Princess Dracula

by John Patrick Kennedy

  He spun, eyes darting everywhere. “Where are you?”

  Ruxandra stepped back into the darkness.

  “Did you like the dress?” he called. “Does it fit?”

  Come on, fool. You spoke once. Speak again.

  “It was my sister’s. She left it when she married the miller. I thought it might fit you.”

  All I have to do is speak. Then everything will be fine.

  “I live in the village.” The way he said it made it seem as if his village was the only one. “It’s about five miles from here. I collect wood and bring it in for people.”

  If I speak, I can get close to him. Then we can talk, and perhaps we can—

  “Hello?”

  Maybe hold hands? Perhaps—

  “Are you still there?”

  Ruxandra’s frustration grew. He’s just a man. Why can I not talk to him?

  “I must rest. May I come see you tomorrow? At noon? I could bring some bread and cheese and . . .” His voice faded. For the first time, he looked sad. He sighed again, and his next words came out quieter. “You’re not there, are you?”

  “I am!” The words burst out of Ruxandra. “I am here. Right here. And I’ll be back at midnight. Tomorrow at midnight. We can talk then. I promise to come out.”

  The sad look vanished, and his face broke into a wide, happy grin. He had strong teeth too, which shone bright white. “I will be here.”

  “No coming before that,” Ruxandra warned. “I must get cleaned up first.”

  “I will not.”

  Her heart caught in her throat. “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “I’ll see you then,” Ruxandra said. “I promise too.”

  She walked backward into the woods until she lost sight of him. Then she turned and ran. A giggle escaped her lips and then another. He was going to be there. She was going to talk to him.

  I’ll need to hunt well before midnight. I must be full, so I do not . . . She shuddered at the thought. She went back to the den, slipped off the dress and the chemise, then went out into the woods. Tonight I’ll search for a fawn or a den of young rabbits, then return to the same place tomorrow night to feed. Then I can get cleaned up and be all ready before I meet him.

  It took most of the night, but she found a fawn. It wasn’t as small as the last one, but it was still young enough to have its spots and to hide and lie still when it sensed a predator, rather than to jump up and fight. She marked the location in her mind and made a wide circle through the area. She spotted two more nests and noted them as well.

  Three days’ eating. Three nights where I can hunt fast and clean up and see him.

  It will be good. It will be very good.

  She slipped back into her den as dawn came. She put on the chemise and, for the second night in a row, went to bed dressed like a proper young lady. She lay there for a long time. The butterfly danced in her stomach again. The anticipation was so strong it kept her from sleep. She rehearsed what she would say and what she would look like when she said it.

  When the sun slipped behind the horizon, Ruxandra slipped out into the night. She found the fawn at top speed. It heard her coming but only for a moment before she was on top of it, her teeth sinking into its neck. It bucked and squealed, and she clamped a hand over its throat, cutting off any sound. She put her whole body weight over it and kept drinking and drinking until it went still and the last of its bright, fresh life was gone. She was calmer and more hopeful. Her senses were sharper, and the woods had extra colors, extra layers of sound and scent.

  It would be incredible to share this.

  She ran back to the den to grab the soap and towel, then to the pool. Her nose told her he was nowhere nearby. She dove into the water and came up scrubbing. She had spilled almost no blood on herself. It took only moments to wash off and moments more to run the soap over the rest of her body. Then it was out of the pool, grab the towel, and race back to the den. She stood outside to dry herself. Then she slipped into the clean chemise and the dress.

  At midnight, she was sitting on a log near the pond, watching his lantern waving back and forth as he walked. She took several deep breaths, trying to slow the butterflies in her stomach. It didn’t work. He was even more handsome in the yellow light of the lantern. The glow highlighted his features, making them stronger and sharper.

  She took another deep breath, made sure the dress was properly arranged, then called, “Hello.”

  HIS SMILE LOOKED EVEN better up close. He blushed very prettily too.

  He swallowed twice before he managed to find his voice. “Hello.”

  The butterflies fluttered in her stomach again. She cast around for something to say and settled on the obvious. “Thank you for the clothes.”

  “They’re my sister’s,” he said. “Were my sister’s. She married the miller, and he gave her new clothes, so she left them at our house, and I thought they might fit you and . . .”

  He looked at the ground and scuffed one boot in the dirt and blushed some more. Ruxandra tried not to smile, lest it embarrass him. At least I’m not the one babbling. “They fit very well. Though they’re a bit tight around the chest.”

  Oh goodness, why did I say that? She watched as his eyes went to her chest, then slid to the side. She stood up. “They’re also a bit short, see?”

  He took in her bare feet under the dress. His eyebrows went up. “You do not have shoes?”

  “No.” Ruxandra stared at her bare toes in the dirt. She’d forgotten about that entirely. “I do not need them. I mean, I haven’t worn them in a long time, so my feet are used to being without.”

  Now I sound like some wild creature of the forest.

  He glanced at her face and swallowed. He bowed his head. “I am very sorry for coming on you like that. I had no idea.”

  “I should think so!” Ruxandra bit her lip at once. She hadn’t meant to sound so shrill. She softened her tone. “I only meant to say you startled me. I didn’t know anyone was around here.”

  “There’s a village five miles that way.” He pointed. “I’m from there.”

  “You said that last night,” Ruxandra said. “I remember.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes.”

  Say something to him. Anything. Don’t stare at him like a fool. Say something!

  But he was the one who spoke first. The words were soft and hesitant. “How did you come to be here?”

  “I—” She tried to think of how to explain it. The truth is always the best answer. Just not the whole truth. “My father was killed, and I was . . .”

  Turned into a monster? Made a creature of darkness who craves blood?

  “Violated.”

  “Oh.” He turned away. “I’m sorry.”

  “I ran and found a village.” Why didn’t I stay there? Think. “The men there attacked me.”

  “What?” The boy’s head came up, and his eyes went wide. “How could they do such a thing?”

  “I—I was alone. They thought they could take advantage. So I ran again.”

  He went silent and scuffed his boot some more.

  What if he thinks I’m impure?

  “I forgot!” He jumped to his feet, a look of dismay on his face. “My mother always said I was a fool with no manners.”

  He stepped back, took a deep breath, and bowed. It wasn’t a very good bow and certainly not a courtly bow, but it was a bow. “My name is Neculai Lupei. My mother is Oana Lupei, and my father was Petre Lupei. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Ruxandra rose and gave her best formal curtsy—the one the nuns made her practice for hours. “A great pleasure to meet you Neculai Lupei. My name is Ruxandra—”

  What do I tell him?

  “And my family name is one I would prefer to keep secret. So you may call me Ruxandra.”

  “I see.” He sounded unsure, but nodded and smiled anyway. “Then please, call me Neculai.”

  For no reason she could think of, Ruxandra started
giggling. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but that didn’t stop it. Neculai’s head cocked to one side as he watched her try to contain her laughter, which only made her laugh even more. He’ll think I’m terrible!

  Then he laughed as well, and everything was good again.

  When they both managed to stop, he smiled. “It is all very odd, isn’t it?”

  Ruxandra nodded. “Yes. It is.”

  “Can I ask where you came from?”

  “I do not know.” Now I sound like a fool. “I mean, I do not know where it is from here. I was raised at Our Lady of the Mountains Convent. Near Bucharest.”

  “That is a long way to come.” Neculai rubbed his chin. “How did you get here?”

  “Walking, mostly,” Ruxandra said. He was still standing, looking down at her. She scooted over on the log. “Please, join me.”

  “Thank you.” His long legs stretched out on the ground in front of him. He kept his distance—not so far as to seem unfriendly, but not so close as to seem presumptuous. Ruxandra liked it a great deal.

  His brow furrowed. “You walked here? In winter?”

  “Yes.” It was the truth, and Adela always said it was best to lie using the truth. That way you didn’t have to remember anything. “It was cold for a great deal of it. I had lost my boots and cloak. And I hadn’t been able to bathe for weeks before you saw me.”

  “You should have come to our village,” he said. “Everyone would have helped you.”

  “I . . . cannot. I do not like villages. Not after what happened.”

  She hoped her tone sounded sad enough that he would leave the matter alone. He nodded and didn’t pursue the subject. “How did you survive the winter?”

  “Hunting,” Ruxandra said. “I’m a good hunter.”

  “You are?” He sounded surprised. “I didn’t think they would teach hunting in the convent.”

  Ruxandra laughed—it wasn’t that funny, but she felt like it was something she should laugh at, so she did. “No, I learned hunting along the way.”

  “Do you need food?” he asked. “Because I have a loaf of bread I would be happy to share.”

  “Thank you, I’m fine.” Ruxandra shifted her gaze to the sky. The stars were bright, and the dawn was a long way off. She could stay talking all night if she wanted to.

  And there is no Sister Sofia to ruin things, either.

  Neculai looked up and sighed. “It is very late, isn’t it? Do you have a place to stay?”

  “Yes! I do!” The words flew out of Ruxandra’s mouth. I cannot have him know I’m hiding in the woods like a beast.

  No, not like a beast, like a hermit.

  But I still don’t want him to know.

  He rose and offered her his hand. “Then would you like me to walk you back?”

  She took his hand. His skin was warm, and his pulse moved through his fingertips. It made her stomach buzz and her head feel light. She was so close to him. All she had to do was step forward and embrace him. It was a strange thought. She’d never embraced a man before. Yet all she needed to do was take that single step.

  She squeezed his fingers. “Thank you but no. I would . . . I need to get to know you better,” she said, “before I show you where I live.”

  “Of course.” Neculai blushed again. “Stupid of me. You don’t know me at all, and you do not know if you can trust me. Here.”

  He held out the lamp. Ruxandra stared in surprise.

  “You can take it,” he said. “I’ll find my way home. It’s not far, and I know these woods like the back of my hand.”

  Ruxandra continued to stare at the lamp. A new heat blossomed in her that had nothing to do with the warmth of the light. She took the ring of it from his hands. Their fingers touched, which made her realize she hadn’t let go of his fingers on the other hand. She abruptly did and stepped back. The back of her leg hit the log. She started and wobbled but managed to not fall over. “Thank you.”

  Neculai smiled. “May I see you tomorrow?”

  “Please,” said Ruxandra. “In the evening. After sunset. I’ll try to get here earlier.”

  “Thank you.”

  He bowed once more, then walked into the woods, whistling. Ruxandra watched him until he was out of sight. Then she turned and headed back to her den, skipping with each step.

  “He likes me. I can tell he likes me. We’re going to be friends. I know it. And then perhaps . . .”

  Perhaps what? It’s not like you can stay with him.

  “Shut up,” she hissed. “I know I cannot stay with him. I don’t want to stay with him. I just want a friend.”

  But it’s not just a friend you want, is it?

  “Shut up.”

  She awoke early the next night and raced out as soon as the sun was below the horizon. She found one of the fawns and drank it down, then dropped its body and ran again. Instead of going to the pond, she went upstream and found a place where the clear, small brook ran over stones. She splashed herself again and again until she was sure all the blood was gone. Then she dashed back to her den and got dressed. It was still light when she reached the pond.

  He sat on the log, waiting.

  The butterflies danced in Ruxandra’s stomach, but they had become familiar and made her smile. She walked around the pond. He rose and bowed to her. “Ruxandra. Welcome.”

  She giggled and curtsied. “Neculai. Thank you.”

  “Now that you’re here, we can get this lit.”

  He stepped aside, and Ruxandra saw a small fire pit dug into the earth. He knelt beside it. “It was very nice talking to you in the dark last night, but I thought—”

  Blushing, he busied himself with his flint. Ruxandra sat on the log—close but not close enough to touch—and smiled. “You thought what?”

  He didn’t look up, though his blush deepened. A spark from his flint caught the small handful of tinder, and he blew on it until it became a little flame, then laid it under the little stacked cabin of logs. He blew some more as the fire caught the smaller kindling. He sat back, seeming pleased with himself.

  Ruxandra waited until she looked at him to ask again, “You thought what?”

  Neculai swallowed hard, and the blush came back full strength. He stared at his shoes. Finally he sat straight and looked her in the eye. “I thought I would like to be able to see your face tonight.”

  Now it was Ruxandra’s turn to look away, though she was smiling as she did. How sweet. “That would be very nice. Seeing your face better, I mean.”

  He smiled. “Good.”

  “So . . .” What does one say to a boy? “Tell me of your family. And the village. What’s the village like?”

  He shook his head. “It’s not that interesting. It’s just a village.”

  “I spent ten years in a convent,” Ruxandra said. “It cannot be less interesting than that.”

  Neculai laughed. “I doubt that. But then again, our village boasts over two hundred souls.”

  Ruxandra put on a serious face and nodded. “Impressive.”

  “Oh very.” He made his voice as grand as he could. “We have a mill. We have a blacksmith, and we have a baker.”

  Ruxandra clapped in exaggerated delight. “How amazing!”

  “There is a proper inn for guests to stay whenever they come to the village.”

  “That is most exciting.”

  “It is owned by my uncle.”

  “How wonderful!”

  “You could stay there.” All the joking left his voice at the words. His eyes were locked on hers, and he looked very serious. “He would let you stay for free for a little while. Or you could work there. He always needs girls to work in the tavern because they keep getting married. Then you would be close by, and I could see you in the day.”

  “No!” Ruxandra shouted the word.

  Neculai’s face fell, and he leaned back. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

  “I cannot.” Ruxandra felt panic rising. “I can’t go into a village. Ever again. I will not do it.�
� She pushed herself as far down the log as she could. I’ll get thirsty and everyone will know what I am—a monster.

  “No one is going to make you go into the village.” Neculai’s voice was calm like Sister Mary’s when she was convincing the goats they needed to be milked.

  “Good.” In an instant she saw it all—her life in the dark of the woods, hunting, then hours with the boy, being almost human.

  You’re not human.

  He reached out and put his hand on hers. “I promise you.”

  His touch melted all her fear. The feeling of his rough, strong fingers touching the back of her hand drove almost all rational thought from her mind.

  “I’m sorry.” Ruxandra felt foolish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout or scare you. I just—I can’t.”

  Neculai squeezed her hand, then let go. He turned to the fire and poked at it with a stick. “Tell me about the convent.”

  Ruxandra smiled. “Well, there was a goat that liked to climb onto the chapel roof at milking time.”

  They talked for hours. Ruxandra told him about Adela and Valeria, though not about their intimacy. She had no idea how he would react. She talked of the sisters and Mother Superior and the lessons they had been forced to learn. He told her about the woods and woodcutting and about how his mother had wanted him to learn to read and go into the clergy. She demonstrated the three different curtsies she’d learned as a child—formal, familiar, and royal—and the various ways a young lady was supposed to sit when in the company of others. He taught her an owl call and raven call. She did an impression of the cook that left him gasping with laughter, and he gave his best impression of the miller his sister had married.

  The fire sank lower and lower as the night went on until there was nothing but a few red coals glowing in the night.

  Neculai yawned, finally, and smiled at her. “It is very late, and I must chop wood in the morning.”

  Ruxandra stood, and he rose with her. She curtsied the familiar curtsy for friends. “Then I had best let you go.”

  “I greatly enjoyed this evening,” he said. “Will you be back tomorrow?”

  “Certainly,” Ruxandra said. “Sometime near sunset.”

  “I hope so,” he said with a grin. “So how is a gentleman supposed to say good-bye to a lady then?”