"Have you ever heard of the Solomonărie – the Scholomance?" Vlad asked as he brought down a heavy, dusty tome from a shelf so full of books that it was sagging in the middle. "Some call it, The School of the Dragon."

Irina looked sheepish. She wrinkled her nose, "No," she replied, smiling awkwardly. "I'm sorry; I'm afraid my Transylvanian History is about as dusty as that book."

Vlad chuckled as brought the book over to the table and then dropped it down in front of her. The sheen of dust covering it erupted into the air in a cloud as it hit the table.

Irina spluttered and wafted it away with her hand.

"Sorry," Vlad said as he leaned over her – planting one hand on the table and using the over to open the old book. He planted a kiss on her bare shoulder, "I haven't cracked the spine of this particular book in quite a while," he whispered, his lips moving below her ear.

Irina shuddered and sighed. She wanted to feel those lips against every pore, "I can tell."

Vlad peered down at the book from over her shoulder. He brushed his hand over the cover, sweeping away the dust to reveal an embossed title that had once been gold.

"...Țara Dincolo de Pădure: Poveștile Transilvaniei," Irina muttered – her tongue tripping over the words. She attempted to translate, "The... something about a forest?"

"The Land Beyond the Forest," he translated with a soft smile, "The stories of Transylvania."

It was a children's book, Irina realised; a book full of fables and tales for children – although it was so old that the child who it had once belonged must have been long dead by now. "Are you about to tell me a bedtime story?" she teased.

Vlad sent her a heated look as he opened the cover, "A long time ago, there were whispers of a school hidden away in the mountains not far from here – a school dedicated to the study of black magic and alchemy," he told her, his face hovering in the crook of her neck. "It's said that the devil himself would handpick the students who studied there – and that he was their tutor. He'd teach them his secret powers – teach them how to command the weather, how to speak to animals and even how to evade death – among other things. There's even a story about the students riding a flying dragon that was hidden under a mountain lake. However, out of all the students, he would only apprentice – only claim – one of them. One student who he'd allow to graduate the school and take his knowledge and power out into the world."

Irina watched as Vlad turned the yellowing pages, her eyes flicking over the faded and blotched medieval handwriting and drawings. Beautifully inked drop capitals of snakes and dragons and skeletons and sword-wielding heroes. There were some words that she recognised – some stories that Fiebe had told her as she sat by fire sewing, mimicking her own mother.

Vlad turned back to the inside cover and smoothed his hand over a page where a family tree had been almost crudely mapped out. "This book – this very castle – belonged to that student," he said as he brushed his fingers over a name – a child's signature scratched into the page – right at the bottom of the tree. "And still does."

Irina sat forward. "...Vladislaus Drăculea," she read, tracing the letters with her fingertips as she spoke. She slowly turned her head and met Vlad's hard gaze, "Dracula?"

He looked at her for a moment – his dark brow furrowed as his blue eyes danced across her features. He watched her expression shift from surprise to disbelief to fear to utter bewilderment. "...Yes."

She narrowed her eyes. "...The Dracula?"

Vlad's lips curled. "...You asked what my family name was."

Irina released a breath. She did a brief calculation in her head; she counted three hundred and forty years back and ended up in a world she'd only heard about in history books. She tucked a loose curl behind her ear, "You mean... you're–"

He nodded. "I am he."

Irina slouched back in her chair and gazed at the signature in the book – stared right through it. The infamous Vlad Tepes. The man she'd heard and read so many stories of as a child. Vladislaus Drăculea. Dracula. The man; the so-called monster. And he was standing right beside her.

Vlad stooped to catch her gaze. "Irina?"

She looked at him – looked into his blue eyes and soft, smiling face – and blinked. "I'm... digesting," she told him. She glanced down at the book and then back, "It's uh... all a little difficult to swallow, that's all."

He looked concerned.

She cleared her throat. "...Uh, you wouldn't happen to have any wine or... anything stashed in between all the uh... weaponry, would you?"

Vlad drummed the table. "...One moment," he said as he strolled across the room towards a rack draped in a dust sheet. He ripped it away to reveal a cache of dusty bottles.

Irina watched – confused – as he scanned the bottles then scooped one up, the sound of the liquid sloshing tunefully inside. She raised an eyebrow, "I thought you said that wine disagreed with you?"

"It does," he told her as he uncorked the bottle and then brought it over to the table. He plonked it down in front of her. He grinned, "This is brandy. Which I prefer."

Irina raised an eyebrow at him as she wrapped her fingers around the bottle and dragged it towards her.

Vlad watched as she lifted the bottle and took a hefty sip. "I still enjoy a glass now and then, although the effects are somewhat muted," he told her. "Coffee is another preferred drink of mine – an echo from the old days. Although admittedly, good coffee is rather hard to come by around here."

Irina snorted slightly. Dracula drinks coffee, who knew? They certainly failed to mention that in the history books. Although, "I suppose the Turks brought it with them when they invaded, didn't they?"

Vlad nodded and then returned his gaze to the book. He frowned, "I spent most of my life waging war with those who dared to invade my kingdom – my home. But yes, the Turks especially. For my faith, for my honour and for the crown I massacred and drove them out – and my reward for it? The Hungarian King – a feckless and foolish man – stripped me of my throne, put my traitorous brother in my place and then had me locked away. He forged letters – in sloppy Latin, I might add – claiming I'd allied with the Turks to overthrow him." He shook his head, "Fourteen years, I was held captive. Fourteen years."

Irina frowned.

He almost laughed. "Seems barely a moment now, but at the time... Well, it was like an eternity," he explained.

She sent him a sympathetic look, then took another swig of brandy.

"Anyway, I became quite desperate – nearly lost my damn mind," Vlad went on. "And then one day, I did. I turned my back on everything I believed in and made a pact with the devil..."

Irina's gaze drifted to Vlad's hand and he'd slowly balled it into a tight fist as he spoke.

"I pleaded with him. Told him that I'd do anything – anything – that I'd give my soul if he would help me break free and defeat my enemies, defeat anyone – anyone - who stood between me and my throne. And he did; I got it all back – for a time – until the Turks returned and I lost everything. My crown, my people... My wife - who threw herself from the tower of this castle rather than be taken by them," he explained, shaking his head. "And that's when the devil came to collect."

When Irina saw how his hand was clenching, she reached out and touched it. Smoothing her fingers over his cold knuckles until they relaxed.

Vlad looked at her. "He took me to the mountains, and that's when he schooled me and then cursed me with this... this existence," he told her, snarling.

Irina sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Vlad closed the book with a thud. "I turned my back on Transylvania for a time and chose to wander instead, but in the end the pull of the mountains and of my old life – and my desire - my need - for revenge was just too strong." He scoffed, "Old wounds fester deep – even for the undead, I'm afraid."

Irina could see the pain etched into his features. She reached up and touched his face, forcing him to look at her. To her own surprise, she understood the pain. "I understand," she told him, brushing the dark hair from his sad eyes and smoothing her hand over his cheek and the dark hair peppering his chin. "You lost everything – who wouldn't want revenge after that?"

He grabbed her hand and frowned. "Irina, there are many things I regret in my life," he told her, "but the things I did when I came back here the first time... I don't blame them for burning this place to the ground and calling me a monster."

Irina recalled what Helena had said about her grandmother and the stories she'd told about the peasant girls who had disappeared from her mother's village, who had been abducted by Dracula and stolen away to his castle. She hesitated, "Vlad, you were angry; you'd lost so much, you were betrayed by–"

He pulled away and tutted. "That's no excuse for the things I did," he said as he pulled away from her. "For all the terrible things I did here – to my own people – within these walls. If you knew what I–"

Irina turned in her chair and watched as he walked away. She wasn't sure she wanted to know; Vlad was right, it didn't matter what had been done to him – it still didn't excuse the murder of innocents. A lump formed in her throat. She attempted to unhinge it with a hefty gulp of brandy.

Vlad let out a long sigh. "...Anyway, after I was driven out, I travelled again and – gradually – restored a little of my humanity," he went on as he crossed the room and made his way over to a large, gilt trinket box perched high on a shelf. He brought the box down and carried it over to the table.

Irina looked confused as he set the box down in front of her.

Vlad stood over it, staring at it. "...I was in Vienna one winter to settle some old accounts of mine and decided – on a whim – to prolong my visit to coincide with Karneval," he said. He waved his hand, "Gaming Houses have always been something of a lure. I told you that I've a gift for reading people; I can feel the slightest fluctuations in their emotions just by the smell of their skin and the tempo of their heartbeat – and, as you can imagine, that advantage has always proven to be quite lucrative."

Irina's gaze slowly lifted from the box, to Vlad. "...When was this?"

"I'd been considering the idea of returning to Transylvania for some time, to live out my days quietly – and in my pursuit of that idea, I'd been attempting to raise enough wealth to restore Poenari," he explained as he fiddled with the clasp holding the lid shut. "And so on the eve of Lent, I found myself in a gaming house with a blue fish painted on the signage – built into cellars beneath the street."

Irina felt her heart lop into her stomach as he threw back the lid and reached into the trinket box. "...Der Blaue Karpfen," she mumbled. "I know it. I've been there - more than once."

Vlad nodded, staring at her. "...I'd just won another game of Mariage and was considering moving onto Pharo, when a young woman... a goddess... brazenly – bravely – appeared and challenged me to another game," he said, holding her gaze as he reached into the box and slowly teased out a string of black pearls. "I somehow couldn't bring myself to sell them."

Irina threw her hands to her mouth as her brown eyes fell upon her mother's necklace. There was no mistaking it. The pearls still held the same fresh gleam as when she last saw them being scooped off the table and into the pocket of The Count – as fresh as if they'd just been plucked from the sea. She felt the same dread in her belly now as she had that night – the same stomach-churning ache as when she'd stood up and shot The Count a venomous look before tearing off into the crowded room. He'd out-smarted her, humiliated her and then seduced her - taking everything from her.

And now he was attempting to do it all over again.

Irina rose to her feet and stumbled away from the table, and away from Vlad. The bottle of brandy wobbled, then toppled off the table and onto the floor - it smashed like a firework across the flagstones. How could she have mistaken him? How could she not have known?

She shook her head and held her hand to her chest as she tried mould three men into one, a blurred vision within a dream suddenly coming into focus – clear and crisp. "...You're him. That was you," she stuttered. And yet, somehow it all made sense; every strange piece slotting seamlessly together before her very eyes. The Count, of course. "You're–"

"You wanted the truth."

She threw a hand to her head. Perhaps she'd known all along - she'd ignored the alarm bells ringing in the back of her mind every time they met. That distant tolling, like a church bell ringing in another town. She knew he'd been withholding something from her - veiling her gaze to the truth. "...The truth?" she spat.

Vlad chased her, the pearls dangling from his hand – swinging from side to side. "Irina–"

She staggered away from him as if he were some dangerous animal, like the wolf she'd encountered in the clearing. She threw up her hand, "Just stop – just... just..." She took a breath. "Just let me think. You need to let me think."

He halted and nodded.

Irina gazed uncertainly at the man standing in front of her for what felt like a long time. "...How long have you known that that was me?" she asked.

Vlad looked away.

"How long have you known that I was the girl in Der Blaue Karpfen – that those pearls belonged to me?" she demanded, pointing an angry finger at them. "When did you realise?"

Vlad dared to smile. "All Hallows Eve," he replied with a shrug. "I knew the moment I saw you. I could feel it. I could smell it - that scent of yours; roses, tobacco-"

Irina failed to see the romance. She shrugged her lips, "And you just... you just decided to keep that detail to yourself? For all this time? Why? Why didn't you tell me? You've had ample opportunity."

"Because you didn't recognise me, and I didn't want to–"

"No," Irina interrupted angrily, "it's because you knew I'd steer clear - because you wanted to see how much you squeeze me of this time!"

Vlad frowned as he took a step towards her – reaching out to her, "Of course not. Irina, iubita mea–"

"If you cared for me at all, then you would have told me instead of keeping it from me - instead of holding it against me and using it to your advantage - drawing me in, leading me here! I suppose I should have expected nothing less from the Devil's prize pupil!" she snapped. "...I told you everything! I told you how fiercely I guard my reputation, how important it is to me and still, you just–"

"Oh, enough about your damned reputation, Irina!" Vlad roared.

Any surprise she felt about his outburst was quickly replaced by the indignation that he had the audacity to be angry with her – after everything!

"Do you want to know what I think? Hm?" he growled, pacing towards her.

"Not anymore," she snarled back.

"Well tough, because you're going to hear it."

Irina braced herself.

He loomed over her like a storm cloud, "I think that it's nothing but a wall you throw up – a ridiculous excuse to cover up for the fact that you're just as much of a coward as all the other women of your class. That when it comes down to it you're not brave enough to embrace your own darkness - too cowardly to put your diamonds down on the table and risk them for what you really, really want from this life," he shouted at her, gesturing aggressively – his knuckles bleached white around the pearls.

Irina stood firm, scowling up at him.

Vlad snorted at her, his rough gaze travelling her curves without restraint, "And we both know exactly what you want."

Before she knew it, she'd slapped him – hard – and surprised herself with the force she threw into it. As his head cracked to the side she held back a sob, "Unlike you," she ground out through her teeth, "I have people who care about me – who depend on me. You couldn't possibly understand."

He straightened and swept the hair from his eyes.

"And I think you've just proven exactly what happens when I gamble. I get hurt," she hissed. She shoved him, "And how dare you lecture me on throwing up walls when you're the one who's been withholding the truth all this time! Hiding away in this ridiculous fortress you've made for yourself!"

Vlad stepped back.

Irina threw her head into her hands. "What's wrong with me? My father is dying! He's on his death bed back in Hermannstadt, the council want to see me thrown on pyre and I've chosen to be here of all places," she rambled, her voice shaking. How selfish! How stupid! "What was I thinking? What am I doing here?"

"Irina, please–"

She spun away from him. "I'm leaving. I need to go – let me go," she stuttered as she snatched up her cloak with a shaking hand and shoved past him.

Vlad glanced down at the pearls in his hand. He followed her, "It's late, at least allow me to–"

Irina's fingers fumbled with the satin ribbon of her cloak as she marched away from him. "No. Just stay away from me. Whatever this was, it's finished," she threw at him over her shoulder, and yet when she turned her head back, she found him standing between her and the gate. She stopped in her tracks and panted angrily, sweeping the hair out of her eyes.

Vlad's gaze was darker than she'd ever seen it, and for the first time in his presence, Irina was frightened.

"Stand aside," she demanded.

He stared at her for a moment, and then stood aside. "...Here," he said, extending his fist towards her.

Irina recoiled from it.

Vlad's fingers unfurled to reveal the pearls. "Take them."

She sent him a fierce look before snatching them and storming out.