It would be several days before she saw Icarus again. Nonetheless, with the information she had gotten out of Theophilus Fletcher, Giselle was able to fill up a sheet of paper, which she hoped would satisfy Atticus.

In it, she had written,

To Atticus,

In my time here, I have learnt quite a few things about vampirism, thanks to the help of a new friend. You cannot turn someone into a vampire by biting them, instead, you must feed them the blood of another vampire. I am not certain if every vampire's blood has the same properties, or if it is just Icarus. Oh yes, his name is Icarus, I forgot to mention. One more thing, the vampires here, or the two that I know of, only drink animal blood, but they would not resist the opportunity to drink human blood.

Unfortunately, I was unable to discover anything about Icarus other than his name.

I will write to you again soon.

Giselle.

Once she was finished writing that letter, she reached for a pot of glue and lightly smeared the paste on the edges of the paper, before taking another piece of paper and sticking it on top of it.

On it, she wrote another letter.

To my cousin Jasper,

I thank you for your assistance in getting me this job. I could not be more grateful, nor could I ask for a better cousin. This place, though rather gloomy, has a certain charm that I was unable to find in London. The masters of the house are also peculiar, to say the least. Alas, I suppose that is my source of entertainment now.

I would be very grateful if you could ask Mister Joseph to bring my suitcase here, since I have been wearing the same clothes again and again these past few days. Oh, and please do not forget my violin. It is in the long brown box.

I will write to you again soon.

Giselle.

She put down her pen, made sure that the glue was dried, then folded up the letter and slid it into the envelope.

It was late in the evening, and Old Joseph would be coming by with this week's supply of produce soon. She had been patiently waiting for him to arrive, him and his little cart, the only connector between her and the human world.

Here, in the Palace of Daínn, she had to admit that she was slowly losing her sense of time. Here, it felt as if the time was static, unmoving. She would sleep and then wake up, and everything would remain the same. Nothing had changed, not the light that streamed onto her face exactly at seven thirty-four in the morning, not the music of the old piano and the shrill waves of laughter that began after midnight. It felt as if she was living the same day, again and again.

Perhaps, that is how life was for vampires. To live eternally, without much to look forward to. Now that she thought of it, immortality did sound quite mundane, boring even.

At last, Old Joseph arrived, and that day, Giselle was tasked to greet him instead of Missus Harris. As requested, he had brought a crate full of plump, shiny red apples, and she could not help but feel her mouth water at the sight of it.

"Good day, mister," she greeted as she made her way to his cart. "I hope that you have been doing well?"

Old Joseph simply nodded at her, though a suspicious look lingered in his milky blue eyes. "They haven't turned you yet, have they?"

"Thankfully, no," she laughed as she shook her head. "Missus Harris asked me to give this money to you and to tell you to bring over some sage and lemon next week. Perhaps even some saffron, if you could find it."

"Very well," he said, taking the bag of money from her. "So, you've met them? Those vampires, I mean."

She nodded. "I did. Only three of them, though."

"There are three of them?" Old Joseph gasped. "My God! I thought there was only one!"

As she watched him rapidly descend into a sudden panic, she debated whether she should impart to him that Missus Harris, whom he had been talking to for the past few years, was actually a vampire. But in the end, she decided against it, fearing that Old Joseph would have a stroke and drop dead.

"It is fine, really. They do not bite," she insisted, hoping to vanquish even a bit of fear in Old Joseph's heart.

It was all futile, however. After loading off the boxes in the cart, he immediately rushed to leave, his horse's reins ready in hand.

"Wait, mister!" Giselle cried out. "I need to ask you for a favour!"

"If you want me to take you back to the village, then hop on!" he contended, and with each passing second, he looked more and more unwilling to be there.

Giselle shook her head, trying her hardest not to burst into laughter. "No, not that. I was wondering if you could give this letter to my cousin, Jasper Arvell."

She hurriedly reached into the pocket of her apron, pulling out a crumpled brown envelope. The old man frowned with hesitance, but in the end, he took it.

As he did, his eyes darted from the envelope to the building that loomed behind them, and at that moment, the panic in his eyes turned into pure fear, and he haphazardly threw the envelope into his cart and urged the horse to run faster, leaving nothing but dust in his tracks.

Confused, Giselle turned around, wondering what is it that Old Joseph had seen. And indeed, there, by a window on the topmost floor, she could see the dark silhouette of a man, his pale fingers wrapped around a crystal goblet.

With his gleaming scarlet eyes trained upon her, he calmly took a sip from the goblet. And from afar, Giselle could tell that the liquid was dark red.

Icarus was looking at her, eyeing her every move, wondering, predicting what she was about to do next. If she were a bit meeker, then she would have looked away, or even run away, like Old Joseph did. But instead, she stared back at him, long and hard, taking in every detail just as he did with her.

The waves and curls of his dark hair, the slight quirk of his lips, and his thick, low brows that made him look sterner than he actually was.

It was only when the sun began to set did she look away, but as she walked into the palace, she could feel his thorny gaze, following her still.

That night, Giselle returned to her room as she always did, but a sudden knock on the door jolted her awake. She opened it, revealing Missus Harris on the other side of the door.

"Forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, but His Grace is asking for you."

"Now?" she murmured groggily, rubbing her sleepy eyes with her palms. "He's never done this before."

"I know, dear, but you must go. He will be very displeased if you don't."

Sighing deeply, Giselle retreated back into the room and slipped out of her nightgown before putting on her usual day uniform.

This was the first time she ever went upstairs after midnight, and in truth, she was rather afraid of what she would find. As with every night, she could hear the sound of chattering from the upper floors, laughing and giggling at the top of their lungs.

The voices, Giselle would discover, came from behind the closed doors that led to the dining hall, which was bright and illuminated, as seen through the slits below the door. But that was not where she was wanted, so she simply walked past that door, not wanting to take another glance at it.

Upon arriving at the library, she softly knocked on the door before stepping in, and as she stepped inside, she could see Icarus seated by the table, his face barely illuminated by the flickering candlelight.

"You asked for me, Your Grace?" she called out, her feet slowly treading upon the marble flooring.

"I did," he said despondently, his tone morose. "I need you to find a book for me."

"Of course. What is the title of the book?"

Icarus looked up at her. "The Olympian."

"Very well," she said, ready to turn, before he called out for her, stopping Giselle in her tracks.

"Take a lamp with you," he said. "Otherwise, how will you see?"

She gave him a small smile. "By the moonlight, Your Grace. It is a bright night, after all. And to be frank, I am not fond of fire."

And with that, she skulked off, guided only by the pale rays of moonlight that flooded in through the stained glass windows.

Icarus's library was vast, with shelves that stretched out to the ceilings, with endless rows upon rows of books. Some books were almost falling apart, as if they were bound a thousand years ago, while some were relatively new, the ink still fresh and the pages emitting a faintly wooden aroma. The titles were not unfamiliar to her either, as she could have easily found them in any reputable bookstore in London.

As she walked past the works of Jane Austen and the Brontë sisters, she wondered if Icarus had a copy of every single book ever published in store.

It was not difficult for her to find The Olympian, since it was kept in a glass cabinet, away from all the other books. Unlike the other books of its age, The Olympian was surprisingly well-preserved, without a single fray or tear, without a speck of dust dotting it, and its only flaw were the yellowed pages.

"Here it is," she said as she placed the book on Icarus's table. For the briefest moment, his hands brushed against hers, but he quickly withdrew them away, as if her touch seared his skin.

Giselle swallowed hard, before clearing her throat and saying, "Is that all, Your Grace?"

"Stay here for a while," Icarus said as he flipped through the pages of The Olympian. "It is good to have someone in here."

Her eyebrows jumped in surprise, but she did not question his request. Instead, she sat down on the leather sofa near the table, where she was still very much close to him.

Once in a while, her eyes would dart in his direction, though he did not glance at her, not even once. It was as if she was there simply for the purpose of being there.

In the end, Giselle mustered up her courage and said, "You are very literal, Your Grace."

"What do you mean by that?" Icarus retorted, finally glancing in her direction, his stormy gaze now meeting hers.

Giselle cleared her throat. "I feel like I am here just to be here. At least, ask me to do something. Sitting around here and doing nothing is making me restless."

"So, you would rather do chores than to keep me company?" he laughed.

"No, of course not, Your Grace," she quickly interjected.

A deadly silence dawned upon the room again, thick and impenetrable. All that she could hear were the whirling winds outside the window, and the steady sound of her own soft breathing.

"I know I should keep quiet and be a good company, but if you allow it, can I ask you a question?" Giselle asked, her light voice slicing through the atmosphere like a knife cutting through fabric.

"Very well."

She paused for a moment, taking her time to decide what she wanted to know about the most. "How long have you been in this world?"

"Long enough," he sighed. "Long enough to see England collapse and then rise up again."

"You are being vague," she argued.

He smirked. "Your question is vague."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I do not," he chuckled. "Please, enlighten me, Giselle FitzLarkspur."

She gritted her teeth in exasperation, before eventually asking, "How old are you?"

Icarus looked at her in the eye, his lips twitching, as if he was trying his hardest not to laugh. "Twenty-four."

At that point, Giselle wished that her mission was to assassinate him instead, so that she could put a silver bullet through his head. Sensing the annoyance in Giselle's dark gaze, Icarus burst into laughter, before adding, "I've been twenty-four for the past three hundred years. Are you satisfied now?"

"One more," Giselle requested. "I wish to know what is in that jar. Does it contain a substance that turns people into vampires?"

Now, Giselle knew very well that was not the case, but she feigned ignorance to seem more innocent, more oblivious. The contents of that jar seemed to be incredibly precious to Icarus, and not only would it be something to write home about, but she would also be able to quench her own curiosity.

"Perhaps," Icarus murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. "You seem very interested in vampirism, Giselle FitzLarkspur. Does immortality entice you?"

"I suppose yes," Giselle lied. "Every human would do anything in their power to avoid death, and I am no different. Of course, I am not actively dying, but I cannot help but feel curious."

"A very human desire indeed," he added. "Well, why don't you see these vampires that you are so interested in for yourself?"

Giselle raised her eyebrows. "Pardon me, Your Grace?"

"From this day onward, there will be no need for you to come to this library. Instead, you will be stationed in the dining hall. I believe that all the questions you could possibly have would be subsequently answered."

"Then, I shall serve vampires? What if they eat me?"

"You speak to me as if I am not one of them," Icarus retorted, amused.

Giselle shook her head. "It is not the same, Your Grace. Theo said that you have more self-control than the others."

"I see that you have met Mister Fletcher."

"That is beside the point," she said exasperatedly.

Without saying a word, Icarus closed the book in his hands and set it aside before looking up to face Giselle.

"I believe that there is something that you do not understand," he uttered. "Listen, I cannot care less whether you live or die. And since you wanted to know so much about vampires, am I not doing you a favour?"

"But-" Giselle tried to argue, but before she could say anything else, Icarus cut her off.

"That settles it, then," he said, his lips curled into a malicious smile as he sat up from his chair. "I will see you at dinner tomorrow night. Have a good day, Giselle FitzLarkspur."

And with that, he was gone, leaving her alone in the darkness of the night.