The Vampire Prince’s Bride

Prologue

The storm gathered slowly from the east, like a stranger lurking just out of sight. When it stepped into the light however, it covered the entire earth in a torrential downpour. Heavy winds began to blow, as powerful jets of water joined the earth and the skies together in a great grey sheet.

Deep in the heart of Castle Donovan, in a broom closet no one paid the slightest attention to, a woman draped in a dark cloak stood with a lamp in her hands. She was soaked to the bone, and a slight shiver escaped her every now and then. But otherwise she seemed normal, her dark eyes glowing from the reflection of the fire.

The broom closet was so small that she couldn’t stretch out both her arms comfortably without sustaining a bruise or two. But her interest was not the broom closet itself, but what lay ahead of it.

Setting her eyes on the brick which was right on her eye level, she counted:

“Three bricks to the right, four to the left, three steps up, five steps right then two steps down.”

Her hands gently touched each brick as she counted, and as soon as she lifted her palm from a brick, a strange purple symbol appeared on its surface, glowing faintly. Once she’d completed the counting, the symbols pulsed in unison, and the wall suddenly melted away, revealing a long, narrow tunnel. The air smelled rank and dusty, with several cobwebs spun together overhead. A few spiders crawled away at the sight of her, perhaps because they remembered how she’d squashed their comrades the last time she came here.

With the lamp in front of her, the woman made her way forward. As soon as she crossed the threshold of the tunnel, the wall behind her returned to its former state.

Silence pressed heavily all around her. In here, it seemed like the storm outside was nonexistent. The howling of the wind was gone, to be replaced by the soft chitter of unseen bugs.

Ophelia didn’t care about them however. She had far more pressing matters on her hands.

She made her way forward, even though the light from the lamp barely went past her nose. It endured however, and Ophelia soon came to a spot where the tunnels began to wind down along a stairway. She pressed on, turning and turning downwards until it felt like she was at least eight hundred yards beneath Castle Donovan. The flames flickered as she walked, but with each step they seemed to grow stronger.

Finally, she arrived at a tall, wooden door which she pushed open and stepped into a large, cavernous room with several cupboards all around and a fire burning in the grate. A dusty old table lay between her and the fire, with a few ancient looking books and a bronze gauntlet on the table. Ophelia set the lamp down on the table, as the flames pulsed with renewed life. She made her way around the table, stopping in front of the grate where the flames had suddenly turned green.

“You summoned me,” she said, her words directed at the fire. For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen. But then the flames erupted, and a strange door appeared right in the heart of the fire. Ophelia didn’t flinch however. She watched calmly as the fiery door burst open and a terrible figure emerged from it.

Tall and large, its body appeared grotesque as the flames curved around it. Flaming eyes peered down at Ophelia, and a spiked tongue protruded from what appeared to be its mouth.

“Enchantress,” the flames whispered, although the sound made the room shake. “Why have you abandoned me?”

“I would never abandon you, master,” Ophelia said, dropping down on one knee. “I have only been doing what you asked me to do.”

“And what is it that I asked you to do?” the flames asked as they made their way towards her.

“To keep an eye on King Nazar,” she said.

“And?”

“And come to you when it is time to put our plan into motion.”

“Tell me, enchantress,” the voice whispered, “is it not yet time to move forward? I have laid in rest for a hundred years now. My will grows weak, and my patience grows fraught. Tell me, how much longer?”

“It won’t take long now, master,” she said. “Queen Regan will soon put to bed. Once she does, we will finally be able to proceed with our plans.”

“Good,” the flames whispered, now dangerously close to Ophelia’s face. “You will bring the child to me. The Royal bloodline is cleansed now. I will finally have my revenge on the ones who imprisoned me.”

“Of course, master,” Ophelia said. “Isn’t that what we’ve wanted all along?”

“Indeed it is.”

A trickle of sweat ran down her back, but Ophelia dared not flinch before her master. She waited for him to examine her, to wonder if her loyalty still remained, before stepping back and sighing.

“How much longer?” he asked once again.

“A month,” she replied. “You have my word.”

“And you have not yet given me cause to doubt your loyalty,” he replied. “Come to me once the child is delivered. Then, you shall have your reward.”

The fiery door in the grate opened once more, and the flames returned to it. The room fell silent once again, although the heat still lingered, like a ghost that hadn’t yet dispersed. Ophelia made her way back to the lamp, now returned to its former flickering state.

As she made to leave the room, she couldn’t help but smile to herself.

“Soon,” she whispered. “Soon, they will all cower.”