A Thousand Years

Vladimir stood unmoved on the spot. A slight smile began to play across his lips. Vyeila's eyes narrowed and she looked back and forth between Vladimir and Melanie.

"Come, my betrothed," Vladimir extended a hand towards Vyeila's direction, "You must be getting ready now. There is no time to waste. The ceremony is tomorrow." Melanie bit on her lip. This still didn't stem the bitter seed that burst within, filling her with a deep sadness. She didn't lift her head, didn't even have to look at Vladimir to know that he would no longer return her glance.

"Thank you, my dear," Vyeila's voice was menacing even when she uttered the kindest, false words.

"Vlad, you must be crazy!" The Duke could hold it in no longer, seeing Vladimir's hand clutched in the grasp of the dark-haired Vyeila.

"Ah, Lorenze, calm down, my friend." Vladimir turned to him good-naturedly. "You will be at the ceremony too, I believe? With Melanie? I look forward to seeing you both there. You are both such good friends of mine. I will attend to you then. For now, I must go. Have a good night's sleep." Vladimir bowed, and strode away, his left hand still gripped tightly by both of Vyeila's. Melanie was now slouched onto the table, her brown tresses covering her face, but the Duke could see by the shaking of her shoulders that she was crying.

"Melanie, I'm so sorry," the Duke said remorsefully.

"It's not your fault," Melanie sobbed out, in muffled sounds, under her arm. "I'm going to go."

The Duke stared at her, silent. Melanie lifted her head now, her eyes wet with tears.

"I'm going to go, so that I may see him wed, and erase him from my mind forever, so that I can tell myself it's over completely." Melanie said in one long rush. The Duke shook his head, his face pained. It wasn't fair that Melanie had to hurt so. But her face was resolute. Finally, he sighed, and nodded. It was the end of a weary day, and tomorrow wasn't going to be any easier.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The ceremonial chamber was unlike anything the court had seen before. The cold marble walls had been lined with paintings of the royal family, all the way back until time immemoriam.

Melanie's eyes flickered over the tapstries that now also hung high up in the chamber ceilings. One in particular looked familiar. It was the Count's face that stared back at her, the leering eyes and nose, but somehow softer. Next to him a woman was resting her golden head on his lap. Her eyes were closed and her position peaceful. Melanie felt a sense of recognition wash over her as she stared at the woman woven into the wool.

The floor of the chamber was polished and shone glossily in the moonlight. The center of the pit, that had once held the notorious snake pit, was now bare with just an elegant white arch in the circle. It rose over the crowd, its edges lined with silk and flowers. The arch itself was carved out of ancient stone, and gave an aura of coolness to all who stood around it. The Count sat in his royal seat, draped in the regalia of his reign, while the Duke sat to his left, his face anxious and unhappy. Kathry was still in the Duke's room, having been told not to go anywhere until morning came. Melanie now found a seat towards the back of the crowd, higher up in the aisles, and settled into its hard edges uncomfortably.

"Let the ceremony begin!" The Count's voice, usually reserved and soft, boomed out into the crowd, and everyone ushered into their seats quickly, a silence falling over the room. A grand piano on the edge of the room seated a cloaked figure, who began to play the strum of a grand, but deadly song, the melodies of the Rite of Marriage. The shivering music floated through the chamber, and Melanie's eyes prickled against her own will. She clutched the edge of her skirt tighter as the door to the chamber opened slowly, groaning in its wake.

Vladimir entered the room. He wore a long white robe, that was barely lighter than his silver-blonde hair, that flowed behind him as he strode into the chamber, a fine glowing mane of royalty. His deep blue eyes were clouded behind a steel look of concentration as he headed forwards towards the arch. His hands were palm down, smoothly by his sides, but the stride in his gait betrayed an intense focus on only one goal, it seemed, reaching the arch. Once there, Vlad stood as motionless as a statute, facing the masses and crowd, while the door opened once again.

Vyeila now walked in, her head arched forward, and her long black hair trailing behind her. Her eyes were narrowed in anticipation, as she walked forward with a wide smile on her lips. She played to the crowd, turning left and right, nodding and smiling, as she walked forward. Upon reaching the arch, she turned to face Vladimir, her onyx eyes gleaming with a sudden spark of triumph.

The music now drifted towards an end, and the cloaked figure left the piano, to glide to Vladimir and Vyeila's setting in the center of the chamber. Mel's breath caught in her throat, as she saw the Count smile, his teeth baring in the light of the moon. The Duke was slumped back into his seat, one hand over his eyes.

"The first rite of the ceremony," The cloaked figure retrieved a knife from under his cloak. "The opening of the ancient encasement."

Melanie now saw a small metallic box sitting on a raised top in the center of the ground under the arch. The figure gave the knife first to Vladimir, who picked at one side of the metallic box. A small click was heard. Then, he gave the knife to Vyeila, who now picked open the other side of the box. The figure opened the dully shining box. He pulled out a scroll. The crowd was now in a hushed mood, with each person perched on the edge of their seats to hear what the figure would read out loud.

"By the moon of the seventh night, the son of the Count and his bride will wed. She who stands and she who falls, the one to reign hereon over all." Vladimir's head was tilted towards the dark figure, his eyes infused with an intense gaze. The figure continued. "The night of the dark, where light is gone, is unending till the break of dawn. The young and the old, the ancient and new, a hero's own kingdom the one he will choose." The Count suddenly drew in a sharp intake of breath. The Duke sat up in his seat as well. They both looked at Vladimir unblinkingly.

Vladimir now stepped to the center of the arch, and reached into the box. He pulled out a glass flask, with a jeweled cap enclosing it. He handed it to Vyeila.

"The wine of the vampire queen," Vlad spoke the words softly, his voice forming them in a seductive manner. "It is yours, Vyeila. The time has come." Vyeila pulled the bottle over to herself greedily.

"Yes," Vyeila grinned, baring her sharp teeth, luminescent against the shading of her raven hair. She pulled out the cap and held it up to the light. The liquid inside shimmered and edged against the glass. It had a slight green tint to it, and from the glass emanated the smell of a sweet, suffocating lavender, drifting all the way into the air of the crowd. Vyeila closed her eyes and lifted the flask to her lips.

"No!" Melanie suddenly rushed out of her seat and was at the arch in several seconds. Her eyes were wide, and her voice frantic. The Count's eyes suddenly narrowed in recognition, and he rose from his throne, his face hardening into a mask of anger. "That's poisonous." Melanie couldn't believe she knew this. But the liquid, the way it looked, the smell, it was exactly like an article she'd read about a certain snake's liquid that had poisoned someone's dog in the wilderness once. The color, everything, she was almost completely sure of it.

"You are Melanie?" The Count's low, menacing voice was at Mel's ears. She gulped and nodded. "Well, then, I'm afraid you have spoken the words. You have attempted to stop the proceeding of this ceremony, and accused my son of poisoning his bride. Do you know what that means?" Vladimir now turned toward the Count, his eyes wide in horror.

Melanie shook her head. What was going on?

"No, Father," Vladimir's voice was clear-cut steel, whipping through the chamber as everyone begin to stir in commotion. "I won't let it happen."

"Drink," The Count's face was imposingly close to Melanie's now. But it was poison; Melanie shook her head. "Drink..." The Count's voice was almost hypnotic, and he lifted out an arm, to grasp the flask from Vyeila. He leaned forward, whipping out his cloak to shield Melanie from the eyes of the crowd, pushing the flask closer and closer to her. His eyes suddenly flared. "You. Must. Drink!" Melanie, caught in the fear of his gaze, and noticing the impending closeness of his sharp fangs, moved forward, almost as if in a trance, to accept the flask.

"Noooo!" Vladimir roared. He leaped at the Count, but the cloaked figure was already there to block him. The two fell to the ground, in a rough tangle, as Vyeila tried to pull at Vlad's robe. Two more vampires came from the crowd. They seized Vladimir and pinned him against the arch, with two swords at his neck. They turned to hear the Count's orders.

"Drink, or die..." the Count's voice was barely a whisper, too low for the crowd to hear. Melanie could see that he now held the knife from the ceremony in his hands. "You have been a barrier to this kingdom to long. Drink, my dear...drink, Vladimir will be fine, drink..." Melanie's heart pounded furiously in her chest, but she saw Vladimir's eyes. In that moment, the cloud on his blue orbs had broken, and his eyes now were maddened, alive.

Vladimir's mouth was open in horror, and he writhed and tore at his captors bonds. He thrashed against the arch, and his silver-blonde hair tossed wildly against his robe. All the while, his eyes, they never strayed, his eyes were fixed on Melanie's, almost as if to keep her there, to keep her existing. Vladimir, he loved her. Mel's heart seemed to swell in her chest, as the flask was reluctantly forced into her fingers. Vladimir, he had been waiting for this moment all along, playing at a ruse, trying to trick everyone, including Melanie, to keep her safe. Melanie's fingers curled tighter around the flask. Vladimir was going to die for this, she was sure. Vyeila's face was livid, beyond livid, and it was only the presence of the Count that restrained her from shrieking in anger. Vladimir was going to die...unless...Melanie looked at the flask. The green liquid swirling within now seemed to contain a secret, as if it was not what it seemed to be. Melanie wondered...maybe she could drink it, and it wouldn't be too late. Would Vladimir save her? The Count leaned closer, knife still slightly shielded from the crowd's view, impinging onto Melanie's dress. She drank.

In that moment, a rush of warmth filled Melanie as the liquid gushed down her throat. It was as if a billion bubbles filled her, and she felt lifted. Without even knowing it, she handed the flask back to the Count, and stared at the world in disorientation. It was as if she had been filled lighter than air, her feet felt like she was floating. Melanie stepped forward now, into the center of the arch, and touched the metallic box. It seemed to glow and shine, as if her touch had ignited a long-subdued flame inside.

Vyeila rushed forward, and grabbed the flask out of the Count's hand. She glared at Melanie, who, instead of dying, now seemed infused with a warm glow, her cheeks enlivened with deepening shades of pink. Vyeila quickly raised the flask to her own lips, and drank. Her lips puckered as the liquid went down her throat, and her eyes began to bulge. Vyeila grasped at her throat, as a sound of choking issued from her own mouth.

The Count turned, horrified. The raven-headed vampress fell to the ground, her arms jerking up from beneath her, as she squawked against the cold marble. Vladimir's face was puzzled, terrified, and slightly relieved as he rushed forward to Melanie, now having been freed from the two vampire's clutch.

"Melanie, are you okay?" Vladimir placed his arms around her gingerly.

Vyeila was still struggling on the ground, and as she writhed, her feet began to twitch, and grow dustier and darker. Her torso then seemed to freeze in place, and finally her whole body was immobile, the evil vampress having been transformed into stone. The Count quickly tried to lift the statue from the ground, but it was too heavy, so he finally just let the stone Vyeila rest against the ground, her face forever frozen in the expression of rage and greedy maliciousness.

Vladimir touched Melanie's soft brown hair, leaned his face against her own warm, glowing skin, and circled his arm around her pale shoulder. She was safe, she was ok, she was unharmed. The gratitude in his eyes didn't need to be spoken. Melanie now leaned forward, and under the arch, kissed Vladimir gently, tenderly. He returned the embrace, and tilted her slightly back, so that her face was glowing like a luminescent pearl in the faint moonlight.

The metallic box now began to shine brighter and brighter, and a slight rumbling was heard, where the box began to shake side to side, and its edges were traced with words that began to be carved into it. The box rumbled louder, as the words traced its plane faster, and it glowed brighter.

"What's that?" The voice of the Duke was now heard, as he rushed forward. He grasped the box eagerly, and everyone turned to face him, including Vladimir and Melanie, who had broken from their embrace. "Look, it has writing on it." The Count now rushed to the Duke's side, and pushing him aside rudely, grasped the box for his own viewing.

"This, I leave to you my son, the truest love, the hardest won." The Count fell to his knees, the box clattering down beside him. His brows were knitted tightly together, and his palms planted on the ground, as he crouched over the ground, in a concentrated effort, it seemed, to hold himself together. He gripped uselessly at the cold marble floor, and suddenly, his body was racked by a violent sob.

"Father," Vladimir's voice was inflected with a sincerity that Melanie had never heard him utter the word with before. He knelt down next to the despairing Count, and his eyes held the sorrow, and pity of a thousand years. "Father, you understand now. Don't you?" The Count was still shaking, but his head was bowed down now, in defeat it seemed. Vladimir just sat by his side, one hand on his shoulders, breathing evenly and unmoving. Finally, the Count lifted his face, that cruel, leering face now filled with a despondent mutedness, and opened his lips to whisper the word, it seemed, 'yes.'

Vladimir turned away from his father, who was now completely worn out, and rested against the ground, and stood up. He walked slowly, almost as if in a trance, his face alight in a rapturous glow, towards Melanie. She awaited him with baited breath, and as he drew near, he finally seemed to register the closeness of her face, and leaned down to lift her chin gently, bringing her for an eternity trapped in the gaze of his shining blue eyes.

"Melanie," Vladimir said the word as if it were fragile as glass, careful to not stain it with his parsed voice, "Melanie," he said again, as if in a wonder. She nodded, her lips breaking open into a smile, illuminating her rosy face in the moonlight.

"Yes, Vladimir?"

"If you can ever forgive me, Melanie," Vladimir grinned now, "I'd like to let you know that you have officially become my bride."

"But, how?" Melanie looked at Vlad inquisitively.

"When we kissed, under the arch, and the metallic box wrote its words, it recognized that you had survived the test of intention, the liquid that you drank. Thus, it recognized you as my one and only possible bride." Vladimir smiled. "I knew something miraculous would happen. My mother's love for me preserved this box in its form, and its determinacy for my happiness. You didn't have to undergo the deadly marriage ritual of a vampress, but can remain forever, in pure form, my wife, my beloved, my all. And nothing else of the nature of evil, that I so feared, will befall you."

"Your mother?" Mel tried to grasp at her thoughts. Was she the beautiful woman in the tapestry, the one with hair like ripened grain, shining brightly like the sun? Yes, that had to be her, only she could have produced a son as beautiful and noble as Vladimir.

"Yes, my mother." Vladimir nodded. "She died shortly after my birth, but no one dared question the day she entered the storage room of the family royal treasures. It must have been then that she'd altered the ritual box, prepared it for my future destiny. For you, Melanie." Vladimir brushed a mahogany lock away from Mel's pale face gently, and leaned down to kiss her lashes. Staring up at Vlad, and realizing that it was not a dream, yet it was an impossible dream come true, Melanie felt her cheeks begin to redden and her chest seemed to expand with the greatest bubbly joy she'd ever felt.

"Vladimir, so it means that you loved me all along!" Mel exclaimed. Her smile was brighter now than the glow of the moon, and her face seemed to light up the whole chamber, in Vlad's eyes.

"Of course, how could I ever hurt you so," Vlad murmured, caught in the enchanting spark of Mel's eyes. "I'm a fool. I should have thought of some other way, but it seemed..." He paused, taking a minute to smooth a tear away from Melanie's eyes. She laughed in embarrassment, it was just like her to cry when she was so happy. "Hm, it seemed that there was something drawing me to this moment, leading me to this fate. All I know is that I'm so grateful. And I shall never part from you again." He clutched both of Mel's shoulders tighter into his own embrace and kissed her head softly, over and over.

The Duke rushed forward to offer his congratulations, and Vladimir let go of Melanie reluctantly to shake his hand.

"Vladimir, my man, you never told me you had a plan," The Duke grinned widely and gave Melanie a wink good-naturedly.

"But of course, you're so easily excited," Vladimir joked. "I do appreciate all you've done for Melanie in this time though. Without you, I don't know if the plan would have succeeded at all."

"Well, what to do with Vyeila?" Gorv now appeared by the two men's side, lugging the statue of Vyeila behind him.

"Place her in the North Tower." Vladimir suggested. "That should scare away all those pesky crows."

"Oh, Vyeila!" Melanie turned now to the stone statue, having not noticed Vyeila's misfortunate incident in her own state of excitement. "My goodness! What happened to her?"

"She drank from the flask in a hurry after seeing you had survived, hoping, perhaps, to take over before you could, but instead of invigorating her, the liquid turned her to stone. The test of true love, as my mother's last words bequeathed to me, on the metallic box, indicated." Vladimir told Mel, patting her shoulder gently to reassure her that it wasn't her fault. "Now, let's get you into a bridal dress, and attend to the feast, shall we?" Melanie smiled.

"You didn't forget the second part of the prophecy, did you, Vlad, fellow?" The Duke called out to Vladimir and Melanie as they started to walk away. Vlad turned back. "That she who stands will reign over all hereon." Vlad smiled. "That means, Melanie, you're the new heiress to this kingdom, along with Vladimir." Melanie looked shocked, but Vladimir just nodded at Lorenze, and turned Melanie away, leading her out of the room.

"We'll worry about all of that in time," Vladimir led Melanie down the hallway. "For now, there's just one thought in my mind: how shall we celebrate?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Melanie was now dressed in a long trailing white gown, not tight and fitting, but rather a loose, flowing shape with complicated bows and ribbons all over. They had returned from the banquet, and entered the bedroom now. Vladimir had moved them into the royal room in the West Chamber, the room his mother had once had specially built for her son and his future bride. Its marble walls were lined with a cool finish, so that their sleek surfaces seemed to be a reflecting face of the moon. A large portrait hung in the center of the room, of a voluptuous sleeping noblewoman surrounded by a field of flowers. The bed had a low-hanging canopy of silk, and was a contraption of the most luxurious sort, its edges lined in silver and gold threads. The pillows were soft and fluffy, and Vladimir, carrying Melanie, leaned her down into the bed gently, while his face pressed down to meet hers eagerly.