The Vampire & Her Witch

When Ashlynn entered the room, Loman felt like his heart refused to beat, and the breath in his chest was caught somewhere between inhaling and exhaling.

It was hardly his first time seeing his sister-in-law since arriving in the Vale of Mists, and he was certain that he’d overcome the shock of knowing that she was alive. But seeing her in the courtyard, or even sharing a meal with her in her chambers, had done little to prepare him for the breathtaking vision who strode confidently into the brightly-lit, subterranean dining room.

When he’d seen her before, she was dressed simply, like the housewife of a commoner, ready to tend to the chickens in the yard or the weeding in the garden. There were even faint stains on her skirts that suggested she’d been doing exactly that until Lady Heila’s carriage arrived.

She’d been striking even then, certain to capture the hearts of any villager or local knight, but her presence had been... muted compared to the vision before him now. Loman had only recently begun to consider breaking his vows of celibacy in order to take up the mantle of Marquis, and he’d approached marriage from a purely political perspective, seeking a match that would deliver the most benefits for Lothian March.

But now, perhaps for the first time, he deeply envied his brother, Owain, for the enchanting woman he’d managed to marry.

The dress Ashlynn had chosen for this evening’s banquet clung to the supple curves of her body as if each panel of the garment had been cut and sewn for her figure and hers alone. To say that the silk and crushed velvet garment was ’green’ would do a disservice to the word. The sumptuous fabric was darkest, almost black, where the loose skirts swirled around her feet, but as Loman’s eye traveled higher, the color lightened, until the fabric caressing her slender shoulders shone with the bright, emerald green radiance of the top of a tree’s canopy under the bright summer sun.

The fit, fabric, and color alone were already a marvel that the royal tailors in the capital would spend months agonizing over, but Ashlynn’s finery didn’t stop with a base layer.

A fine lace over-skirt covered her dark green skirts, woven of the richest black threads Loman had ever seen, devouring the light of the room as they shifted ever so slightly atop the layer beneath them. The lace had been exquisitely woven to resemble the roots of a tree, spilling down from the corset of her dress as if they were sinking deep into the earth, blending seamlessly with the darkness of her hem.

Whoever the master weaver responsible for her dress was, they hadn’t stopped at the dark lace that covered her skirts. Another layer of lace finery, this time in a thread of spun gold, climbed up from her waist, twisting and winding around itself like the trunk of a tree until its branches split at window in the high-necked dress’s bodice, giving the appearance that the branches of the tree gently cradled her full bosom before flowing down her her arms in a spill of golden lace that resembled the leaves of at least a dozen different trees.

Even then, the artistry wasn’t complete. Covering her left shoulder, a spill of dark raven’s feathers gave the impression of wings wrapping around her arm, even though they weren’t shaped as such. Those very same feathers were matched by an intricate hairpin that combined long, dark feathers with delicate golden chains, studded with tiny emeralds that sparkled in the light of the dining hall’s crystal chandeliers.

Loman had seen Ashlynn when she was dressed casually, and he’d seen her in a stunning white gown, studded with the pearls of Blackwell Bay, but he’d never seen her looking as radiant as she did now, and it wasn’t just the outfit that was responsible for the change.

Ashlynn looked happier than Loman had ever seen her. Her smile when she spoke lit up the room like the rising sun, and the gentle, earthy energy that flowed from her made him feel like he was relaxing in the shade of a mighty oak tree on a hot summer day, or sheltering beneath its leaves during a sudden spring storm.

When Ashlynn entered the room, Loman had to resist the urge to bow in supplication before the Saintess who had basked so long in the light of the sun that she carried its warmth with her, even into the depths of the earth where vampires made their home.

But where there was light, there was also darkness. Where the sun shone, the moon followed, and Loman didn’t have to look far to see either.

There was no mistaking the Demon Lady of the Vale, not after spending so many years of his childhood playing on the rug before the hearth and listening to his father tell frightening stories about the demonic woman who nearly claimed his life during the War of Inches.

Yet, for all his father had described her dark, flowing hair and her mesmerising midnight blue eyes, he’d never captured how impossibly beautiful she was.

Where Ashlynn’s skin possessed the warm, healthy glow of the living, the vampire’s skin was impossibly pale, bone white, and free of any blemish or imperfection. Where Ashlynn’s figure was lush and curvy, Nyrielle’s was lithe and willowy.

The vampire had carried the study of contrasts all the way to her clothing. The dress she wore was cut from a blue silk that was so dark, it would pass for black in any but the brightest of lighting. Her neckline plunged in a sharp V, reaching nearly to her navel, while her narrow skirt was split at the thigh, revealing a tantalizing peek of sculpted alabaster perfection every time she took a step.

The right side of her neckline was decorated with a spill of rubies and garnets, as though drops of blood had formed jewels when they dripped from her crimson lips. More delicate lace covered her dress, spilling from her slender hands in flowing waves, woven in designs that reminded Loman of the stories his brother had told about the sea when he returned from visiting Blackwell City.

But as striking and gorgeous as she was, it wasn’t the vampire’s beauty that pulled Loman’s attention away from Ashlynn. It was the arm, snaked possessively around his sister-in-law’s waist, holding Ashlynn scandalously close, that truly captured his attention.

Loman hadn’t looked closely at Ashlynn’s neck when they dined earlier, and now he cursed the high collar on her dress as he searched for proof of his suspicions. The spill of rubies down the right side of her dress, exactly where blood would fall if she had to lean to the side to sink her fangs into the left side of Ashlynn’s neck, all but shouted the nature of their relationship. Combined with the dark feathers that Ashlynn wore on her left shoulder, Loman was all but certain of it.

The Demon Lady of the Vale wrapped an arm protectively around Ashlynn’s waist, holding her treasure close, and making it clear to all the other vampires in the room that Ashlynn’s blood was for her and her alone.

For a moment, Loman’s remaining hand twitched to the center of his chest where his pendant should have hung, and a prayer burbled up within his chest as he prepared himself to wrest Ashlynn free of the demon who had captured both her body and her mind...

But then, Loman’s mind caught up with the realities of the situation, and he froze like a deer staring at a mountain lion as he realized something even more impossible about the women who had entered the hall together.

Since entering this room, Loman had learned firsthand what it looked like when a demon was so steeped in cruelty and sin that the light dimmed around them and the darkness of their deeds became a palpable thing to anyone with eyes trained to see.

But when he looked at the vampire hovering protectively close to Ashlynn, he saw none of that darkness. There was only the soft, velvety blue of the infinite night sky, combined with a gentleness in the way she touched Ashlynn that Loman’s brother, Owain, could never rival.

If anyone in this room should make him quake with fear after centuries of wickedness, it should be the Demon Lady of the Vale. But when he looked at her with his only eye, he didn’t see wickedness... Instead, he saw the great love that Ashlynn had spoken of, and that shook him even more than an aura steeped in carnage and bloodshed would have.