Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
At that, his attention came back to me, clearly not pleased by that statement. “Why would I wish to honor them? They are creatures of no loyalty or honor.”
“Maybe the ones who falsely confessed. But the innocent ones who died within the school, you made their resting place a temple of art beyond anyone else’s dreams. They are not remembered by mortals, who only remember what they have written down. Instead, they are immortal now, too. Part of a vampire’s home.”
He stared at me for a long moment. “I had never thought of it in that way. It was not my intent.”
“We do not always do as we intend.”
“You have wisdom, young one,” he said proudly.
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks. Do you think it’s enough for you all to stop calling me young one?”
“No.” He grinned. “Think of it as a rite of passage. We were all called ‘young one’ in the beginning.”
“Even you?”
“Even me.”
I wished I could see how that turned out for those who called him that. Actually, there was so much I wished I could see. “Every time you speak of your past, it’s as if…it is fantasy. I’ve spent all my life reading and studying things that you simply lived through. How many people I wished to meet have you met? From Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, William Shakespeare to Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, Rembrandt, and Galileo Galilei—hell, even George Washington. You’ve seen so much.”
He chuckled, cupping my face. “Druella, I have not met every famous figure in history. It may shock you, but I have only met a few and in passing. It is not as if we know during that time who shall live on in the minds and history of mortals. There have been a great many I thought would forever be revered, only to be left as footnotes, while there are others who I all but overlooked who changed the course of mortal history. Then some did nothing, were nothing, and yet, for some reason, are still remembered for things they did not do.”
He seemed annoyed by this, and it was funny. “And whom are you thinking of?”
“Lady Godiva, Countess of Mercia, for one,” he stated.
“I’ve heard that name.” And I knew exactly where I’d heard it. Then I saw the painting hanging over his shoulders of a naked woman on horseback. Hopping off the desk, I moved around him to look at the oil painting in a red and gold overcast. “I remember this story from my art history book, the good countess of Mercia. Her husband had imposed harsh taxes on the townspeople, and when they begged for him to reduce it, he said only if his wife rode naked through the streets. So, she stripped naked and did so. They respected her so much they looked away, except for one man who peeped, and that is where the expression ‘peeping Tom’ comes from. Her husband was honor-bound to his word, and he reduced the taxes.”
“Lovely fairy tale,” he said, stepping beside me to see the art, too, still with a frown on his face. “Though it is just a tale. In truth, she did not even know how to ride a horse, was far too pretentious to care for commoners, and the tax increases were her fault, for she had wasted a great deal of her husband’s wealth on gambling, celebrations, and lavish jewels for herself. She vowed never to gamble again, but she was caught by her husband months later, who went into a rage. They fought, and she fell from one of the windows, though even now, she claims he pushed her.”
Wait. “She’s still alive?”
“How do you think such a story spread so many years after her death? She did not want to be remembered as the beautiful but drunk and gambling wife of a count. So she created that story. She loves to use her beauty to seduce artists into creating works of her and her great benevolence.”
I eyed him carefully and then looked to the art before looking back at him. “Are you one of these artists she seduced?”
At the tone in my voice, his gaze shifted to me. “She did not seduce me.”
“But you painted this of her?” I had a feeling from the similar brushstrokes to the paintings that were brought to the national gallery.
“I was young,” he stated, and there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“Now I know why you might not have met so many famous people, Theseus Christian Apollo de Thorbørn. You were too busy sleeping your way throughout the world. What is the male version of minx?”
“I believe the behavior you describe goes much further than minx. In fact, I think you are calling me unscrupulous or a whore?” He smiled. “How deep is this jealousy?”
“I am not jealous!” I quickly said. Though I did wish the painting would burn. And as if I had actually thrown a match, the art went up in flames. I stared at it in horror while Theseus laughed. “Stop laughing. We need to put it out before this place burns down…again!”