THE IMPALER'S WIFE

14

ILONA

Winter 1466

Buda castle, Hungary

"You look more pleased than usual." Bernádett smiles while unlacing my bodice.

"It was an enjoyable New Year's party." My cheeks heat with the memory of dancing with Prince Vlad.

"A new year. A new husband."

"Oh...him." My grin dissolves like honey in hot water. "I hope della Scala's carriage slides off an icy bridge."

Bernádett's mouth drops open. "Don't tell your aunts that. Lady Erzsébet will be as angry as a he-goat and Lady Orsulya will make you pray the rosary until your knees bleed."

"I don't love della Scala, Bernádett. I don't want to move to Genoa. I cannot bear the thought of his sweaty body heaving on top of me."

"Then why are you smil—ah, you danced with Prince Vlad tonight, didn't you?" Bernádett shakes her head and tucks a loose strand of carrot-colored hair behind her ear.

I lift my chin. "I did."

"Dracula is promised to Margit, not you."

I puff out a grunt. "Prince Vlad is betrothed to no one."

"Does he make promises? Does he bring love tokens? Write letters?" Though her voice is gentle, her questions make me squirm.

"No." My gaze flicks to the only letter he wrote, still wedged in the mouse hole.

"My lady, did you ever think that Vlad Dracula might just be toying with your heart?" She slips the linen nightgown over my head.

"He is not that kind of man." I climb into bed and yank up the fur blanket.

Bernádett crosses the room and stokes the fire. "Did he ever try to kiss you?"

"No. Never." The lie tastes sour on my tongue.

"I didn't want to show you this but ..." With a furrowed brow, Bernádett pulls a folded bit of paper from her dress pocket. She holds it out.

I unfold the tract.

It is a gruesome drawing: A forest of naked bodies impaled through backs, bellies, and buttocks. Dismembered heads, arms, legs, feet, hands, and torsos strewn like offal before a bearded Vlad, who sits before a table laden with wine and food.

I throw it aside. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Thisis the real Dracula, not the charming man who seduces you." Bernádett taps the text at the bottom. "I cannot read, my lady. What does it say?"

I snatch up the paper, give it a good loud snap, and clear my throat. "This begins a tale of cruelty and evil concerning the crazy man Prince Dracula. It is a story of how he impales his own good people, skins them, roasts them, and hacks them to pieces like cabbage. He snatches babes from their mother's arms, hacks them to bits, and forces the mother to eat upon their own beloved children. These horrors are not to his enemies but are done to his own people."

Bernádett lowers her head and sighs. "This is the man you admire?"

"This..." I flick my fingers at the tract, "is slander invented by Matthias's councilors to justify Prince Vlad's imprisonment. Would Matthias give him a lavish chamber, his own squire, and servant if it were true? Would he attend royal dinners and dances? What sort of madman discusses Turkish invasions and holy crusades with diplomats?" I shake the paper at her. "Prince Vlad told me that this is how nobles deceive villagers who are fascinated by gruesome drawings and shocking stories. He saidpathos, an appeal to emotion, is used to manipulate the uneducated."