1 A Bedtime Story

I still remembered vividly the first time I heard about him. I was a frightened little girl.

The palace, the night, the scenario still remained the same: My bedroom, a noisy storm brooding outside, a restless heart beating in my chest in the face of change, Nan putting me to bed, laying a candle on the windowsill and telling me one of her stories - candlelight flickering about the stone walls and casting scary shadows all around: Fredrick The Bloody was her chosen tale. I cowered beneath my blankets at the title. I covered my ears when she got to the scary bits, but it didn't keep me from hearing: The past of Dromoria, my father's kingdom, was written in blood – weren't they always? One hundred years ago gory wars were fought up and left, rulers were brought down, new ones put in their place; birthright and violence mingled in choosing lines of succession; but that night's tale told in my infancy spoke of the last conflict to soil these peaceful lands, and it was fought by a supernatural prince general of unsurmountable strength… of peculiar appetites.

Nan never called him a man in her storytelling – And no one who spoke of our country's history ever did. Those who fought under his banner might have been: after all, they were slaughtered by my grandfather's army. It wasn't the end of the battle though: alone, the general fought on, crushing rival forces until their numbers were down to just about one hundred men. These brave heroes persevered valiantly, and eventually managed to injure the lonely general, who bled copiously on the sod. Having sustained a great wound, the beast-like warrior turned on his cape and scurried off, disappearing into the woods under a starless night-sky. The opposition assumed they had beaten him, they celebrated the retreat of the prince general and made plans on annexing his land, on raiding his castles, sharing his wealth, his women and whatever they could find – All was permitted to compensate for the gruesome battling, and for all their comrade's lives the beastly general had taken in that battlefield.

But a week of jolly drinking had barely elapsed before the soldiers began hearing odd rumors – it concerned a nearby village, a quaint agricultural settlement by the hillside: It seemed women were leaving their beds in the middle of the night and disappearing into the woods, their men would find them the next morning, a hole in their chests, their hearts devoured. The soldiers were being urged to help, they were offered rewards the scared villagers could barely afford to pay – all they had was offered in exchange for protecting their daughters and wives, for stopping whatever curse plagued them. A deal was struck: the animal responsible for these strikes would be hunted down and slaughtered, the women would sleep freely once more.

…Except that the soldiers didn't know that no animal would aim for the heart, as this one did. None would rip its way into their victim's chest so cleanly, as was the case with all those bodies greying over puzzled physician's tables. They couldn't suspect what they dealt with…

On the night of the hunt, an ambush was prepared, a damsel was placidly placed to roam the center of a camouflaged battalion, certain of her protection, little knowing she was baited towards her death. Those who survived to testify said it happened so fast: one minute she walked, the next she lay lifeless, limp, a gaping hole in her chest, hanging from his arm, his mouth full of blood: The wounded general.

Back then, they knew not what accursed beast the general was, nor what curse had saved him from the mortal wound he sustained in battle. Now we all know where he drew his survival from… and from where his vitality comes, to this day. But survive was not all the general had done in the meantime: His strength recovered, he wiped out villagers and soldiers alike, with some lucky few who either passed unsees or were ignored as threats. After that, no one would stand on his way again, and no one would challenge him. The beast returned to his castle in a craggy island north of here, and the survivors of that night brought news of the beastly encounter to the king, your grandfather, who was left no option but to strike peace with the neighboring apparition. Our kingdom doesn't meddle with his, and your elders turn their blind eye to the demon prince of those dark lands, as there is nothing they can do against him, really.

"But he leaves our women alone…" Nan would assume a joyful tone again, folding her handkerchief and tucking it neatly into her apron's pocket. "…And that's all that matters. What do we care if out there they still eat their girls' hearts, as long as we are safe out here? Don't pity them, young miss: The people get the ruler they deserve. See? Our people are kind, caring, and they have your father to rule over them…"

I was not consoled, but Nan was too harsh to care about a young girl's nighttime fears. Back then, she placed a peck on my forehead and just assured me I was safe from that demon, I need not fear him.

…And though this night was very much like that night, twelve years ago… Though the light flickered the same from the candle standing on my windowsill, I was a lady now. Nan sat on a rocking chair by my bed, her face aged with grief; My father, the brave king, despondently looked down at the floor, at his daughter's feet, not daring look at her after breaking the news, his sadness a token of his unchangeable resolve: He spoke of the character in Nan's tale, the one she so carelessly guarded me against, the fabled and cursed Vampire general who once brought Dromoria to its knees, and the one she promised I'd never have to worry about, for there was peace between our kingdoms. I had just turned 17, and war loomed above our doorsteps once more. My father's reign of peace was about to pay a heavy price, for now our armies lay bare, ill-prepared for an invasion. Dromoria was doomed - Its thriving citizens; its plump children climbing trees; its hardworking farmers, all would perish, for my father's army could not defend us against the threat that sailed from the south… Only he could: Fredrick The Bloody, Lord of the Greavontis Isle… The Black Duke.

My father was silent in his dumb resolve, and Nan grieved quietly on her chair, not daring to look at me, because The Black Duke would not defend us for free… War was too heavy a favor to call. In exchange for deploying his army of cursed night soldiers, I was offered as a gift, the most precious possession my father could part with – my sacrifice the token of his desperation.

I, who as a child trembled at the tale of the beastly man who devoured damsel's hearts, who had a night full of nightmares with this conjured horror my governess taught me, and who was later assured I was too far away, both in time and space, to ever be threatened by his nefarious shadow…

…I was to be given to him. An offering – a slave or a meal, whichever he'd choose – in the name of my people: the villagers, the farmers, the plump, happy children, so they'd all remain happy. The King's only daughter, the fair princess of Dromoria, to leave my precious homeland never knowing if I might return; gifted off to an old, accursed vampire. The sacrifice was sour, it swelled in my throat with the silence of my helplessness, it plunged my heart into dreadful despair. So steep a price to pay was sur to win the devil's favor, the size of my suffering would do to save my people.

avataravatar
Next chapter