“Albrecht, take a seat!” Wirich calls out to the newcomer.
“I already ate, Father,” the newcomer answers testily.
“Did I ask you to eat, boy?” Wirich's heavy eyebrows lower over his dark eyes. “I told you to sit down.” The big man points at the chair next to mine.
Albrecht reluctantly sits next to me, his nose crinkling with distaste.
I stare at him openly, fascinated with his appearance. I have never seen a boy who was so clean and finely dressed. Furthermore, he is so pretty I find myself blushing. I look toward my sister to see if she's taken notice of Albrecht. Instead, she's staring at the boar's head. I return my gaze to the older boy and smile.
“Do not look at me,” Albrecht sniffs.
“I want to,” I answer.
“Why?”
“You are pretty for a boy.”
A small smile creeps onto his lips. “You'd be pretty if you weren't so dirty.”
“I am dirty because I had to hide from your father's enemies.”
“Oh?” This clearly ensnares Albrecht's interest. “What happened?”
“We were walking through a meadow when they approached. We hid in the high grass all day and most of the night. Then Dominique came and slew them.” Realizing I may have said too much, I scoop more food into my mouth.
Albrecht observes the two conspiring adults at the end of the table. “She will not show me her fangs.”
“Why not?”
“She says it is vulgar.”
Albrecht scowls and I instantly find him even more attractive.
“Well, she is a vampire
, so that is very vulgar. Drinking people's blood is very crude even if it is rather exciting.”
Albrecht leans toward me. “I saw her bite someone once, but from a distance.”
“I saw all the dead bodies in the camp. All your father's enemies torn apart. There was blood everywhere.”
Regarding me with newfound respect, Albrecht asks, “Were you afraid?”
“Very! It was very gruesome! I did not know what had killed the men and if it would kill me, too. When Dominique revealed herself, her sword was covered in blood.”
“I can fight with a sword.” Albrecht puffs up his thin chest. “One day, I will fight battles and kill my enemies.”
Attempting to impress him, I say, “My father was a great warrior.”
“He still is,” Ágota says, interrupting us.
I remember her lie and blush. I forgot I was supposed to pretend to be her full sister.
“Who is he?” Albrecht asks with interest.
“A castle warrior from Transylvania,” she answers.
“So he’s not titled,” Albrecht says dismissively.