Without saying another word, Icarus walked past her and sat down by his study table. When he noticed that the table had been cleaned, Giselle could see that his eyes grew wide with distress, and he quickly began to open and close the drawers, push aside the stacked books, and look up and down. It was only when he found the small ceramic jar behind the stacks of books did he calm down, and even then, he did not look too happy.

    "Next time, there will be no need for you to touch anything on this table, do you understand?" he asserted sternly.

Giselle nodded, watching quietly as he lifted the jar and placed it back in its original place. The jar looked old, ancient even, with patterns and engravings that she would only find on potteries in the museum. And he handled it so gently, as if he were afraid that it would shatter at the slightest impact.

Then, when he was satisfied, he finally turned towards her, as if he just remembered that she was still there in that room.

    "Now, tell me, Giselle FitzLarkspur, what on Earth are you doing here?" he queried.

    "To work, Your Grace," she retaliated. "And it is Larkspur, not FitzLarkspur."

    "How far you've come, from Wainsborough Hall in London to Westmorland. From Claire, to Giselle Larkspur. Surely, there is a story that you have yet to tell me."

Giselle pursed her lips, her eyes downcast, just like a downtrodden puppy. She had rehearsed this story well, Atticus made sure of it.

    "What I have told you at Wainsborough Hall were lies, Your Grace. I am not Claire, only Giselle. I had never been to a ball of such a grand scale before, so I stole my mother's dress and snuck in. And that night, I met you.

My life had only gone downhill since then, Your Grace. My father died of typhoid fever just a week after the ball, and my uncle tried to send me to a convent so that he could claim my inheritance. So, I fled here, to Waterdown, my late mother's hometown."

    "How do I know if you are telling the truth?" he challenged.

    "It is up to you whether you wish to believe in me or not," she said softly. "I have no other way to prove myself. But if my uncle were to find me, then my life will be over before it even began. At least, if I remain here, he will never find me."

He did not look too satisfied, but he did not pursue it any further either. "You may stay, then. But you must know, at this moment, you are the only living and breathing creature in this palace."

Giselle blinked in surprise. "But, Matilda-"

    "Both Matilda and Elsie return to the village at sundown. It is only you here. Are you not afraid of what I could do to you?"

    "Missus Harris said that she only drinks animal blood. Do you not do the same?"

At that moment, a burst of loud laughter escaped his lips, the sound reverberating through the library as if it were a hollow drum. "Though I haven't tasted human blood in years, I am still very much able to take it if I wanted to, by will or by force. Especially when a human is parading her sweet blood so openly in my presence."

Giselle felt a shiver rush down her spine. "I take it that you allow me to stay. Thank you, and I will be sure to stay out of your way."

Before he could say anything, she briskly grabbed the broom and rushed out of the library, her heart beating erratically in her chest. It was only when she locked herself in that cramped bedroom did she found peace and solace, and even then, her fear had not completely died down.

That night, when everyone should have been asleep, she heard the sound of footsteps rushing up and down the stairs, clinking glasses, peals of laughter, and the music of an old piano.

With each note of the piano, she cursed Willoughby a little more, and silently, she watched through the narrow window as the skies went from dark to light, and slowly but surely, the voices died out along with the darkness, as if they had never existed. But she knew, without fail, they will return.

    As dawn broke, Giselle groggily sat up in her bed and watched as light poured into the room. She had spent the entire night awake, not daring to take even a wink of sleep.

She did not know what they did on the upper floors at night, and frankly, she did not want to know either. Nor did she want to leave this room.

But duty was duty, and the last thing that Giselle wanted was to be fired for tardiness before she even got any information that could be relayed. And so, after washing her face clean, she climbed up the stairs and returned to the library, and thankfully, she did not bump into any non-human creatures on her way there.

There was not much for her to do, since she had already turned the library upside down and back up again just the night before. Alas, like the good employee that she was, she decided to remain there nonetheless.

    At noon, after taking a slice of buttered toast from the kitchen, she decided to browse through Icarus's vast collection of books and hopefully kill her boredom.

Unfortunately for her, it only made her even more bored. The genres ranged from theology, philosophy, politics, old Latin texts, historical records, and a few novels that were written in an incredibly complicated and pretentious language to the point where it became incomprehensible. She rolled her eyes in annoyance. Ever since she became the Nightingale, Giselle was used to settling things quickly and efficiently, and though she would never admit it, she had become quite impatient.

Waiting around passively and laying low was not exactly in her nature. She preferred to deal with things in one go and get it done with, and for that reason, this mission in particular was the hardest one she had to deal with to date.

    And then, just as she was about to die from boredom, she heard the door to the library open, then shut. She immediately sat up straight, wondering who it could be. Was it Missus Harris? Matilda, perhaps? Or Elsie, the other maid that she had yet to meet?

But it was neither of them. Instead, a man with neat, slicked-back blond hair walked in, dressed in an intricately embroidered knee-length coat and breeches, with a waistcoat underneath, just like in those old paintings that she would see in Stowe Hall. A golden pince-nez was mounted on the bridge of his nose, bringing attention to his eyes, which were the palest shade of grey that Giselle had ever seen.

    Upon seeing her, his lips curled into a smile, one that was neither malicious nor mocking. "Hello, there. You must be the new maid they were talking about."

    "Who is 'they'?" Giselle frowned.

He shrugged. "Bored people, I suppose. Well, I am Theophilus Fletcher. You may call me Theo for short."

He held out his hand for her to shake, and gingerly, she took it. However, the moment their hands touched, she pulled away frantically as if his touch seared through her flesh.

    "Forgive me," Theo mouthed. "I forgot to tell you that I am one of them, and the touch of our skin can feel quite chilly."

When their hands touched earlier, it felt as if she pressed her hand against a stone wall, hard and immovable, and it felt cold, so so cold, just like a corpse.

    "You are a vampire?" Giselle gasped.

    "Well, yes, but I don't quite like the term 'vampire', you see. The connotation of being a bloodsucking predator does not exactly appeal to me."

Giselle rolled her eyes. "And yet, here you are."

    "I assure you, the reason why I became a vampire is much more mundane than you might think," he replied humorously.

    "Enlighten me, then."

Theo sighed deeply as he sat down on the leather sofa, gesturing for Giselle to do the same. "It is not an interesting story, to be frank. I have some acquaintances that went through life and death situations prior to being turned. Godwin Dougal, a brilliant inventor and a close friend of mine, was accused of blasphemy for suggesting that the Earth is round and was sentenced to death by immurement. Of course, when His Grace heard about this, he could not let such an ingenious mind die in vain. So, he turned him into a vampire."

    "Pardon me, but I did not ask about this Godwin Dougal," Giselle interjected, her voice laced with annoyance.

    "Patience," Theo chuckled. "I was just setting the scene, you see. Now, in comparison to that, my story is much less interesting. I was born in 1709, over a hundred years ago. As a child, I adored history, and I could recount all events, significant or insignificant, with ease. But eventually, I ran out of books to read, so I decided to write my own. I wished to write my own annals, to write down history as I saw it. It was my one true wish, my calling in life, but being a mortal human, how could I accomplish it? My body of flesh and blood will someday rot, and my mind will weaken and deteriorate. Soon, I will turn to dust, and my wish to observe the future of mankind will never be fulfilled.

But I soon found my answer, deep in the pages of The Olympian, a book published in the early Reformation period, just after the fall of the Severin monarchy. It told of an immortal creature, a prince whose blood can grant you eternal life. The true mastermind behind the fall of the monarchy, and the puppeteer that controls the ministers of the Parliament.

So, I did what I had to do. I approached him, and l begged him for immortality. And ever so benevolent, he granted it to me."

At that moment, Giselle felt her knees tremble with excitement. At last, she had something to write about. But it was not half near enough, so she decided to pry a little more.

    "I thought you get turned into a vampire if you are bitten by one," she asserted.

    "Ah, you must've read The Moon Shines Pale Scarlet. It was written by Gregoria Crispin, a friend of mine, though you've likely never heard about her. Biting one's neck to turn them into a vampire is something that she invented herself, as it is far more erotic in her eyes. In truth, vampires only bite when it is time to feed. And when they taste human blood, they will not have the kindness to let go of you after a few gulps. They will suck you dry."

    "You are telling me that you could kill me if you wanted to."

Theo shook his head, chuckling softly. "I do not fancy human blood, dearest, and I mean it. It is His Grace that you should worry about. Though his self-control is quite impeccable, I know that he will not be able to resist when human blood is laid in front of him on a golden platter."