that the vision took on her mind. "Now you must go," she muttered. "It was unwise for our fair prince to venture this far into the forest. Not without his army close at hand, my lord. And never again before the light of dawn. You must have your wits about you as the moon is bloated, and it will again be searching for food. Keep your swords drawn, for you have surely awakened that which hunts here. Stay on the trail, your lanterns dark," she hissed. "I see blood spilling before the morning's first light." She stood and pointed one long, crooked finger toward the door, looking away, letting us know our meeting was indeed concluded.

"Thank you, Griselda," I said. "We leave here holding more knowledge than we came with."

The two of us stood and moved away from the table, backing into the darkness of the forest just beyond the cottage. We drew our swords, then inched our way forward, one small step at a time.

Then we heard it...

The powerful rustle of movement from somewhere in the darkness, then a quick crunch of breaking branches. Something lurking in the cold black abyss. Something looming in the shadows...and judging by how loud it sounded, it was something big...

DRACULA REIGNS is available everywhere on July 24th

About the Author:

Jackson Stein grew up and lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Before becoming a writer he worked as a 3D animator, commercial director, musician and bartender. When he's not writing, you can find Jackson staying up all night, enjoying a rare steak by moonlight, and drinking a fine glass of red... wine. He would like readers to know he does not now, nor has he ever, slept in a casket. All of those rumors are completely false. Please stop by www.jacksonstein.net for more info.

Other books by Jackson Stein available here!

