The castle's dining hall was far larger than Beatrice had imagined. The ceiling rose in tall stone arches, and torches burned along the walls, spreading a warm, flickering light.
In the center of the room stretched a long, massive table of dark wood, covered with plates and platters from which fragrant steam curled into the air.
Beatrice smelled the food before she truly saw it.
Roasted meat. Fresh bread. Melted butter. Aromatic herbs.
Her stomach tightened so violently it almost hurt.
Only then did she notice that they were not alone. Three young boys, clearly human, moved through the hall carrying platters and jugs. They moved quickly, their heads lowered, but they did not seem frightened.
The three boys worked in complete silence, moving with an almost unsettling precision, perfectly coordinated with one another, as if they were the fine gears of a clockwork mechanism that never made a mistake.
Azarie pulled out Beatrice's chair with a calm, almost ceremonial gesture. She sat down slowly and remained still for a few moments, staring at the table before her with a nearly childlike wonder.
The platters were loaded with dishes she had never seen so close before. In front of her were large pieces of roasted meat, browned and glazed with a thick sauce of wine and herbs, tender duck legs with crisp skin, meat roulades stuffed with mushrooms and garlic, as well as an entire tray of roasted vegetables—caramelized carrots, sweet onions, golden potatoes covered in melted butter.
Farther down, at the end of the table, Beatrice spotted the desserts: dense cakes with honey and nuts, baked apples stuffed with raisins, delicate tarts filled with cream and red berries, and a tray of fragile pastries dusted with sugar.
Most of these things Beatrice had never eaten. Some she had only heard about once in the stories of others.
Azarie cast a glance toward the three boys who continued to move through the hall.
"Tell the cook she has outdone herself again," he said calmly.
The three of them stopped at exactly the same moment and bowed their heads in a perfectly synchronized gesture, as if guided by the same invisible hand, silently thanking their master for the praise.
Beatrice blinked in surprise. There was a human woman cooking here?
Azarie pulled out a chair.
"Sit."
Beatrice obeyed without protest. Her heart was still beating too fast for her to think clearly. The vampire remained beside her, resting one hand on the back of the chair.
"Tell me, Beatrice, do you prefer to serve yourself, or would you like to be served?"
The question left her completely bewildered.
"I… can serve myself."
"Of course."
Azarie made a small gesture with his hand, as if the entire table belonged to her.
Beatrice reached for the first platter. She took a large piece of warm bread, then some roasted meat that glistened in brown sauce. She added baked potatoes, rolls stuffed with cheese and herbs, and a sticky dessert dripping with honey.
Her hunger drowned out every other thought and, for a few moments, Beatrice saw nothing around her except the full plate in front of her.
She tore the bread with her hands and dipped it into the thick sauce, then took large pieces of meat that she swallowed almost without chewing, hurried and greedy, as if someone might take the food from her at any moment. Sauce smeared across her fingers and the side of her palm, and she wiped it without the slightest embarrassment with the piece of bread she immediately brought to her mouth, completely forgetting any trace of manners.
She ate quickly, with an instinctive, almost wild urgency, as if her body had decided on its own that it had to make up for all the days of hunger that had piled up until now.
After a few minutes she began to breathe more heavily, but she still did not stop, continuing to fill her plate and bring food to her mouth with the same impatience.
Only when her stomach began to seriously protest, sending a heavy, pressing sensation into her chest, did Beatrice suddenly stop.
She leaned against the edge of the table and remained bent forward for a few moments, trying to steady her uneven breathing.
Azarie had not said a word the entire time.
He sat in the chair beside her in a relaxed, almost indifferent posture, his back slightly leaned against it, his calm gaze fixed on her, watching the entire scene with a faint smile, as if her behavior amused him in silence.
Beatrice swallowed dryly and only then noticed something that until that moment had completely escaped her.
Azarie was not eating at all.
Instead, he held a thin crystal glass in his hand, slowly turning it between his fingers, occasionally sipping from the dark red liquid inside.
"Is it… blood?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Immediately she shrank into herself.
Azarie looked at her with irony.
"Tell me, Beatrice, how much do you know about vampires?"
"Not very much," she admitted. "And what I thought I knew doesn't seem to apply to you very well. I only know that we are food for you, and that all my life I have run and hidden from vampires."
"Yes, that is true. You are food."
Beatrice felt a cold shiver.
"Some vampires have found more unconventional methods of feeding. I, however, prefer the direct source. From a human. While they are still alive."
His beautiful gaze settled on her.
"So none of my glasses will ever hold blood."
Beatrice flinched.
"There is wine in here," he continued calmly. "Sometimes I drink it out of courtesy when I am in someone's company. It has no effect on me."
"Will you kill me?" she asked in a small voice.
Azarie laughed.
"No. I have absolutely no intention of killing you."
"But you will feed from me…"
"Yes. That is what I will do. After you finish eating."
He leaned slightly toward her.
"Vampires can only taste food through human blood. I will feel the taste of what you have eaten. And I enjoy that. Sometimes I can even get drunk if the human has drunk alcohol."
Beatrice frowned slightly.
"Do not worry," he added. "I will not drain you of blood. My plan is to take care of you and feed from you for a long time."
His gaze grew slightly colder.
"Unless you cause me some serious displeasure. In that case I will abandon you and take another blood slave."
Beatrice nodded quickly.
"Good. Now that you have eaten, let us retire. Dawn is approaching, and I must sleep."
They returned to the large room, and the silence there seemed even deeper after the bustle of the dining hall.
Azarie sat on the edge of the bed with a calm movement and lightly tapped his thigh, calling her without hurry.
"Come."
Beatrice approached slowly, with uncertain steps, trembling without being able to control it.
"Sit."
She obeyed and sat in his lap, stiff at first, unsure what would happen next.
Azarie was strong, and his closeness made her feel it in every muscle of her body, yet the arms with which he held her were surprisingly gentle. With a calm gesture he moved the wild curls from her shoulder, leaving her neck exposed.
Then he lowered his mouth to her skin.
His fangs pierced her neck lightly, and Azarie remained still for a moment, his lips pressed to her skin, as if listening to the rhythm of the blood beneath it. Then he began to drink slowly. Beatrice heard the soft sound of him drawing in, his breathing changing—deeper, heavier—and from his chest escaped a low murmur, almost satisfied. The sensation of blood leaving her body came in warm waves that made her knees weak and her breathing heavy.
Beatrice flinched instinctively.
But, to her surprise, it hardly hurt at all.
Instead, from the place of the bite, a warm and sweet sensation began to spread through her body, like a wave of euphoria that ignited her senses and made her breathing grow heavier.
Beatrice let out a soft moan and shifted restlessly in his arms, her body reacting on its own, wordlessly asking for more of that strange, dizzying sensation.
If Azarie had continued drinking from her until he emptied her completely, she probably would not even have realized what was happening. In fact, in a disturbing way, she might have wanted it to continue.
At last, Azarie withdrew his fangs, his lips stained with blood.
He looked at her with a faint smile.
From so close, his face was incredibly beautiful, almost unreal, like the statue of some ancient god.
He ran his tongue slowly over his lips, licking away the remaining blood.
Beatrice felt the gesture like a shiver that ran straight down into her abdomen, making her body tighten involuntarily.
"To sleep, my sweet."
He stood and led her toward the large cage in the corner of the room.
This time Beatrice entered without any protest, still floating under the lingering effect of the sensations running through her veins.
The cage was spacious enough for her to lie down comfortably, and inside were thick blankets and soft pillows that made the place seem almost comfortable.
She stretched out her legs and curled up among the blankets, feeling that warm sweetness still flowing through her body.
She fell asleep peacefully, a faint smile on her lips, before she could think of anything else.