THE IMPALER'S WIFE

11

Greenery festoons the great hall, scattered rose petals adorn the floor, and delicious delicacies stack high on the tables. Musicians play in one corner, entertainers perform in another, and a magician confounds in the third.

"Have you ever seen anything so wonderful? I will dance until morning." Margit disappears into the crowd, her mask's tall feathers moving above the sea of heads like a dorsal fin.

Nobody notices me. I am lost in a whirl of color and noise. Invisible amid the spectacle of glittering fabric and colorful feathers. Unseen among the whimsical masks and elaborate costumes that encourage flirtation and seduction.

Then I see him.

Prince Vlad wears a tall red-patterned turban adorned with a large oval gem and a single white ostrich plume. His mask is striking, its black cruel-angled lines an intimidating bit of sculpted clay.

Prince Vlad casts his gaze my way and I move forward, my grin concealed under the yasmak.

He turns his back.

His obvious disgust at my costume twists like a blade in my gut. Blinking back tears, I pivot on my heels. What is wrong with me? What does it matter what he thinks of my costume? I am betrothed. Unavailable. I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and look for family and friends.

I join several ladies gushing over Aunt Orsulya's costume.

"It's scandalous," purrs Zsazsa as she casts an admiring eye towards the men's breeches complete with over-sized leather codpiece.

"It's wonderful." I tug on the false beard glued to Aunt Orsulya's masculine mask.

That evening, Prince Vlad avoids me. His rejection hangs like a heavy cloak from my shoulders, weighing down my feet as I dance with nobles and dignitaries. I recall Bernádett's cautionary words about Prince Vlad and his toying with young maidens' affections. Tonight I am inclined to believe her.

"Your costume is bewitching," a familiar voice says behind me. "There is nothing more alluring than lips that can only be kissed by a lover brave enough to lift the veil."

My heart leaps but I neither move nor reply.

"Have I mistaken the wearer of this costume?" Vlad Dracula circles around me, his fingers brushing my kaftan.

With burning cheeks, I lift my gaze to his, find his eyes heavy-lidded with desire. The heated thread of longing tugs at my flesh. He feels it too, because he looks at me like I am the only one in the room.

"I am betrothed to Luigi della Scala." My confession tumbles out.

"My deepest sympathies." His lips twitch as though suppressing a grin.

I scan the crowd. "Aunt Erzsébet will see us together. She's already chastised me. She knows you sent the letter."

Vlad Dracula drags a finger across his full bottom lip. "Do you think I am afraid of an old woman?"

"Of course not but—"

"Are you afraid of her?"

I square my shoulders. "I prefer avoiding her wrath."

"Dance with me." Vlad's voice is a challenge.

"You know I cannot." I scan the crowd in search of Aunt Erzsébet.

Behind the mask, his eyes glimmer with amusement. "At Visegrád you appeared a maiden of courage and intelligence."

"My aunt..." My chin drops and I shake my head.