Take Me Away, Dark Lord!

Sir Gallahan stepped forward then, breaking the tension before the Duke decided to execute the host on his own doorstep.

”Count Rodhe,” Gallahan said briskly, pulling a notepad from his belt. ”We require specific accommodations for the Lady Seraphina. She needs a room with thick curtains, blackout, if possible. No draft.”

Gallahan continued, his tone professional but demanding. ”And food. She needs warm soup. Cream-based, not broth. Soft bread. Warm milk with a dash of honey. And fruits, but not the sour kind. Do you have strawberries? If not, send a rider to the next town.”

The Count looked bewildered. ”Soup? Milk? Strawberries? Sir Knight, I have prepared a roasted boar and vintage wine for the Duke!”

”The Duke will eat what he pleases,” Gallahan snapped, channeling his inner overprotective mother hen. ”The child requires sustenance. Is that a problem?”

”N-no! Not at all!” Rodhe waved his hands frantically at his servants. ”You heard him! Move! Prepare the nursery! Get the chef! Soup! Honey!”

The servants scattered like frightened chickens.

Kaelus didn’t wait for them to finish bowing. He strode up the stairs, carrying Seraphina.

As he passed the Count, Rodhe leaned in, trying one last time to gain favor. ”Your Grace, she is a lovely thing. Your... illegitimate daughter, perhaps? Or a war orphan?”

Kaelus stopped.

He looked down at the sweaty, nervous man. He felt Seraphina shudder in his arms as she got closer to the Count.

”She is my heir,” Kaelus lied smoothly.

Rodhe froze. ”Heir? But... you haven’t adopted...”

”And,” Kaelus continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that only Rodhe could hear, ”she does not like your face. Fix it.”

He walked past the stunned Count and entered the mansion.

Inside, the air was warmer, but for Seraphina, the spiritual pressure was worse.

The hallways were lined with portraits of the Rodhe ancestors. To Seraphina, every portrait was bleeding. The carpets felt sticky, as if soaked in invisible sludge.

”Keep your eyes closed,” Kaelus murmured into her hair.

”It smells like moldy coins,” Seraphina mumbled into his neck.

”That is the smell of Count Rodhe,” Kaelus noted dryly.

He carried her through the grand foyer, ignoring the grand staircase, and followed the head maid, who was trembling so hard she nearly dropped her keys.

”The... the room is this way, Your Grace.”

They reached a large guest suite. The maid fumbled with the lock and opened the door.

Kaelus stepped inside. He scanned the room instantly for threats, secure windows, locked balcony. No hidden assassins in the wardrobe.

”Leave us,” he ordered the maid.

She curtsied and fled.

Kaelus walked over to the large four-poster bed. He didn’t put Seraphina down immediately. He sat on the edge of the mattress, still holding her.

”We are inside,” he said. ”The Count is not here.”

Seraphina slowly peeled her face away from his coat. She looked around the room.

It was... okay.

There was a ghost of a small cat curled up by the fireplace, but it looked friendly. The ”fog” was thinner here.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. Her face was pale, her eyes rimmed with red. She looked fragile, small, and pathetic.

Kaelus felt a strange tightening in his chest again.

”You said it was foggy,” he said, watching her carefully.

”It is,” she insisted, rubbing her eyes. ”Gray and sticky. And the walls are crying.”

Kaelus looked at the silk wallpaper. It was perfectly dry.

”You have an active imagination, Seraphina.”

”It’s not imagination,” she grumbled, leaning back against his chest because she didn’t want to touch the bedsheets yet. ”This house is bad. The fat man is bad. He has a shadow monster on his back.”

Kaelus went still.

Shadow monster?

He knew Rodhe was corrupt. He knew the man was a traitor. But he hadn’t seen anything supernatural attached to him.

”What kind of monster?” he asked, his voice serious.

”No eyes,” Seraphina whispered, tracing a pattern on the Duke’s silver buttons. ”Long fingers. It whispers in his ear. It tells him to take things.”

Kaelus narrowed his eyes.

If the child was making this up, she was incredibly lucky with her guesses. Rodhe’s sin was greed.

But if she wasn’t making it up...

”Can you see monsters on me?” he asked suddenly.

It was a question he had never asked anyone. He was a butcher who had killed thousands. If anyone should be haunted, it should be him.

Seraphina looked up at him. She stared into his violet eyes.

She saw the darkness in him. She saw the ocean of blood he waded through. But...

”No,” she said softly. ”No monsters on you.”

”Why?”

”Because,” she reached up and patted his cheek with a clumsy, small hand. ”You are too scary. The monsters are afraid you’ll bite them back.”

Kaelus stared at her.

A laugh, a genuine, short bark of laughter, escaped his lips. It was a rusty sound, unused and sharp.

”I see,” he said.

He finally shifted, lifting her and placing her gently in the center of the bed. He pulled the heavy duvet over her, tucking her in until she was a small burrito of silk and down.

”Rest,” he commanded. ”Gallahan is bringing your... ’yummy’ soup.”

He stood up and walked to the window, pulling the heavy velvet curtains shut, plunging the room into a soothing semi-darkness.

”I have work to do,” he said, his back to her. ”I will be in the next room. If the ’fog’ gets too thick...”

He paused.

”Scream,” he said. ”And I will come and cut it.”

Seraphina watched his broad back as he walked toward the connecting door.

She snuggled deeper into the pillows. The cat ghost by the fire purred soundlessly.

”Okay, Papa Duke,” she whispered, her eyes already drooping.

Kaelus paused at the door. He didn’t correct her this time.

He stepped out, closing the door softly.

His face transformed instantly. The softness vanished. The curiosity vanished.

He looked at Sir Lucas, who was waiting in the hallway.

”Your Grace?”

”Count Rodhe,” Kaelus said, his voice dropping to the temperature of absolute zero. ”He is comfortable in this house.”

”Sir?”