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

by Mary Lancaster

  “With Dan back in Brasov, it was inevitable he’d reappear,” Turcul added with a quick glance of reproach at Mihály. Since Mihály had nothing to do with the king’s decision to support Dan, it wasn’t an entirely fair reproach, but as the representative of Hungary, he had to accept it.

  “Where is he now?” Vlad demanded.

  “That’s the trouble—we don’t know. None of our spies have reported sighting him anywhere. So he’s not inciting open rebellion or even conspiring. I think we’d know if that was the case.”

  Vlad, who clearly had a vast network of spies, merely nodded at that.

  “In fact, he’s gone into hiding like he does when he’s kicked out of Brasov, and we know he’s very good at that. Because Cazan is notoriously untalkative, he didn’t trouble to hide from him, and that is the only reason we know he’s in Wallachia.”

  Vlad frowned at his boyar. “Why did Cazan open his mouth to you?”

  Turcul gave a lopsided smile. “I suppose he likes you after all. He likes that the busy road through his land is no longer beset by bandits, and he likes the increased prosperity that comes to his people from that safety. Our troops passing into Transylvania did him no harm either.” Turcul took another drink—from a cup this time. “And, to be honest, I suspect he also likes that your justice never wavers or distinguishes between the great, the poor, and all those in between.”

  Vlad said flippantly, “I love vindication.” But watching him closely, Ilona rather thought he did. He’d chosen a harsh, unwavering road, and perhaps the benefits did not always balance in the conscience she’d accused him of still possessing. Whatever, he didn’t linger over the self-congratulation. His mind moved on, pursuing Pardo.

  “So what is he doing here? Now?”

  “Travelling incognito with only one servant, who,” Turcul added, “could easily be mistaken for his companion.”

  Vlad’s gaze locked with Turcul’s. “Ah.”

  Turcul nodded. “Your beggars’ feast.”

  “Your what?” said Mihály, amused.

  Turcul said, “The prince decided there was no logic in constantly feeding at his table those who already had plenty. He said it made more sense to provide a meal for the poor and the hungry and the sick.”

  “Actually, I’m just bored with their conversation,” Vlad said. “And feel the need for some earthier chat.”

  Turcul grinned before continuing. “At any rate, there is a huge feast arranged in Tîrgovişte, and word spread around the country to invite the destitute. The city is already filling up with beggars and gypsies who keep the sluji—the prince’s civil security force—run off their feet.”

  “But who,” Vlad added, “provide a perfect cover for Pardo. A city full of strangers, in which to hide…”

  “To do what?” Ilona asked. “Conspire against you?”

  Vlad shrugged. “Assassinate me, probably.”

  Something cold and heavy seemed to land in the pit of Ilona’s stomach. She stared at Vlad, who gazed back, half-amused, half-searching. As if to see if she cared.

  Turcul said, “I’ve told no one, apart from Carstian and Stoica. Stoica wanted to cancel the feast, eject the beggars, and flush Pardo out that way.”

  “No,” said Vlad.

  “Carstian thought you’d say that. He wants to flood the city with sluji, which will either scare Pardo off or catch him.”

  Vlad shook his head again. “He’s in hiding. If he doesn’t want to be recognised, he won’t be. He’s also in the unenviable position of not being able to trust anyone. So…we go ahead as planned. And we’ll be ready when he strikes.”

  He frowned. “And in the meantime, the guard must be doubled on the palace. Security for my son—”

  “—is already taken care of,” Turcul assured him. “And the lady Maria understands she can no longer take him out unattended.”

  For the first time since they’d left Tîrgovişte, Ilona wished Maria had chosen to accompany them.

  Vlad said to Mihály, “I have to go back.”

  Mihály nodded. “I know.”

  “Turcul will look after you. Accompany you back to Tîrgovişte or wherever else you wish to visit, at a more leisurely pace than I can afford.”

  The ache Ilona had learned to live with intensified. This quiet, delightfully pretty place would lose its charm without his presence. With despair, she recognised that without him, her whole life would seem flat.

  She wished she’d never come to Wallachia. She wondered how long it would be before she and Mihály returned to Tîrgovişte too.

  ***

  It seemed a good idea, in keeping with her ambivalent attitude to the prince, to go quietly back up to the top of the tower, from where she could watch him ride away from the castle. With a little care, he’d never even know she was there. No one would.

  But her plan was ruined when, about halfway up the stone, spiral stairs, she heard the unmistakable clatter of boots thudding swiftly downwards toward her.

  She glanced up in alarm, prepared to flee ignominiously. All she could see was a beam of sunlight boring into a point above her head. Within it, stone dust danced and whirled.

  It needn’t be him. It could be Turcul or a servant or one of the builders who still haunted the castle carrying out finishing touches to the prince’s exacting specifications. She refused to be so cowardly as to run from anyone. Even him.

  She took two more determined steps into the light, just as the man descending swung round the corner and cannoned into her. Half-blinded, almost winded, she felt his hands on her waist, catching her before she fell. With an effort, he pulled back his body’s own forward rush.

  It took only an instant before their balance was rectified. And yet he didn’t remove his hands. Long black hair flowed in the dazzling sunlight until his head shifted, blocking the light, and she could gaze into his face.

  “Ilona.” He didn’t sound surprised.

  She muttered, “I was going back to admire your view.”

  “I just have. It’s become a farewell ritual to my haven.”

  Still his hands didn’t release her. She knew she should make him and yet couldn’t find words that didn’t sound silly or childish. Or didn’t betray her utterly. I can’t bear it if you touch me.

  He said, “I’m glad you came.”

  “My father wished it.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  She shook her head.

  His hands moved on her waist like a caress, awakening her whole body. “I had hoped we’d be married before this.”

  She gasped, holding herself rigid. “On the contrary, it’s just as well we’re not!”

  A frown flickered across his brow. “Maria.”

  She said nothing, merely stared in what she hoped was a haughty manner at the centre of his chest, waiting to be released.

  He said softly, “I did not marry Maria. I never will.”

  “That is an entirely different crime. She deserves better.”

  “Crime?” he pounced. “What crime have I committed against you?”

  Raising indignant eyes, she glared at him. She should have known better than to bandy words with him, and now the conversation had gone all wrong.

  “Dishonesty,” she threw at him.

  “No,” he denied.

  “No? Then what would you call it? I always expected an advantageous marriage arranged by my parents. You pretended something else entirely.”

  Unable to endure more, she tried to pull herself out of his hold and instead was held faster against him. The shock of his hard body made her gasp, then stilled her, silenced her as she tried to suppress the betraying thrill.

  He said flatly, “I pretended nothing. If it makes you feel better, I was celibate as a monk until Mihály refused the contract. But I’m not a monk, and Maria was there. It was never done to hurt you.”

  “I am not remotely hurt,” Ilona flung at him with such palpable untruth that she wasn’t surprised by the upward tug of his lips. Infuriated, she pl
ucked at his immovable hands. “Let me go,” she raged. “Or have you really become a monster?”

  Something flashed in his eyes. She knew a twinge of fear even before he pressed harder against her, making her stumble back against the wall. For an instant, she hung there, helpless, trapped between the hard stone curve and his powerful body. But there was more than anger in the green flame of his eyes.

  He said, “Do you know why I took Maria? Because her shawl smelled of you. I wanted to be your lover, your husband. But Mihály rejected me as the latter, and without that I could not be the former. Do you understand?”

  Through her own body’s yearnings, she understood more than he knew. He touched his forehead to hers in a gesture of unexpected tenderness.

  She whispered, “I understand you should have asked.”

  And was instantly appalled by her own words. Any desperate hope that he’d fail to grasp their meaning vanished at the stunned expression on his face. Astonishment loosened his hands, and at last Ilona whisked herself free, stumbling hastily down two steps away from him.

  She barely heard his sudden movement as he leapt past her and again stood facing her, this time from the step below, breathing as heavily as if he’d just run all the way up. In agony, she laid her hand flat against the curved wall for support and waited for his next words, which could only humiliate her further.

  He said, “Mihály told me he’d speak to the king for me.”

  She felt her eyes widen. It seemed he could still surprise her.

  “About our marriage,” he added, as if to remove all doubt from her mind. Hope leapt in her like fire, yet was quickly squashed by her grasp of reality. Emotion swamped her. From the maelstrom, she plucked the warmth of his persistence and hugged it to her for the future.

  “Don’t,” she begged. “Matthias won’t agree, and I can’t bear that sleigh ride again.”

  With a gasp, she spun away from his hot, determined eyes and ran up the steps as fast as she could. Behind her, she heard his soft laugh, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t pause. She almost burst into the cool sunlight at the top of the tower, where she stood, gasping, her back against the wall as her breasts rose and fell with the erratic rhythm of her breathing.

  For several moments, she thought he might follow her, wondered wildly if she felt more fear or longing. But when she heard his boots thudding on the stone steps once more, they were heading downwards and away from her.

  She didn’t move, just stood there, leaning heavily against the supporting wall, gazing outward through the window at the woods and hills. Only when she heard the sounds of his departure did she move forward, unable to help herself, to see him ride out with the small escort, which spoke volumes for his rule here.

  He turned once, as if he felt her avid gaze on the back of his head, and lifted his hand. It could have been to anyone, to Mihály and Turcul who moved together in the courtyard below. But she wanted to believe it was only for her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tîrgovişte, Wallachia, 1459

  It was a free meal. Vlad knew with his native cynicism that far more than the disabled and the destitute passed inside his doors. Among the old soldiers with missing limbs, the cripples, the beggars, and the homeless, came able-bodied gypsies with only temporarily bent backs, working men in clothes they would have thrown out but for the occasion. Vlad didn’t mind. They were all his people, and if he could turn any of them toward being productive members of his community, then he counted the effort well worth it.

  Of Pardo, his most persistent and elusive enemy, there had been no sign. But, still convinced that the beggars’ feast was the event he’d be waiting for, Vlad welcomed each of his guests individually with his piercing gaze. After which they passed between Carstian and Stoica, two of his most trusted boyars who knew Pardo well.

  Since the number of beggars had grown well beyond the ability of the palace hall to accommodate, Vlad had bade them all to a warehouse he’d inherited from a Wallachian merchant who’d been seized and murdered by the citizens of Brasov during their previous disagreement with him. He hoped Pardo would appreciate the significance. All the doors and windows were already boarded up, so Vlad had only one door unblocked for the occasion. There was only one other exit, one he’d had made specially and secretly.

  Otherwise, he treated the event as if he was welcoming foreign dignitaries and his own boyars. The vast room was scrubbed and clean. Rugs and pictures adorned the walls, covering the ugliness of the boarded windows. The tables were decorated with flowers and set with as much silver as he could beg, borrow, and steal. It would be interesting, he reflected, to see how much of it remained tomorrow, or if his fearful reputation for punishing wrongdoers would deter would-be thieves. For their own sakes, he hoped the latter, for dining with a man would not deter Vlad from killing him.

  And so, for what seemed like hours, they counted all the “beggars” into the feast, and when the places were all full, another table was set up. And Vlad could swear Pardo was not in the room.

  And so it would be when the feast was finished and he left the building. Pardo would hope to escape among the departing guests. Fair enough. He could deal with that too.

  Vlad took his customary place at the head of the first table and toasted his ragged guests, who set up a cheer for him in response. Under cover of the noise, Vlad nodded dismissal to his boyars. But at his side, Carstian bent and murmured in his ear, “I admire your courage, sir, but at least let us stay.”

  He’d said it before and as then, Vlad shook his head. “No, go and keep watch on my son. I’ve been misdirected before.”

  “Sir, what if it’s not Pardo but his servant who is in the room? None of us would know him…”

  “Even if he is, he isn’t armed. Before they even stepped over the door, they were all searched by the sluji. Have faith in me, Carstian.”

  As Carstian gave up and left with Stoica, Vlad reflected that though he’d used logic to convince them, his own feeling was far more instinctive, that though Pardo wanted him dead, he wanted to do the deed himself. He too was looking for vengeance, for his equally traitorous friend Michael, whom Vlad had killed last year.

  Vlad spread his hands. “Eat, my friends,” he invited. “Enjoy.”

  ***

  Ilona suspected it was no accident that they arrived back in Tîrgovişte on the evening of Vlad’s beggars’ feast. While doing his duty by the guests as the prince bade him, Turcul was clearly determined to return in time to protect his lord if it became necessary. A devotion that rather contradicted the criticisms voiced by Vlad’s detractors.

  They found the city quiet but full of sluji, Vlad’s police force, watchfully patrolling the streets. The palace itself was surrounded by soldiers, who looked carefully inside the carriage before permitting them to enter the palace.

  There was even a guard placed outside the nursery, Maria told them with nervous amusement as she welcomed them back. At Maria’s request, Ilona ate quietly in her friend’s private chamber. The unusual security in the palace made Maria uncomfortable. Ilona, though used to living under more martial conditions from time to time, understood how she felt and did her best to soothe.

  Although all the while, she thought of Vlad, her stomach twisting with fear for him. Like Maria, she would be glad when this night was over.

  Later, watching Maria struggle over some embroidery work—she was sure it was the same cloth she’d been sewing during her last visit—Ilona said abruptly, “What will you do if he marries?”

  She was aware of guilt as well as concern in her question. Maria had no idea, she had never had any idea, how Ilona felt about Vlad. And perhaps this convoluted situation would not exist if Ilona had just been open when they were younger.

  Maria sighed. “I’ve asked myself the same question many times.” She laid her needle down. “I think—at least I like to think—that I won’t mind, providing he still loves me best.”

  It felt like a stab in her stomach, whether of jealousy or o
f anger she didn’t know and didn’t much care. All she knew, instinctively, was that she could never share as Maria seemed prepared to. And yet Ilona had so much less of him than Maria already possessed.

  Or do I? If he loves me, is that not more?

  If what he had told her was the truth…but then, she knew in her heart that Vlad did not love Maria, not as she deserved to be loved, and that broke Ilona’s heart all over again.

  Her eyes strayed restlessly to the blackness of the window. Surely his feast was over by now? Had they found Pardo? Or had Pardo found the prince?

  ***

  Vlad sat back in his chair, sweeping his gaze around his guests, who, by now, were well and truly drunk. Several were snoring into their food. Others sprawled across the table to address friends on the other side. Some had fallen down altogether and lay helpless on the floor. One or two had vomited.

  With distaste, Vlad had bade the servants clean it up, but he ejected no one. In all, it had been an interesting experience. He’d learned from his lowliest subjects, and he trusted they had learned something from him. If they remembered it in the morning.

  Of course, they weren’t all inebriated. One or two more comprehensible discussions could still be heard, including those on either side of him. No doubt his presence had imposed a certain constraint there. Well, it was time to remove all constraints.

  Quietly, Vlad pushed back his chair and rose, moving to the back of the room, where a rickety staircase led upward to the loft. If anyone watched him go, they would assume he had private facilities for relieving himself.

  In the loft, Vlad found his sentry still alert beside the newly installed skylight. He should be the only guard left inside or outside the building. The sluji had all been dismissed in order to draw Pardo out.

  “All quiet?” Vlad asked.

  The soldier nodded. “Not a thing. I glanced out a couple of times, but there was nothing. The men at the door have gone, as you ordered. But I’ve heard nothing since except the occasional footstep in the street outside.”