Interlude: Rowan Morrow

"You are leaving already?" Harold's voice rang out, the faintest hint of drunken slurring in his voice. "It isn't that late yet, my friend."

Rowan stopped and turned, standing right at the steps that lead down Lord Ullion's impressive home. The castle that pretended not to be an imitation of a palace. He wished for nothing more than to leave, to head back home swiftly and immediately to seek out his friend and steward Lambrecht.

Offering to marry Adelia Aria had been a spur of the moment decision he didn't regret, nor would he ever, not when he had seen the fear in her eyes. Not when he had noticed the dark hunger in Lord Emmertal's.

It was an expression he had last seen aimed at himself, back when Rowan had laid dying and bleeding on the ground, a lord standing over him, breathing hard in, sharp pants, born out of the ecstasy of killing. A bloodlust that had nothing to do with the thirst that had been tickling at the back of his own throat for over three centuries now.

"I'm afraid I have a busy day ahead of me," he answered as he waited for Harold to catch up. He was the only one the king ever chased after, he had noticed that early on.

The nobles of these lands were all busy kissing Harold's feet, simpering for his attention, eager and dangerous like well-trained predators, who waited for the right moment to strike. Who wanted only the juiciest, best piece of the carcass and everything else was beneath them.

"What a shame," Harold said, reaching his side to give his shoulder a pat. Rowan made sure to keep his smile mild so his lips would stay closed to hide his fangs. "I suppose we will have to celebrate your upcoming nuptials together another day!"

Ah, yes, the marriage he had downright demanded of Harold because murdering a terrible man in front of everyone wasn't in the cards. Rowan had considered seeking out Lord Emmertal's residence to kill him later, before he had discarded the thought again.

After his run-in with hunters that should not have lain in wait for him, he was wary about doing too much in lands not his own.

He had visited his sire to catch up, when, on the way back, silver arrows had shot him out of the sky. If not for Lambrecht's help, he would have lost his head in a fight where the odds had gotten stacked severely against him.

He had no idea how these people had known he would be there – they had been far too well prepared for it to have been a mere coincidence – but enough of them had survived that they would still be after his head.

He was currently trying to track them down, to not only erase the threat to his person, but also find out how they had come to know about him in the first place. In the meantime, he couldn't risk taking actions that could be traced back against him. If his true nature was revealed to Harold and his pesky nobles, the next time he accepted an invitation to one of their shindigs, it would be a trap, a death sentence lying in wait.

So, no matter how much a part of him hissed darkly in the back of his mind, the creature that was made of blood and deeply territorial, inhuman instincts, demanding that he go and kill the offending lord, he could not act upon it.

Furthermore, Lord Emmertal wasn't truly his prey, but Lady Adelia Aria's and she ought to decide his fate if she ever wanted to.

However...he did owe her his life and if she wished to see the maggot dead, it would only be right for him to find a way to see it done. It would only be right and honorable, after all she had done for him. After the courage and kindness she had shown, her spirit glowing brighter than a wildfire in that moment.

Rowan had to admit that she had been a...vision, that night. Bloodstained and clear-eyed and quietly, fiercely determined, he had kept thinking about her even days after returning home.

He wondered if he should offer Lord Emmertal's death to her as a wedding gift, or if it was far too morbid. It probably was. He should ask Lambrecht, Rowan could trust his friend's clear head when his own was clouded.

"We shall celebrate another day," Rowan promised Harold, dipping his head as he stepped away from the king, briefly and gently patting his shoulder. "Now, I am certain your lovely wife misses you very much. I will reach out to Duke Aria to plan the wedding in time."

"No, no, absolutely not." Harold shook his head, waggling his finger as though Rowan was a misbehaving child. It was vaguely amusing. "I will most certainly organize everything. For years I have tried to find a bride for you, a lady to warm your lonely bed and now you finally found her!"

While Rowan did not like the way Harold had phrased that, he had to admit that he had, at long last, met someone special. He had found someone who had, in an act of kindness and bravery, stolen a large enough piece of his heart that he had found himself enamoured with her.

He was quite smitten, as his steward and best friend had remarked dryly only just this morning, after Lambrecht had returned from failing to deliver yet another gift to Lady Adelia.

Rowan wished he knew what the Lady Adelia might like, so he could give it to her, even if it was just to thank her, rather than try to court her. He had known his feelings were an unfortunate and most likely inadvisable budding development and would likely lead nowhere. She owed him nothing after all.

Even once he married her, she had no reason or obligation to return his feelings. She didn't know him, he was well aware of that, and he knew the sort of bloody, ruthless reputation that followed him. A true and necessary one, but one that would not make it easier to try and win her over. Perhaps, in time, however, they could be friends.

He would love to be Lady Adelia's friend, to get to know her better, to find out what her plans and dreams were. He would be happy to be part of her journey, to see her live a fulfilling and joyful life.

"I will organize the grandest wedding the kingdom has ever seen," Harold continued with a self-satisfied smile, before he added with a grin, "Well, aside from my own of course. My darling Nina would surely find a way to skin me very politely and delicately should I dare to make your affair grander than hers had been."

Rowan chuckled softly, biting back the urge to grin himself. The queen was truly a force to be reckoned with, one he knew many underestimated and she quite liked it that way.

Queen Nina had once told him that nobles tended to have loose tongues around two types of people, the serving staff and those they consider inferior in wit.

Harold and Queen Nina certainly made it work in their favor, he was loud and pompous and glittery and she was quiet and demure and had a perfectly practiced smile that made her look like she hadn't quite gotten a joke, hadn't fully understood the conversation but was glad to be part of it anyway.

Rowan had made very sure to never let his mask slip around the queen, she was too attentive and the last thing he needed was to arrive to one of Harold's shindigs and unexpectedly find himself on the business end of a silver arrow.

"Please make it an evening affair," he requested. "You know I'm quite busy and I fear I can't show up any earlier." Largely because he'd crisp away in the sun like a dry bit of kindling getting tossed into a fire.

When the king looked ready to protest, Rowan added firmly, "I can't compromise on that. If you truly intend to take over the wedding planning, this has to be part of it."

Harold sighed and shook his head fondly. "I really hope having a wife will get you to free up some more time for leisure activities, the gods know I've tried and failed often enough. Very well, it will be a splendid evening wedding, just leave it all to me."

Considering the fact that Rowan had no idea how weddings among nobles in the kingdom were organized, which things were considered faux pas and which were considered fashionable, he was more than willing to leave things in Harold's hands.

They were on friendly enough terms after all that he knew Harold would not mess this up. The king also wanted access to the Wilds too much to cause any unnecessary arguments. Rowan expected that, sooner or later, Harold would sidle up to him to mention how he had been oh-so-kind to organize the wedding and that he might need a bit of a favor in return.

Rowan didn't mind that, there was often a give and take among those in power and so long as Harold didn't demand too much in compensation, he would repay the favor in kind.

He briefly considered bringing up the topic of Lord Emmertal, before he discarded that again. They had argued often about not tolerating monstrous people in power so Harold avoided that topic like the plague while conversing.

Rowan knew these weren't his lands and therefore not his to command, but he refused to fully commit to any friendships if the other person didn't share his moral values. Harold might call him friend, but Rowan did not do so in return.

Maybe their companionship wouldn't last past Harold realizing that Rowan had no intentions of giving so much as a millimeter of his territory away. That he was just waiting for an opportunity to convince Harold to get rid of the human monsters in his court.

But, for now, they had a good enough time together, which was one of the reasons Rowan accepted his invitations. The other was that he liked keeping tabs on what the neighboring countries were up to and being close to the king was certainly helpful in that endeavor.

Rowan didn't even have to speak much with the nobles here, his sharp hearing had caught all kinds of curious conversations throughout the night. It also, certainly, served as a good reminder as to why he wanted to have nothing to do with the kingdom's nobles.

No matter the pretend-sweet letters they sent him, trying to weasel into his good graces or trying to offer one of their children's hands in marriage, many of them would gladly throw him to the wolves in exchange for a scrap of what he had.

Waving goodbye to Harold, he descended the castle steps and walked beyond it's borders, far enough to reach into his pocket and pull out the calling-stone Iva, the sorceress working for him, had given him. She was awake tonight to finish a project of hers, otherwise he'd have to wait until dawn for her to fetch him.

Which wasn't too much of an issue, he enjoyed coasting through the sky, especially when the nights were pleasant. At times he even made it halfway back home before the sun started to rise and he requested a pick-up.

He took off one glove to nick the inside of his other wrist with a claw, a drop of too-dark blood oozing out slowly and dripping downright lazily onto the gemstone. He waited and a few moments later, in a rush of swirling winds, Iva arrived.

She was dressed down for the evening, wearing a simple tunic and skirt in sunflower yellow with red embroidery along the hems and neckline, her long, curly hair streaked with grey held back by a pretty, woven headband.

"You called me earlier than I thought," she said, glancing past him at the castle, a frown pulling at her brows. "Did everything go well?"

"I'm getting married," Rowan answered and she blinked, silent for a beat as she turned his words over in her mind, then she laughed.

"Well, that's certainly a story I want to hear," she said, waving him closer and as soon as he was within reach, she teleported them back home without fanfare, dropping them down in the courtyard of his keep.

Thick fog covered the ground, swirling in their wake as they walked and a slight, unnatural chill accompanied the nights here. Iva accompanied him, waving off his thanks for the transport.

They walked past the large, old tree planted in the middle of the courtyard, a gift from his sire after he had become warlord. It was the only thing that thrived in the fog and creeping death his presence brought, which was something his gardener Sera complained often enough about.

She was quite skilled at growing plants, courtesy of being half dryad, but even she had needed Iva's help to ensure they stayed alive, instead of withering away each night.

He found himself pausing for a moment, looking up at the keep that had been his home for years now and it had never struck him as scary, though he knew that people did consider it creepy at times.

Would Lady Adelia feel the same way? She had had no choice in marrying him, though Rowan would like to think he was at least better than Lord Emmertal, but he was still quite aware that no one had asked her for her opinion. He wished he could ask her now, could ask her what she liked and what might make her happy.

Should he try to plant more flowers? Hang some decorations from the crenelations? His home was practical, though it did have some dragon-shaped gargoyles around and there were paintings and rugs inside, brightening up his stone halls.

His keep wasn't as flowery and filled with filigree as Lord Ullion's home and it was nowhere near as decadent as Harold's palace, but he had never heard any complaints about it either.

He had to ask her, or perhaps Lambrecht should when they reached out to Duke Aria to finalize the details of their marriage. Walking forward with renewed purpose, he held the door open for Iva, who still looked very eager to hear what he had gotten up to during the few hours he had been away.

Lambrecht was still awake when he knocked at his door, opening within moments and with a faint furrow between his brows that turned to an expression of brief surprise. His friend was dressed for bed, but considering the wine, the crackling fire, the book and the little plate of snacks, his friend had intended to have a cozy, late night for himself.

"Our boy has news," Iva said with a little grin before Lambrecht could ask if anything had happened and Rowan resisted the urge to fidget when Lambrecht looked at him, attentive and just a little bit pensive.

"I am older than you," he sniffed at Iva, who merely grinned at him, eyes briefly glowing magic-bright and he cleared his throat. With both of his friends staring at him expectantly, he found himself caving pretty much immediately.

"One thing led to another and now I am to wed the Lady Adelia Aria, the very one who saved mine and Lambrecht's lives a little while ago," he said and Iva's brows rose at that, while Lambrecht was unreadable for a second, then he took a deep breath.

"Please enter and elaborate," he said, stepping aside and letting Iva and Rowan into his rooms. The door closed softly behind them and they sat down around the fireplace, warmth chasing away the faint, lingering chill within the keep.

Rowan folded his hands in his lap to keep from fidgeting, or worse of all, damaging the gloves with his claws and he began to explain the entire sordid affair. Iva's little grin faded almost immediately and he knew, had she encountered Lord Emmertal instead, she would have enjoyed cursing his existence to become one of eternal misery. Well, if she wouldn't risk a war between Harold and them, that is.

Rowan still vividly remembered the way Lady Adelia had stood still and tense before a man who had stalked towards her like a lion on the prowl, the sick satisfaction that had gleamed in his eyes.

He remembered the fast, frightened pounding of her heart and her carefully chosen, polite words. The tiny, barely noticeable tremor in her hands. He had wracked his mind on what to do as he had offered what shelter he could in these circumstances, dancing with her until a solution had appeared before him.

Harold wouldn't refuse him, he had known that, and so he had gone and requested Lady Adelia's hand in marriage.

"It isn't how I had envisioned getting married," he admitted at last, his friends serious and solemn beside him. "But I do like her and want her safe and the least I can do after she saved Lam's and my life is to return the favor. Once she arrives here, I will do my best to give her all the options I possibly can."

If she wanted to leave, he would wholeheartedly support her. If she wanted to stay, he'd gladly welcome her and maybe, if he was lucky, if he didn't mess things up, he might get to spend time with her. Even if she never returned his feelings, he hoped to at least be her friend.

"I take it you don't want to tell her what you are," Iva said and nodded at Lambrecht. "Or he or any of the others who live and work here."

Was it cruel to ask everyone to hide their nature when they had moved around so freely and unafraid previously? Many monsters worked here and they knew he supported them.

He wanted his keep to be more than the place from which he governed his territory. He wanted it to be a safe space for those who worked for him, for those who came to request his aid. For those who weren't human.

"It would be for the best to keep things quiet," he admitted reluctantly. "At least in the beginning. Lady Adelia might not even stay with us, after all. While I sincerely doubt she would tell hunters about us, there is no need for anyone to give up secrets they want to keep."

Lady Adelia had a good heart, he was sure of it, otherwise she would not have aided him and Lam when he had crashed onto her balcony, dawn on the cusp of breaking across the sky, silver bolts feeling as though they were burning his flesh like acid that had taken on a solid form.

"Very well, Master Rowan," Lambrecht primly plucked at his sleeves to make them fall into place as he sat up straight. "I will speak with everyone in the morning and ensure everything will be made ready."

"Thank you," Rowan said with a smile and a relieved little exhale. "I'll get out of your hair, old friend. I didn't mean to disturb your evening."

"It was for a good cause," Lambrecht said as he got up and accompanied him and Iva to the door. "Now, please excuse me, I have to find out if the pirate and the siren shall fall in love with one another anytime soon."

Rowan chuckled and Iva grinned and they wished him a good night.

"I'll take my leave as well," Iva said as she stepped away from him. "My experiment can't remain unsupervised for too much longer. Don't hesitate to reach out, however, if I can help either you or Lambrecht with anything."

"Of course, thank you," he said with a little bow and she wriggled her fingers at him, leaving him standing alone in the hallway.

His steps were silent as he walked through the keep towards his rooms, taking his gloves off along the way while his keen ears caught faint noises here and there. A few servants still awake and walking about, their sounds vanishing as they entered their rooms.

Iva had enchanted all the bedrooms, so that only screams were allowed to be audible, which was really for the best. Rowan loved his people, but he did not love them enough to want to be part of their every day lives, or to know everything they got up to.

He did not hear the night guard either, but that was for an entirely different reason. He felt them and their undead presences at the edges of his senses, however, just like he could sense the ravens nesting on the roof and rats scurrying around outside the keep, looking for a way in.

All it took was a faint little, focused bit of energy on his end and they left his home alone. Instead they went for the old bits of bread the head chef Ada had tossed to the side of the road outside the gates for all the critters that didn't dare approach ever since he had come to live here.

Work awaited him in his office, though no matter how much he tried to focus, his mind kept wandering. All he could think about was what had happened tonight, the fright in Lady Adelia's eyes, the way she had seemed half far away as they danced, as if part of her mind had shut down to keep her calm and steady.

How he had done his best to be reassuring and steady and gentle and how his senses had been aware of Lord Emmertal at every second, keeping track of him. How he had considered killing him multiple times, his fangs aching. He had wanted to lure the man into a dark hallway and bury his teeth into his neck. To leave his corpse to be found later.

Even now he wanted to kill him, a dark, vicious feeling that made him run his tongue over his teeth. As his mind kept returning to bloody fantasies over and over, Rowan realized that he was angry.

Angry at the unfairness of the kingdom's rules, angry at the power men like Lord Emmertal held, that allowed them to get away with horrifying atrocities and still be accepted into polite society with open arms.

He was angry at Harold, too, who was willing to do next to everything for Rowan, but nothing for the women in his court.

He was angry that Lady Adelia had felt so lost and alone and helpless that even he, a complete and most likely intimidating stranger, had been clung to, her fingers holding on to him until he let go first. He wondered why her parents had agreed to marry her off to a monster in the first place, if they held no love for their daughter.

The bloodthirst that liked to itch at the back of his throat idly from time to time, rose to the forefront of his mind in a very different manner now. It wasn't hunger that made his fangs ache and his claws harden and flex.

It was the kind of dark anger that had once, three centuries ago, driven Rowan to kill a lord and his court, when he had been a freshly turned vampire.

It was the same dark anger that had also driven him to challenge and kill the previous warlord of this territory, though at the time he hadn't intended to take his place.

It was impossible to focus on his work, so he set things aside for later and went into his private chambers instead. Every single window in here was securely boarded up, allowing not a single bit of light through, but plenty of mage stones illuminated the place in a pale, moon-silver glow.

Rowan wasn't in the mood to try and practice the violin that he had picked up a couple of days ago. He was terrible at it anyway and he needed to clear his mind, since anger rarely lent itself to good decision making in his experience.

Instead, he went to his set-up easel and brought out his paints. Painting had been his first passion in life, before fighting and all the other skills he had picked up throughout his years as a vampire. It brought him joy and comfort to this day.

He started painting, letting his thoughts flow and his body move, like his sire had advised him to, back when he had struggled with instincts and powers he hadn't had before he had walked across death's threshold, and come back changed.

He painted and painted until his thoughts felt clear and calm and the dark emotions in his chest grew quiet and settled. He had no need for his rage right now, for the monster he could be when necessary.

Taking a step back, his breath caught slightly. He had painted her, the Lady Adelia, but not like she had been tonight, beautiful and scared, but as she had been when he had first met her.

Hair in a messy braid and her white nightgown partially soaked in blood and her eyes bright and strong, unconditionally compassionate and fiercely intelligent. He set the brush down and his intent focus on Lord Emmertal shifted at last, his instincts purring in delight at the thought that found him instead.

Lord Emmertal did not matter, not anymore and never again. Not when Rowan couldn't wait to see just how brightly Lady Adelia would shine once no one stood in her way anymore.

Once she was free to do as she liked, without fear ever clouding her gaze again.