Bram Stoker's HANNIBAL

Chapter 15: Doth He Heed My Despair?

The wine in Will's glass glowed red as he peered through it toward the cozy fire Hannibal had built up just a few moments before. And here was Hannibal now, settling back down on the cushioned bench they shared, lifting his arm to drape it over Will's shoulders. Outside the latticed window, the day was bright and clear and very cold, the gusts of wind blowing ice crystals against the glass that scraped like grains of sand.

The woman across from them was sprawled on a chair, one of her legs up and hanging over the armrest. Her ash-blonde hair was braided tightly against her head, and she wore leather breeches with a blouse, laced leather vest, and high boots. She had the same noble features as Hannibal, the same eyes, the same proud mouth, but all of it beautifully feminized. "A spring wedding would be expected," she said, swinging the leg that rested over the chair's arm. "Gives time for Albescu to come without having to brave the pass in the deep snow. Time for gifts to be found or made."

Her words, wise as they were, became a dull drone as Hannibal shifted, slinging his arm around Will's middle instead and pulling him onto his sturdy lap, hugging him around his midsection. Will reclined with a coy smile. A sip of his wine, and he settled in, resting his back against Hannibal's chest, relishing in the press of his lips against Will's neck, just below his ear.

"But that's months from now," Will complained, Hannibal's hand rounding his thigh.

"Won't last that long, will you?" The woman leaned back in her chair, trying to project a sour face though she seemed unable to hide her smile. "Mary, mother of God, you two are worse than the stable boys after too much apple brandy."

"You have a heart of stone, Mischa," Hannibal joked gently, his words a soothing rumble in his chest that Will could feel flowing through his back.

"Or something else of stone." Will tipped his head back to whisper it in Hannibal's ear. The hand on his leg gave a warning squeeze as Mischa rolled her eyes and let out an exhausted sigh.

"I propose a solution." Mischa drained her wine glass and set it on the table between them, leaning her elbows on her knees. "I've spoken to Father Davies. He won't discuss the particulars, but he understands the predicament. He just keeps repeating that verse from Hebrews. 'Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous.' Which begs the question, I think – what exactly constitutes 'defiling' in the eyes of God?"

"I could think of a few things," Will whispered to Hannibal again. The hand on his leg tightened almost to the point of pain. Will retaliated by shifting his backside and feeling the clear outline of Hannibal beneath his breeches.

"Hannibal," Mischa's irritation bled into her voice. "You've said you want a godly marriage. Reba and I have been talking, and we think, for the sake of everyone in this damned castle, that you," she looked at Hannibal directly as she said it, "as the higher rank in the union, need to decide how to define that word. And if things happen that are outside of that definition..." She shrugged, pouring herself another glass of wine. "Reba needs some rest. She's been chasing the two of you around for three weeks straight."

"And in those weeks, nothing untoward has happened. I gave my solemn vow," Hannibal argued, massaging Will's leg now, the other hand tightening against his midsection.

"You're reasonably sure Albescu will give his blessing?"

"He will," Hannibal said, and Will nodded in firm agreement.

"He said as much before I left," Will added.

"You'd say anything to get what you want," Mischa quipped, stretching back in the chair again and slinging her leg over the arm. "Little demon. Satan with his silver tongue. So, once the message is received and you've gotten the blessing, here is my proposal." She reached into her bodice and withdrew a small slip of paper, upon which her writing appeared.