Vow of Blood and Starlight (a Pride and Prejudice retelling)

Before

I will admit, my dear readers, that this is a story you have read before. But in many ways, a story I know, you will not see coming. A simple tale of love and loss, pride and vanity. Although, with a twist. A twist that came in the form of a tall gentleman on a light autumn morning in London, 1804.

If the Duke could describe anything about the journey, he would have called it dull. Dull to the point of agony as roads gave way to trees, trees to fields. As the sky seemed to press on to a horizon far beyond any possible reach and his eyes rolled rings around his head.

Could he have denied an invitation to the palace?

Perhaps.

Would it have been in good form and good standing to do so?

No.

Will he regret coming?

That remains to be seen.

He spent the first hour of his trip admiring his own reflection in the pristine window. Perhaps less of an admire and more of a glare as he much detested the sharp angles of his jaw and narrow eyes. Blond curls that fell in a wave brushed back with a single gray hair in the corner. A mockery of the time he never got. His most disliked feature being the almost florescent silver eyes. The only real difference between the creature he is and the man he used to be.

Well, the only difference that can be seen.

If he had been given a choice. All those years ago. He would have declined. First kindly as was his nature. Then harshly as to make his opinion known. However, that is not at all how it turned out.

His traveling companion leans against the far wall of the carriage, her eyes shifting back and forth behind her eyelids. Her chestnut brown hair falling down to her waist in a neat braid. Her own silver eyes hidden behind her lids and caramel complexion. He has been watching her dream for nearly an hour now. Wondering on occasion how it must feel to still need the calmness of sleep to survive. His own being long gone to memory.

The first ten minutes were diverting, pondering her thoughts and ones he might share. But, as her breathing settled, he found himself longing for her company in conversation, but unwilling to burden her rest.

Andromeda Samos. His cousin, or so he calls her to dissuade proud notions of them being more close than friends should be. In truth, he is her sire. Like a parent that has done a task to make something, the Duke turned Andromeda about a year ago. Due to custom of his kind he is bound to teach her their ways and return her back to society. He could have never had guests that would be so soon.

But with the rumors, he had no choice.

The carriage rolled for another hour, but this time the world outside began to change from trees and fields as the first small manor came into view. Then another. Another. A larger one. Soon the houses shifted together and the road gave way to cobblestones and the carriage bounces along the street.

The Duke has never much liked town. Any town in fact and least of all London. He regards it as being too busy and too loud and too full of smells that make his stomach attempt trapezes. As it did now as scents of urine and horse waft through the open window. A revolting reminder of modern society's greatest failing.

The carriage rolls to the left and bumps along an uneven road almost too narrow to use. Andromeda wakes from her slumber with a start and gasp.

"My word!" She yelps as the carriage twists around another corner and she lifts light off her seat.

"Welcome to London." The Duke says plainly as he looks her way with a light eye of sarcasm.

She crinkles her nose as she takes in the air and her fangs extend against her lips. She snorts.