Eternal Night

(II) Chapter 20: Intentions

Vladislaus had grossly underestimated how much he had needed this outlet.

Alone at last in Armand's music room, he dared to sigh in relief as his fingers flew across the cool ivory keys of the concert grand. Sure, the Bösendorfer sound was a little clearer and transparent than what he was accustomed to, his Steinway back in Budapest being more on the dark and smooth side tonally, but it was the reprieve he had been craving, not the purity of sound. And so, for the first time in weeks, he was granted the opportunity to decompress, much of his previous stress and anxiety gradually being purged from his system with each scale and chord.

His playing, which had been only momentarily tentative, now swelled – all inhibitions gone as a familiar passion set in; fingers moving so rapidly, they were almost a blur to the naked eye. Each movement was executed with the exactness of a razor, no wrong note or discordant noise to interfere. But as it often did, soon place and time became temporarily lost to the man until nothing remained but that of the music he was creating, his mind emptying of all consideration and feeling – save one.

Like clockwork, something familiar began to scratch at the back of his brain, a face, a smile, a pair of sapphire eyes.

Francesca.

Even in a moment of rare solitude and relaxation, he couldn't seem to escape her. In an instant, his mind was once more possessed, a familiar tension and longing tightening in his chest, and with that change in thought his playing too had altered. A composition of his own devising eventually replaced the technical complexities of Liszt and Chopin and in their place was Frankie's song – dark and mysterious, rich intricacies and hidden beauties lying underneath an unassuming melody. Similar to his feelings toward the woman in question, the quality of the song had notably evolved with time, even more so now than it had been a fortnight ago when he had played it last in the privacy of his own flat.

It was second nature, surrendering to the music and her visage in his mind, to close his eyes in brief surrender as recollections of every touch, look, and fantasy flooded his senses. If he focused hard enough, he could feel her somewhere on the grounds just beyond the window, alone in the darkness among the roses. He imagined her sensing him, his soul calling out to hers, of her turning her head slowly to look back to the house, eyes in search of the glowing window of the music room. A shiver ran down his spine, sending him to straighten for an instant before he leaned forward once more over the keys, silently willing her to hear the music, for it to beckon her to him...

"Mr. Leinhart?"

The sound of another – one who was clearly not Francesca – interrupted his private moment as his eyes snapped open and he turned in the direction of the one who had spoken. He was astonished to find Armand standing before the closed door of the music room, situated comfortably against the wall as if he had been listening for a while.

How long had he been standing there?

Unwilling to appear as surprised as he felt, Vlad made a concerted effort to keep his mask of indifference rightly secured as he stopped playing, his hands sliding off the keys to rest in his lap.

"Armand. Forgive me. I did not hear you come in."

"It's quite all right. I did not wish to disturb you. My apologies for interrupting your solitude."

"No, I don't mind," he fibbed, offering a charming smile.

Armand smirked a little, knowing better, though not exactly ready to counter the word of his king. He bowed his head.

"I've been wishing to speak to you in private since your arrival, but I've found you're usually otherwise occupied. I was hoping I could steal a moment of your time, if you have a couple of minutes to spare?"