Chapter 5

  It is early morning, and I’m standing at Charles’ right, beside his throne.

  The throne room is full of people, guards, servants, religious figures and notables of the city, maybe fifty people in total, maybe more, I’m not sure.

  On the walls and banners, you can still guess the damage I did yesterday.

  “People of Lyenass, members of my House, I asked you to gather here today so I can publicly introduce my new official ally, who will work hand in hand with all my subjects.”

  He waves at me and I take a step forward, “My name is Camille, but you can call me the Night Warden, or Warden for short,” I announce, and a ripple of whispers grow throughout the crowd.

  “Yes, that Night Warden. I am the one who killed all those bandits, protected all those innocents. I also protected Lady Manon and Francis as they traveled here,” I add with a serious face, hands clasped behind my back.

  Today I wear a very different outfit than usual, one that makes quite the impression.

  I don’t wear a robe, no, but grey trousers and a grey shirt that accentuates my figure while giving me a very masculine style. I can already see many men at a loss for where to look.

  Or, inversely, who knows exactly what to look at.

  I frown, yet I take a step back as Charles keeps going.

  He’s not exactly happy, but now that his anger has abated and his calculating, sharp noble mind has taken the reins back from his zealot and bigot side, he’s a much easier man to bear.

  “What she says is true. The Warden is a powerful witch of the night, as my bodyguards can attest, but she pledged to work for the good of this city, and prayed Kerron right here, in this room, in front of me. I attest of her virtue. She shall command a fifth of my guards, and holds the power of judgment here and in all my lands. Going against her is no different from going against my daughter, and House Lyenass will answer in kind. Do not insult her, do not challenge her,” He glances at me, I glance back, there’s a kind of respect in there, between us, but our respective gaze quickly snaps back to the crowd.

  “She can and will kill anyone found guilty of crimes under her judgment as under mine. You cannot keep her out of your houses, boats and shops, for she’s my left hand to my daughter’s right, and she’s a believer of Kerron,” Many people gasp when Charles, once again, clarifies that I can indeed pray the Gods, or one goddess at the least.

  Back in Tellon-s?r-C?te, I vaguely knew that no witch could pray the gods, speak their name or walk unto their churches and temples, but it didn’t really register in my mind. It was a distant, inconsequential belief, as I was the apprentice of an alchemist that some called a witch, and yet that didn’t stop me for praying.

  Now? Well, I don’t know what I am, and I don’t believe I’m a witch, not exactly, but it makes no difference for those people.

  I’m a monster, a heretic, yet I can kneel and pray. I’m an exception that they can’t accept.

  Anyway, everyone can feel that this is a warning, though not one that all take by heart.

  They will have to learn. This is my new home, I won’t stand children molesters and wife beaters, nor zealots burning outsiders.

  All around, I can already see dissenters. Another woman at the Lord’s side, doing his work? Isn’t his daughter enough blasphemy, for she should already be married far away? What is this, a freakshow?

  Or at least that’s what I believe I can read from some of those faces.

  “Corenthin,” Charles says, and an older man steps forward. He’s slightly younger than Lord Lyenass, is demeanor is that of a soldier and he's clad in ceremonial armor.

  However, before he can speak, someone else interrupts.

  “You want us to believe, on your word, that this heretic wench can pray?” The new man says angrily, and all gazes fall on him.

  He’s an older man, older than Charles but younger than the blacksmith from yesterday, blacksmiths who I realize stand apart from the crowd, along a wall between the crowd and us, in silence.

  Anyway, said old man, clad in a white robe woven with gold, a golden sun spreading on his chest, didn’t think this through I believe, as both the guard captain and Lyenass’ lord are now frowning at him.

  This, however, only deters him for a handful of seconds at best, before he resumes speaking, uninterrupted by the Lord, the Lady, or me for that matters. I had been warned that this could happen.

  “Yet another witch in your service, my lord? Another woman to corrupt your reign? I humbly ask for an explanation!” He demands, not humble at all.

  I frown, then understand. He made a mistake, speaking up like this, and now that he walked into it, he’s doubling down, there’s nothing else to do. He slides forward on pride and audacity.

  “Are you questioning me, Suniestar Laurent?” Charles slowly asks back, taking care to use the right title, showing that he, unlike his interlocutor, his measured and in control.

  Suniestar, the name given to the highest-ranking priest of the Pantheon in a given city or territory, in this case being this man, Laurent, who also turns up to be the highest Sun priest.

  The Sun worshippers are the fastest to burn people and scream about heresy.

  I’m happy Manon gave me a crash course before the meeting started.

  And now the Suniestar is caught. Either he doubles down again, or he back down. In both cases, he loses, I think, but this Laurent old man doesn’t seem to believe the same thing.

  “I demand proof of piety from this night witch!” He snarls back at Charles, venom in his voice.

  Charles frowns, I smell bad mood from him, so I step up and expose myself. I may not like him, but if I can avoid him looking too tyrannical, it may even be useful to me.

  “I can pray right here and now, Suniestar, or walk in a temple to do so, if you wish for it,” I answer, looking at him in the eyes. He’s not happy I’m the one answering, he’s disgusted. He’s even worse than Charles, at least the lord of the city tried, and still try, to be civil about it.

  When his pain doesn’t eat away his rationality, that is.

  The grim face of the priest quickly turns into a caustic smile, however, “Witch, your kind is foulplay made flesh. You will come to our Sun Church in the heart of Lyenass, and there we will make sure you can't use your powers to deceive us as you did with our Liege! We will we watch you try, and fail, to pray!” He answers triumphantly, and silence falls over the room.

  An embarrassed silence.

  Not far from the Suniestar, a motherly woman, not that old and not that young, is more than pissed off, it seems.

  “Lord Lyenass explicitly told us that she prays Lady Kerron,” She starts, watching a befuddled Laurent, before turning at me, “Is that right… young woman?” She asks, with just a smidge of respect. She, too, is a zealot, but she’s less wound up than the Suniestar.

  “That is true, lady priestess. My dad taught me how to pray Lady Kerron since before I can remember, to honor her, our house and my departed mother,” I answer calmly, giving her a small respectful nod.

  She frowns. She’s not sure if I’m making it up, or being genuine. This doesn’t stop her, though.

  “Then, Suniestar Laurent, we ask for her to come to the Order of the Hearth, as this is our Goddess to honor and our faith to test.”

  There’s some kind of power play going on here, I think. The Suniestar is the big boss, but I don’t pray the sun god directly, so decorum would ask for him to give the priestess what she’s asking.

  He’s going to say no, though. He wants to see me burn, to set me up, and that measured woman can’t go against him.

  “I support the notion,” Someone suddenly says. All eyes turn toward him. The old blacksmith.

  He’s properly clothed today, I mean, properly for a social gathering. There’s no reason to bring clothes that nice in a smithy. He seems clothed in commoner garb, but the cut of it is too good, the fabric is too nice and, for some reason, he wears his hammers on his belt. Ah, not the one he used yesterday, it’s a way fancier one.

  “She helped me forge hundreds of nails for the orphanage. I didn’t solicit her, she asked for nothing in return, she was silent, dedicated and precise, learned fast and stood her ground. I vouch for Camille the Night Warden on my Eternity. What does the Church of Eleyugh says?” He asks, each word like cast iron, before turning his gaze at yet another priest, a middle-aged man clothed in red, brown and gold.

  Their gazes meet and the priest gives the blacksmith a deep, reverential nod, “The Church of Eleyugh supports the notion of the Order of the Hearth,” He says with the right amount of decorum, looking at the Suniestar in what I recognize to be a sign of defiance.

  I don’t think this Suniestar is very popular.

  Manon and Charles have been speaking quickly and in whispers as this happened and, after the priest of Eleyugh spoke, the Heir steps in and announces, “House Lyenass supports the notion of the Order of the Hearth.”

  It’s at this moment, I think, that it became inevitable for the Suniestar and me that one of us would kill the other.

  I represented all that he hated.

  He’s now boiling with rage, but against the endorsement of two other religious orders and the lord of the city himself, I think he can’t do much.

  “I accept the notion. The Order of the Hearth will have the responsibility to access if this… this monster can really pray, or if she simply deceived Lord Lyenass!” He announces before turning heels and walking out of the room.

  Great, what a nice start. And the sun is up, screaming in my ears.

  Can I just go to sleep, please?

  ***

  Nope, I couldn’t. I had to go through another round of presentations, the priests, the influential merchants, inquiries about my rights, my powers.

  The short answer is, I’m a special guard who can track and deal with any dangers that my special constitution lets me handle better or find sooner than anyone, at all times but when Manon directly asks for my presence as her bodyguard.

  She already told me that she wanted me to come with her to the orphanage, this evening. Normally she goes there in the middle of the day, but Charles is a bit paranoid right now, for some reason, and so I’ll accompany her a bit before the sun sets off, when it’ll already be close enough to the horizon that I’ll not suffer much.

  And after that, all the social interaction, the meetings, assuaging fears, then what?

  Then I can finally hide in my room.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  It’s little more than a repurposed storage room right now, but it’s underground. There’s a whole building between me and the sun.

  For the first day in… what feels like forever, I am as secure as I can be.

  …

  Tonight was…

  The contract, the blacksmith, the exploration, the public confrontation…

  Tonight was too many people. Tonight was too much.

  Too much peace, too much time, too much emotions.

  For the first time since I left home, I cry.

  ***

  I’m so dizzy. There’s a pit in my stomach.

  Hungry. So hungry.

  There’s a haze around me. Outside, the sun is up.

  I don’t care.

  I need blood.

  I step out of my room. I smell.

  Blood. Prey.

  I roam through the storage. There. Prey.

  A man, smells tender. Soft eyes. My age.

  He sees me and lets go of something.

  Crash! It smells of sugar and strawberries.

  I don’t care. He smells better.

  I walk to him, gently cusp his shin.

  “Give me blood.” I tell him. My voice is strange. Shadows distort in the room.

  He’s afraid, shakes his head, “P-please!”

  “Blood…” I whisper, but he shakes again.

  He’s afraid.

  Why is he afraid?

  I will not kill him.

  I’m behind him, I grab his head and drag it backward, revealing his throat.

  So yummy tasty I want to eat.

  I put a kiss there, another one, I smell his skin.

  I want to devour him, drink his blood and lay with him…

  Why is he still afraid?

  I’m doing it wrong. He shouldn’t be afraid.

  Something is wrong.

  Why why why?

  “No blood?” I whisper in his ear, and he shakes again.

  He doesn’t want me to take his blood.

  I let him go. There’s something wrong.

  I’m still between him and the door. I look at him, tilt my head, smile.

  “Take me to blood.” I ask. I take his hand and open the door, but he doesn’t move.

  “Blood?” I ask again as I look at him.

  He’s still afraid, but there’s another smell. Courage. Good boy.

  He nods and we walk forward. As we progress, everyone is afraid.

  I don’t know where he takes me, but I hope there’s BLOOD!

  ***

  The day had been hard for Manon, what with keeping the peace between all the religious orders of the city even though the current Suniestar was a fanatical prick that nobody liked, and it wasn’t over. She massaged her temples. So many reports to parce and read, so many accounts to balance. She could have wished for someone else to do it, but she wanted to learn and know as much as possible to be ready. She would have to support her future husband once he took Lyenass over, when her father would be dead, or step down because of old age, and she would never be caught as a useless wife, she would not depend on her man.

  She needed to check if everyone was up to date with their taxes, who collected what, who stole what from their coffer, whose paws had been greased, whose support had been bought out.

  That was her usual job, but since she came back, she had been even more diligent than before. Someone was moving against House Lyenass, someone with resources, and she avoided a gruesome imprisonment only thanks to a twist of fate.

  Her mind, like many times the last few days, wandered to the sweet girl, the young woman who saved her and who she strangely liked, Camille.

  That girl was… strange, dangerous, enticing, monstrous, strong, bizarre, cute, an outsider…

  Wait. Cute, enticing?

  Manon frowned and buried those impure, vile thoughts. Same-sex relationships were against the Sun Church's beliefs.

  Well, not exactly. Manon knew the saint scripture quite well and, technically, what the Sun Church was against was the lack of children, as this was a heresy against Manera’s domain of Fertility, but there was nothing forbidding it so long that you had childre-

  Wait! What is she thinking about?

  Manon shook her head, trying to drive away those thoughts.

  She was a noble lady, she couldn’t court women. The Sun Church and her Father de facto forbade it.

  She hated it, but that was the world, painful and unfair.

  A knock at the door, she raised her eyes and called, “Yes?”

  “Lady Manon?” A servant answered. She didn’t know his name but she knew his voice. He had worked here for… two or three years, she believed, based on the salaries sheet she remembered about.

  “You can enter,” She answered with a frown. She was pretty sure he was assigned to kitchen duty, what was this about?

  He opened the door and, instantly, the noble lady knew what this was about.

  Camille.

  The young woman, the witch, the monster who rescued her, avenged her raped maids, saved her dear Francis, who was like a second father to her.

  She was tall, taller than before, or at least it felt like it. Her hair was a mass of ink floating around her head, her eyes hungry void of darkness, and her smile was large and mad, like a half-moon full of teeth.

  The servant was white like a sheet, her hand in his, “My L-Lady, your W-Warden is asking for…” He didn’t finish his sentence and looked at her in fear.

  “Blood.” The thing, woman, whispered, and shadows flinched all around the room.

  It came in, letting go of the man’s hand, who fled, closing the door behind him.

  The thing walked like a wader, with long, stretched steps that didn’t make any sense in this room.

  One moment it was at the door, the next it was standing in front of the young lady.

  And Manon was standing too, for some reason, her seat behind her. Manon knew she was the tallest between them two, yet it felt like it was bending its knee to look at Manon in the eyes.

  Not it.

  Camille.

  The face, the eyes, the hair, behind all the strangeness, somehow, Manon knew that this was Camille. She was so strange.

  So beautiful.

  “I’m so hungry. I need blood,” She asked, distressed.

  Of course. By the gods.

  The girl hadn’t fed in some time and even she herself didn’t know her feeding cycles.

  “Can I…?” Camille turned around Manon and brought the noble girl in her embrace, to the surprise of said noblewoman. The monster’s inky hair was floating, flowing over Manon’s shoulder. It felt cold, velvety, welcoming.

  “Would this be… acceptable?”

  Body against body, in this room, silently. Camille, who was not herself, not entirely. She was gentler than usual, for once, somehow more careful.

  A bit as if she was drunk, and knew it, which led her to be jumpy, careful about each and every one of her moves. At least that’s how Manon understood it.

  Camille wasn’t in control, not entirely, so she was on edge.

  After all, she hadn’t just eaten that young man, that servant, she followed him until he brought her to someone who could fix her current predicament.

  Even now she was not acting like a beast, but like someone who, with one wrong move, could break another life by accident.

  Manon’s heart… she felt weird, new emotions shily blooming.

  Camille was afraid of herself, she didn’t want to hurt anyone, yet her body was calling for blood.

  Manon turned her head, looked at Camille. Their eyes met.

  There was something happening here, a connection, a pact, a deal, she could feel it, tethered to her very being.

  Camille would not hurt her, never. So why not… why not just let go into her embrace?

  Manon could feel Camille’s breasts against her back, her cold breath on her neck, and the noble lady’s heart was beating like a drum, fast and strong, pushing a hot feeling throughout her whole body.

  She could say no. There was no compulsion, no dominion, no manipulation of any kind. She was free to say no, and Camille would let her go, would respect her choice, her voice, her consent.

  Manon wanted to say no.

  That’s a lie.

  Manon wanted to say yes, but she was afraid to do it…

  Then a voice whispered softly, “Are you afraid?” Camille, the damned girl could feel people’s emotions. Of course.

  “Y-yes…” Manon answered with a slow nod. That was the truth, she was afraid, yet she didn’t say to Camille that this emotion was battling another one for supremacy.

  She was afraid but she wanted to say yes, and the clash froze her.

  Then Camille let her go, “Afraid is not good. But I’m so thirsty!” The young girl wined as she took her hand away.

  She never let go of Manon. The noble woman had stopped Camille’s hand, was keeping it on her shoulder.

  “No. Don’t let go.” She whispered softly. She was afraid, but she wanted to do this.

  She would do it.

  She did it.

  “Yes. You can have my blood. And the rest,” Manon answered the questions, all of them, about the blood, about the body, about what she felt would come after Camille fed.

  She was afraid, but fear cannot stop you from living.

  ***

  Soft blood, given freely. Blood, not from a filthy rapist that I executed, but from a nice woman who accepted me.

  I drink and the terrible, horrible hunger abates. I am filled beyond measure, I feel the hunger going away like never before in the last few months.

  My arms are supporting Manon, wrapping around her waist, her hands on mine as little moans get out of her mouth. I feel pleasure radiating over my mouth. I think she feels the same going from her neck, throughout her whole body.

  I feed on her for a while, but let her go before taking too much.

  I’m completely sated.

  I lick and kiss the place I bit her, the wound disappearing nearly instantly. I don’t stop kissing her neck, though, and she massages my hands.

  “The bedroom?” She says, slightly weakened by my feeding. I kiss her once more before taking her in a bridal carry.

  She looks at me with a mix of fear and bliss. She’s smiling, caresses my face as I get her to the bed.

  “The locks,” She adds, waving languidly at the two doors. I smile at her, nod, and close them.

  When I turn around, she’s already peeling away her robe.

  I freeze and realize what is going on.

  I’m in the room of a lady, doors locked, with a beautiful woman undressing.

  Am I… is this a blasphemy?

  Manon sees me and freezes in turn. She’s thinking about the same thing.

  “Should we… stop?” She asks, which snaps me out of my mind.

  I look at her, half-undressed.

  “I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop? We can stop.” Now I’m afraid, just like she is.

  I’ve never been intimate with anyone. I’ve never been intimate with a woman. I’ve never done this before.

  I was just carried here by the singing of the blood, by my emotions and my instinct. She gave me her blood, now it’s just normal that I take care of her, she’s to be protected, cuddled, served.

  And, beyond my instincts as… as whatever I am… well, I kinda want this. She’s really beautiful and I like her, for some reason.

  Why are emotions so complicated?

  “I… don’t want to stop,” She finally answers slowly, frowning, “I won’t stop,” She adds, whispering to herself more than speaking to me, as if fighting her fear, going on with disrobing.

  There’s a hint of determination there, I can feel it. She wants to see this through, this new experience, this strange situation…

  My heart beats, not faster, no, it never changes tempo. It beats stronger. She’s quickly half-naked. There’s just a binder over her chest, underwear covering her… feminity… and socks over her feet.

  Her skin is white and soft, not spotless but quite close, protected from the sun and outside work. She’s not strong, but not weak either, you can see both muscles and fat on her limbs and her body, her belly is not flat, it’s slightly fat, and her breasts are… well, her frame is big, and they’re big too, which mean they’re even bigger than they look.

  We cross gaze and she brings her blanket over her beautiful body.

  “W-well?” She asks, and I realize she’s the only one who exposed herself.

  As I walk towards her, I take my shirt away, showing my own binder, which I quickly remove. My bosom flops down, to her surprise. I’m not sure if it’s because she didn’t think I would show myself off like this so directly, or if it’s because of my breasts themselves.

  Normally they’re kept compressed against my chest by the binder, otherwise they get in the way, but now they heavily hang over my torso, thick enough that they sag a little bit to cover the upper part of my belly.

  “Oh, my…” She puts a hand on her mouth, but her eyes say it all, and so I get rid of my pants and underwear next, even making a small show out of it and, soon enough, I’m sitting in front of her, cross-legged, entirety naked.

  I’m a lot hairier than her. I didn’t have time to care for that, not that I ever cared much. I like myself how I am, and I like her how she wants to be.

  She looks at me. I look at her. All I can see is her face. Her eyes are beautiful, her hair is gorgeous, her lips are soft and open in a small, shy smile. I think I sport quite the same emotion, this mix of being lost but also happy, with an undertone of shyness and discovery.

  She slowly moves a hand behind my head, makes it rest on the bottom of my neck, shivers a little bit.

  I’m cold.

  She’s hot.

  She touches my skin, explores my back, my shoulders. I put my hands just above her naked waist and do the same. I feel her skin under my touch. She pushes with her hand, brings me in for a kiss.

  I’ve never kissed anyone.

  But by the way our lips meet, I know that she did. I bring myself closer to her, lean into her embrace. Our bodies greet each other, our breasts brush and caress one another, I feel a jolt go through my body. I can feel her skin under my nipples. I lose myself to the kiss and her body. This is so exciting!

  I don’t think we’ll have time to visit the orphanage today.