A Prince to be Feared: The love story of Vlad Dracula

by Mary Lancaster

  Laughing, Ilona hugged her back. Then, thrusting her a few inches away so that she could look at her old friend properly, she exclaimed, “You haven’t changed a bit!”

  “You have,” Maria said frankly, looking her up and down with approval. “How very elegant you are! And that gown…!”

  Ilona wrinkled her nose. “Court fashion,” she said deprecatingly. “We’ve just come from Buda.”

  Maria’s expression changed quickly. “Oh, Ilona, I’m so sorry about your cousin.”

  Ilona turned away quickly, unwilling to face that grief yet, or the consequences. “Yes. Thanks.” With relief she found her father, dismounted and walking toward them with a tolerant smile for their nonstop chatter. “You remember my father, Mihály Szilágyi?”

  “Of course I do! I’m honoured to welcome you to my poor home, sir. Come inside out of the wind. We baked honey cakes this afternoon…”

  A little later, gathered in Maria’s hall, sipping wine while they watched her stepson play hide-and-seek with two larger cousins, Ilona said warmly, “You have a good home here, Maria.”

  Unaware of her faint twinge of envy, Maria said doubtfully, “Yes…though it gets a little dull. There’s nothing much to do.”

  “Apart from the honey cakes,” Mihály interjected, toasting her with his second.

  Maria laughed. “Even honey cakes get boring if there’s nothing else. When it all gets too tedious, I go to court.”

  “To Tîrgovişte?” Ilona said quickly. “My father is bound there tomorrow to see the prince.”

  “Aren’t you going? Oh, you should, Ilona, you have to see the prince now!”

  “Why?” Ilona asked lightly. “Has he changed so much?”

  Maria opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Actually, I suppose not. He just seems to have. Because he’s found his proper setting perhaps. But the court’s a much more entertaining place to be than it was in Vladislav’s day. Now we have music and art, and you’re as likely to come upon learned men as soldiers…”

  She broke off, flushing as she registered too late how insulting that could sound to Ilona’s father. Mihály, however, had wandered off to speak to the boys, and Maria turned back to Ilona with relief.

  “You’ll love it,” she said happily. “Although perhaps it will be too provincial for you after Buda.”

  Ilona, unused to being considered so worldly wise by her friend, only laughed.

  “We should both go,” Maria said eagerly. Leaning forward, she took Ilona’s hand and squeezed it. In a whisper, she added, “Seriously, Ilona, he’ll turn even your knees to jelly now. As a boy, there was something about him. Now—he’s magnificent, I promise you.”

  Something churned inside Ilona, a powerful urge to see him, a twist of doubt as to Maria’s relationship with him, an echo of the old, childish jealousy. She wondered if she’d regret staying away. After all, curiosity usually won her over.

  In the end, she had no choice. Her father decided she would accompany him. And Maria, anxious not to lose her friend again so quickly, went with them.

  ***

  Lifting the paper Vlad had just signed, Carstian said, “And Mihály Szilágyi is here.”

  Vlad glanced up quickly. “Where?”

  “Since his daughter’s with him, they have the house next to the palace. But in the immediate, he’s in the outer chamber.”

  “Damn it, Carstian, why didn’t you say?” Vlad shoved back his chair, and although his doublet was not fastened, falling open to reveal his shirt unlaced at the throat, he strode to the door as he was. Wrenching it open, he said, “Mihály?”

  He barely registered the other occupant—a shadowy figure in shades of amber—for his eyes sought and immediately found Mihály Szilágyi, who seemed to be pacing the room. At the sound of the door, he paused and smiled.

  He looked tired, fresh lines of anxiety around his piercing eyes and stern mouth, and yet Vlad’s heart lifted immeasurably at the sight of his old friend. While Mihály swept off his hat and bowed in the manner appropriate to a prince, Vlad strode to him and embraced him without formality.

  Vlad said, “Damn it, it’s good to see you here!”

  And Mihály gave his lopsided grin. “Not as good as it is to see you here, at last. I’m honoured to be able to congratulate you in person. As is Ilona.”

  Vlad glanced with him to the window. A shimmer of sunlight on amber silk temporarily dazzled him. Then the figure moved, walking toward them with quick, graceful steps, and he beheld a slender, beautiful woman with luxuriant red-gold hair. A wispy, trailing scarf barely touching her head, served as its only covering. Something about the way she moved, all understated, or even unconscious, sensuality stirred his body into wakefulness.

  He felt his lips curve involuntarily, even before he saw her smile. Then something thudded in his chest, almost depriving him of breath. Not just because her smile was an enchanting mixture of shyness and genuine pleasure, but because he knew that smile, he knew those dark, melting eyes, at once secretive and perceptive and just waiting their moment to fill with laughter.

  He remembered to move forward, to take her hand as she curtseyed with a grace he didn’t recall her possessing before. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her as he raised her fingers to his lips.

  “You grow more beautiful each time I see you.” As soon as the words spilled out, he wished he’d said something cleverer instead. It was too late to withdraw them, but at least they brought that delightful flush to her cheeks. But her hand didn’t tremble in his as he was sure it had done once before. Somewhere, she had learned to deal with flirting. The same place, no doubt, she had learned to dress and walk with such style. They had made a lady of her at last.

  She said flatly, “No, I don’t.” And Vlad laughed in delight, because she was still Ilona after all.

  “Ilona!” exclaimed her father, only half-amused. “One does not argue with princes!”

  Her hand gave a flutter in his, a faint tug, and he gave in and let her go. “Besides, on this subject, I claim to be a better judge. As always, you are an unexpected pleasure. Please, sit down. Have you broken your fast?”

  Carstian, who’d been lurking by the inner door, took the opportunity to bow to the room in general—although his eyes, Vlad, noticed, seemed to be fixed on Ilona.

  “You may go,” Vlad informed him.

  “Thank you,” said Carstian. Only as he walked did Vlad realise Carstian was carrying the princely belt, which he’d failed to put on before dashing to meet Mihály. Vlad glared at him, and Carstian’s eyebrows twitched once before he dropped the belt onto his prince’s arm in passing.

  So much for princely dignity. With difficulty, Vlad refrained from aiming a kick at Carstian’s retreating rear. Instead, opting for blatancy, he discarded the belt onto a vacant chair and held the one next to it for Ilona and then sat down opposite her and Mihály.

  His eyes wanted to gaze at Ilona, but she was too distracting. There were things he had to say to her father.

  He began at once, meeting the older man’s eyes steadily. “I was shocked as well as saddened to hear about László. I never thought it would go so far.”

  Mihály nodded curtly. “Perhaps it was inevitable after what he did at Belgrade. But before God, to deprive so young a man of life shows a lack of compassion and understanding beyond…” He broke off. “But perhaps you disagree. I can only assure you the charges against László were entirely false.”

  Entirely? Vlad wasn’t sure. But mostly, certainly. Although, the king undoubtedly wanted to teach the Hunyadis a lesson, with the Cilli faction at his ear, flattering him and baying for blood, Vlad suspected there was a grain of truth in the young king’s fears. Exactly how it all affected his position, he was not as yet certain.

  He said diplomatically, “The countess must be devastated.”

  “She is, of course.”

  “And Matthias?”

  “Still under arrest—a hostage to our good behaviour.”

  Vla
d, who’d spent a good part of his youth in the same uncomfortable position, felt a twinge of sympathy for the child who had once admired his sword in a sunny Transylvanian garden.

  He said, “What will you do?”

  Mihály shrugged. “Reach some sort of rapprochement with the Cillis and watch our backs till Matthias is freed. Which is one reason I’ve come to you. I’ll need to spend most of my time in Hungary, and I’m afraid the Cillis will foment rebellion in Transylvania behind my back.”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to support your position as governor.”

  His wayward eyes strayed from Mihály’s watchful face to Ilona’s. The girl was gazing at him fixedly. He felt a frisson of awareness, a discomfort at being so closely observed that was, curiously, far from unpleasant. Her hands lay still in her lap, not fidgeting like the child he remembered who wouldn’t be still. He wondered if he could make her lose this new self-control.

  “And if,” he added, intrigued that she didn’t look away, “you come across my half brother or any of the other pretenders to my throne beginning to crawl out of the woodwork in Transylvania, I’d be grateful if you kicked them in my direction.”

  “Consider them kicked, arrested, and delivered.”

  “Thank you.”

  For decency’s sake, he dragged his gaze away from Ilona, just as she said, “What will you do with them?”

  Vlad let his eyes move back, let the half smile tug at his lips. “Another of those conversations?”

  She knew what he meant at once, for a flush rose up from her slender neck at last, suffusing her face with new colour. It gave him a fierce satisfaction he didn’t want to understand. But she didn’t back down. Instead, her chin lifted, and she spoke aloud the words in his head.

  “Kill them all?”

  “Probably,” said Vlad steadily.

  Mihály stirred. “One cannot govern a country while others undermine it. Rebels and traitors must pay the price. You must have grasped that much, Ilona.”

  Now her gaze did fall, because she’d let Mihály down. Riling Vlad instead of…what? Why had he brought Ilona?

  “Forgive my daughter,” Mihály said gruffly. “Her heart is too tender.”

  That drew a flash of her eyes, as if she knew she’d been insulted and had no idea why.

  Amused, Vlad said, “But the world needs tender hearts. Without them, no one would be afraid of men like me.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” Ilona said at once. Just a shade too quickly. Vlad’s stomach twisted.

  “I don’t mean you to be,” he said lightly, while he searched wildly through all their past dealings to discover where and when he could have made her afraid. Just by Kill them all? Or was the subsequent sleigh ride to blame? Certainly, he deserved to be flogged for that one.

  But it wasn’t just those things. He looked frightening. He was frightening, because he’d cultivated the image since boyhood. Perversely, perhaps, and certainly unacknowledged, he’d valued Ilona Szilágyi because she’d never been afraid of him. Until now.

  He let a faint smile twist his lips. I should have dressed properly. Swinging away from the eyes and the thoughts that churned him up, he said to Mihály, “You should speak to my cousin Stephen while you’re here. I’m sure he too will support your cause.”

  “Stephen?”

  “He’s about to embark on his own adventure—a bid for the Moldavian throne.”

  Although he spoke directly to Mihály, he felt the change in the girl’s attention too. He remembered that she’d always got on well with Stephen, had seemed at ease with him, and was disgusted to recognise the twist in his gut as unworthy jealousy.

  What is the matter with me?

  Mihály said uneasily, “Is that wise right now? The king has little time for the present incumbent, but he hasn’t sanctioned Stephen’s…”

  Vlad said dryly, “He doesn’t need the king’s approval. He has the sultan’s.”

  Mihály blinked. “The sultan’s? But the sultan supports Petru Aaron…”

  “Now he supports Stephen more.”

  “How…?” Mihály began, then broke off, understanding.

  Vlad smiled with deliberately false modesty.

  A servant came in, carrying a jug of wine and some decent goblets. Mihály waited until the man had set the tray down before them and departed. Then: “You spoke for him to the sultan? Your word carries weight at the Porte these days.”

  “Actually,” said Vlad, reaching for the wine jug, “it always did.”

  Mihály exhaled heavily. “You play a dangerous game, my friend. Sometime, you will have to swallow your pride and accept Hungary’s protection—or be swallowed up by the infidels.”

  “I hope not,” said Vlad. He stood and walked the few paces to Ilona to give her the goblet. She took it without taking her eyes from his face. There was no sign there now of any fear. “I’ve sworn allegiance to both but submit to neither.”

  Vlad turned from her gaze with reluctance and gave the other goblet to Mihály. “It’s my belief that Europe’s security depends on the autonomy of border states like Wallachia and Moldavia. In other words, I must compromise with the Ottomans so Hungary doesn’t have to. On the clear understanding, of course, that the Christian states must cooperate in emergencies.”

  “Emergencies?” Ilona pounced. “As defined by whom?”

  Vlad raised his cup to her in a toast. “That,” he said, “is the vital question. Salut.”

  ****

  “So what did you think?” Maria demanded as they walked arm in arm into the prince’s hall. “Was he very splendid?”

  The table, although not set for massive numbers, looked magnificent. Delicious smells had been assailing Ilona’s nostrils since before they’d entered the building, and now, at the sight of the elegant dishes of soup and fish and poultry, all set among bright fresh vegetables and fruit, her mouth began to water. It gave her an excuse to look at the table rather than her friend.

  “Not splendid,” she murmured. She’d expected a prince, stiff and proud in velvets and jewels, and instead found a supremely casual man in little more than his shirtsleeves who had the charm of immediately welcoming her controversial father to his home. “But you’re right; he is different.”

  “How?” Maria asked eagerly while she nodded several greetings to acquaintances among the gathered noblemen and women.

  Because he stared at me like that. Because wearing less, he somehow looked more. Because he couldn’t take his eyes off me, and God help me, I wanted that.

  Impossible to say this to anyone, let alone Maria, who still seemed to carry a torch for the man who rejected her as a youth. To give it words was to trivialise it—trivialise what?—when she only wanted to hug it to herself, feel the secret, overwhelming excitement of his attention.

  “I don’t know,” she said hastily. “Perhaps because he seemed at ease. In his own setting, as you said.”

  “Look, there’s Stephen of Moldavia with your father!”

  Ilona followed her gaze across the room. Stephen glanced up and smiled. And then the door near the head of the table opened, and the Prince of Wallachia emerged.

  Here at last was Maria’s magnificent prince. As precisely dressed as he had always been, only now with the wealth to indulge his taste for opulence without vulgarity. Here were the velvets, the gold, the jewels, and yet they did not swallow the man; they enhanced him, emphasising the breadth of his powerful chest and shoulders, the sheer strength of his distinctive face.

  “Deny it now,” Maria whispered in her ear. “Is that not splendour on legs?”

  As it often did in Maria’s company, a surge of laughter threatened her hard-won dignity.

  “Go on.” Maria gave her a little push. “You’re being summoned.”

  Vlad Dracula, it seemed, was according Mihály Szilágyi every honour, placing him on one side of the prince, while Ilona was seated on the other. On Ilona’s left was Stephen of Moldavia.

  “How wonderful to se
e you here!” Stephen exclaimed.

  “Thank you! But I hear you won’t be here long yourself—adventure beckons?”

  “Indeed it does. To be honest, you’ve only just caught me. If you’d come next week, I’d already have gone.”

  Ilona regarded him with curiosity. He had the backing of the sultan but no Ottoman troops that she knew of. And no Hungarians, since the king was not involved in this enterprise. He was unlikely to have a massive native army, since in most challenges for the throne in the Romanian principalities, the people sat on the fence to see which way the wind would blow. There was really only one possibility.

  “And does the Prince of Wallachia go with you?”

  “Ah, no. It wouldn’t be good for Vlad to leave Wallachia this early in his reign. But he’s lending me Wallachian troops—brave veterans who should get the job done!”

  And if he lent his best troops to Stephen, even for one season, did that not leave Vlad dangerously exposed?

  “He’s fulfilling our boyhood oath,” Stephen explained, as if he read her mind. “But I know Vlad, and he wouldn’t do it now if he didn’t judge it was safe. He has things well under control here.”

  Was that true, or did Stephen just need to believe that for his own reasons?

  “Don’t you, Vlad?” said Stephen, and Ilona felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise up. Worse, it wasn’t even unpleasant.

  Feeling as if she was taking some huge step in her life, she turned her head and met Vlad’s dark, almost blazing gaze.

  “I hope so,” said the prince. “Besides, it’s a small price to pay to get this troublemaker out of my hair.”

  Stephen laughed, and Vlad spared him a flickering smile before returning to Ilona. “So, what do you think of my capital city?”

  “I’ve barely seen it, to be honest. We arrived after dark last night.”

  “I’ll show you it myself, tomorrow.”