Cloak and Scalpel

ABERLEEN ARC: Good night, Your Grace

A silence seemed to fall in the audience hall as everyone turned to the doorway where Carmilla Ansaac stood. She was alone, I noticed, with Cecilion nowhere to be seen. But despite this, she stood tall, her posture elegant, and her chin tilted upward in pride. Her bloodred eyes regarded her father fearlessly.

"You-you?!" Earl Ansaac said, turning to Carmilla. "Are you...my Carmilla?"

Carmilla strode through the doors. The men surrounding Earl Ansaac parted slightly, as though the sight of Carmilla's silver hair and bloodred eyes frightened them. And, in this case, it probably did. Up on the dais, Aamon stared at Carmilla as she approached. He appeared wary, his arctic eyes jumping from Carmilla to Earl Ansaac and his men.

"She isn't supposed to be here," Berith whispered to me. Beside him, Sable growled softly, his hackles raised as he stared at Carmilla Ansaac. "Diana, if things get out of control, it's best if you leave. At once. Should Ansaac attack, I've no doubt Carmilla's mate, Cecilion, will make an entrance."

"But-" I began.

Berith shook his head. "Aamon gave me explicit orders to get you out of here should Ansaac try anything," he said quietly. "Aamon will be able to act better if he knows you aren't in danger."

I wanted to protest, but I felt eyes on me. I turned to the dais were Aamon was. He was staring at me, that intense look in his narrowed eyes as he subtly shook his head. Telling me, without words, to listen to Berith. I bit my lip and nodded at him.

"Here I am, father," Carmilla announced as she stood before Earl Ansaac. She stood tall and proud, her shoulders thrown back-the picture of elegant nobility. She stood an arm's length away from him, utterly fearless as she stared him down.

Ansaac flinched as though she had inflicted a wound on him. And then...very slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out a hand and lightly brushed his knuckles against her cheek.

At once, he withdrew his hand, as though he had been scorched. "Cold," he breathed. "Like the dead. My Carmilla-what has happened to you?"

"I fell in love, father," Carmilla said simply, as though it were the most important thing in the world. And it was-her eyes looked at him with warmth. Not for her father, but the thought of that love she kept close to her heart. The love she shared with Cecilion.

But it was apparently the wrong answer in Ansaac's mind. "In love," he repeated, his voice shaking. I saw Aamon frowning at him, saw Vas clench the handle on his sword-preparing.

"You fell in love with a lowborn abomination!" Ansaac roared, and Carmilla subtly flinched. "An opera singer with nothing but his pretty face to commend him! An impoverished artist, with no name and no means, Carmilla! Baron Tawill-no, Duke Paxley would have been a fine match for you, you ungrateful wretch! And now, you bring shame to our family! To my name!"

Carmilla stood tall, but I saw the way her eyes glistened, how her lower lip quivered.

That bastard.

"You-!" Before Ansaac could fire off another insult, Vassago was suddenly before them. He held his sword between them, as though to shield Carmilla from her father's wrath.

Ansaac gasped, and his men immediately pulled out their swords, aiming them all at Vas. Beside me, Berith clutched my hand in his, ready to run.

But my eyes were fixed on Aamon-Aamon who stared at Ansaac's men with narrowed eyes.

"You dare draw your swords in Castle Aberleen-at my brother?" Aamon asked, amused.

And it was that cold amusement that seemed to make Ansaac hesitate. His men stared at him for orders, and he shook his head.