For Your Sake and Others

As Rosamund learned to measure time by nights instead of days, her new life was filled with countless sunrises and sunsets. Weeks passed, and although it was difficult to follow them, she felt their unrelenting march.

She began to wander Castle Dravenstone since she was restless and couldn't stay in her room. Even though she had not yet seen another indication of Count Ivar, she proceeded with caution, ever concerned that he would suddenly appear out of the shadows or lurk around a corner.

She noticed that most of the rooms were covered with cobwebs and covered in dust. Despite generations of dust collecting on the flooring and desktops, the guest apartments, which were large halls full of them, seemed unaltered, their silk coverlets silky and undisturbed. Though she could still see her ghostly, gorgeous, inhuman reflection in the dirty mirrors, the quietness surrounded her with a peaceful sorrow as she wandered, a sight that only made her agony worse as the long years passed.

Some rooms, however, seemed to be regularly used—or at the very least, well-maintained. On the first floor, she discovered a huge dining room with a ceiling that rose at least seven storeys. In the middle was a long oak table that could accommodate twenty-five people, and the heads of boars, stags, and elks were arranged in neat rows along the walls of each of the three stoves. It must have been a glorious sight in the fading light; at night the flags seemed to lament a glory long since gone, and the animal heads threw unsettling shadows.

On the third floor, to her delight, she saw one of the best libraries she had ever seen. A never-ending storehouse of information, floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with glossy spines. In one lifetime, she couldn't possibly read them all, but then, she didn't have just one lifetime, did she? She silently gave thanks to her beloved late mother for teaching her to read from the Holy Tome and to Gottfried for his amazing printing press. She found a single glimmer of hope here, at least. She picked up a pile of books and brought them back to her room, where she placed them on her vanity to read anytime she wanted, a diversion for when she needed it most.

The nights went by. She didn't feel hungry, tired, or even thirsty for blood. Hopefully, she thought, she could stay away from Count Ivar until that thirst awoke again.

A draft entered the room one evening when she was trying to read a book of poetry while perched on the vanity stool. She suppressed a moan, knowing that she had been lucky to see so little of Count Ivar so far and that she couldn't hope to avoid him completely. She could feel him coming up behind her.

She flinched as he put his hand on her back, sending a shockwave through her body. He grabbed her dark curls and put a teardrop diamond necklace around her neck without saying a word. He took a step back, perhaps appreciating the way they glinted on her collarbone. She bit her lip, feeling very different from the human girl, the peasant girl she had been.

She felt cold as he touched her throat gingerly, as if he were afraid of breaking her, much to her surprise.

As usual, his voice was calm, quiet, and cool as he stated, "You are unhappy here."

She looked down at her hands folded. "Yes," she said without a tone.

"I understand your fear," he whispered, "but it doesn't have to be that way all the time. Although I don't demand your trust right away, you really have nothing to be afraid of. Even if I wanted to hurt you, I couldn't. I am also your spouse. I want your confidence.

Rosamund's eyes flashed defiantly as her face darkened. "I will never be able to trust you," she stated in a scathing tone. "You deprived me of my life."

With the granite mask of detachment firmly imprinted on his face, he ascended to his full, commanding height. And in exchange, I give you another. You can hate me all you want, but it won't make you happy.

She quickly regretted what she had said as his voice became threatening and icy. But he persisted, pacing the room and occasionally looking at her, his icy tone becoming more furious with every word.

If another man had chosen you as his wife, would things have turned out so differently? Yes, he would have asked your uncle for your hand in marriage. It's not that I don't have a sense of propriety; I just knew that your uncle would only agree out of fear. Maybe you wouldn't have been courted by another man in the first place.

Your life here will actually be better than anything another man could have provided. You were still a farmer's daughter, despite your beauty and charm; the best you could have hoped for was to marry a successful merchant or craftsman. But you're a lady now! Castle Dravenstone is yours. I can give you anything you want, all the fancy gowns, jewelry, furniture, and prestige you could ever want. You're a countess! This is something to be proud of.

His strong tone softened slightly as he paused and looked down.

"You are not so shallow or unimportant, in my opinion, that these things would satisfy you on their own. However, they can be useful.

His tone eased a little, but the scathing rebuke in his voice still hurt her terribly.

This time, she told herself fiercely, don't let him see you cry. Avoid being so weak in front of him! Despite her resolution, tears welled up in her burning eyes, which threatened to betray her. She looked down, trying to hide them, but she knew he saw. For a long time, he was silent.

He knelt before her, putting their faces level, and she sobbed too deeply to be astonished.

He groaned, his voice softer now, "Ah, my dear." "Pardon me. I think I've scared you again. I need your sweetness to balance my harshness, don't you see that?

She was unable to talk or look him in the eye, but she was astonished by his softer tone.

"Pardon me," he added. It was unacceptable to treat you so harshly. In a short period of time, you have lost a lot.

She might have sworn a different man was kneeling in front of her, but she ventured to look at his face. She no longer recognized the looks of stoicism, coldness, or anger; it was as though a stone mask had been removed. He appeared almost human, genuinely alive.

He muttered, "I know I can't make you love me; you have to come to me on your own." However, don't assume that I can't take care of you. With those words, he delicately and tenderly put one finger to her lips. "Is there absolutely nothing I can do to win your approval?"

Unable to answer, she shook her head and closed her eyes.

Then he said, "I'll wait." "I waited sixty-eight years for you, including my human lifetime, and I will wait another hundred years if needed."