Icarus's guests were not that plentiful, less than ten in all. To finally gaze upon the faces of those who laughed, partied, and danced throughout the night, Giselle could not help but feel intrigued. They all seemed so different from one another, their countenance, the look in their eyes, but they shared one same fate. The curse of immortality. Well, that is one way to say it. Some might call immortality a blessing.

But the thing that intrigued Giselle the most was that except for Aldous and Theophilus, none of the vampires at the table were created by Icarus.

Hester Ashbrook, the moodiest of them all, was turned over fifty years ago after she drank a glass of wine contaminated with vampire blood in Venice during her trip there.

Then, there was Casper Finnegan, ever so passionate, a creature older than Icarus himself though not as nearly as powerful. Some had theorised that he was turned by the same vampire that changed Icarus, but for some reason, he had not been blessed with the same gifts that Icarus now possessed.

Beside him sat Lilith Faire-Spence, the youngest of the lot, having been turned into a vampire only a few years ago. But unlike the others, Lilith was not changed by a vampire. Instead, she was changed by humans through a botched blood transfusion, and in an effort to prolong her life, they had turned her immortal instead.

Lastly, at the very end of the dining table sat Alain de Beauchamp, the oldest amongst them all, but ironically the newest addition to the lot. Alain had been turned at the tender age of twenty-two in the Norman era, when William the Conqueror marched upon English soil, and since then, he had lived in secrecy, refusing any contact with anyone. Until now, that is.

For someone who has lived in seclusion for the past few centuries, this Alain fellow was quite a friendly chap, to Giselle, at the very least. He was rather reserved compared to the others, barely opening his mouth to contribute to the ongoing conversation. But unlike the rest of them, he actually acknowledged her presence, and as she laid down the plate of seared cod before him, she caught him giving her the softest of smiles.

"Thank you, Miss...?" he asked. His voice was deep and rough, as if it had been unused for a long time. He spoke so quietly, so softly, and yet it carried just the right amount of authority within its cadences.

"My name is Giselle, sir," she smiled at him.

Alain's lips quirked into a smile. "Such a lovely name, befitting such a lovely girl."

Giselle felt herself blush. She had rarely received compliments about her looks before. All this time, she was only praised for her stealth and accuracy with the gun, so such a compliment truly caught her off guard.

"You flatter me, sir," she replied. "Would you like more wine?"

"Please," Alain chuckled. "I'll take anything to get rid of this damned thirst."

Alain took up his goblet, lifting it to take a sip as he watched the others continue to talk. There was so much excitement in every word spoken across the table at the moment, yet nothing really drew his attention. He only cared about the human girl hovering just beside him, her veins pulsating underneath her warm skin.

Her eyes were as dark as night, the darkest that he had ever seen, as dark as the moonless sky. Her dark hair cascaded down the small of her back in delicate curls, and her skin glowed in the dim lighting of the room, a light pink colour. The sight of her alone left him intoxicated.

He drank deeply again, savouring the liquid that filled his mouth as it went, savouring her scent as it lingered around him. Her scent reminded him of a fair spring morning, when the air was crisp and the roses would bloom. A spring morning that he had not witnessed in centuries.

She was beautiful, undoubtedly so, but at the end of the day, none of that mattered. Like the others, she would be reduced to a mangled pile of limbs, her skin as pale as snow after having all the blood in her veins drained out. Her beauty would cease, like the others, and she would soon be consumed by the earth.

And like the others, she was nothing of note, only a mere servant. If she should disappear, then who will look for her? Perhaps the housekeeper would, but surely she would not waste her energy on a maid like Giselle.

"That is a pretty flower," he said to her, gesturing to the single white flower tucked amongst her dark curls. "That is a magnolia, isn't it?"

"You are correct," she replied. "Plucked it in the garden this very evening."

Alain hummed with delight. "It is indeed very fragrant. Although, it has been a long while since I last saw one."

"If you walked around more, then you will find it."

"Perhaps," Alain murmured. "However, it is no fun walking alone. If only I had someone to accompany me."

Giselle raised an eyebrow, but before she could say anything, she was interrupted by Icarus.

"Sir de Beauchamp," he began. "I do hope that you find your stay here quite pleasant."

Annoyance flashed in Alain's eyes as he turned away from Giselle and towards Icarus. "It is very pleasant, Your Grace. I must thank you for the hospitality that you have shown me."

"It is the least that I can do. How long has it been since you last stepped foot in England, Sir de Beauchamp? It has been quite a while, hasn't it?" Icarus said, bombarding him with questions.

"It has been a little over fifty years, Your Grace," Alain replied, his features calm and unfazed, but he failed to hide the agitation in his voice. Unlike his sultry, smooth tone earlier, this time his voice was strained, as if he were sputtering on his own tongue.

"Fifty years, eh?" Casper Finnegan exclaimed, his bright amber eyes flashing towards Alain. "That is almost a whole lifetime for a human. So, what was it like, spending a whole lifetime travelling the world?"

"But I am more interested to know about the years that he did spend in England," Lilith interjected. "I heard that you were born in the reign of William the Conqueror, so you must be seven hundred years old at the very least. You must have so many stories to tell."

"Precisely," Icarus stated firmly. "Why don't you tell us, Sir de Beauchamp?"

At that moment, Alain's eyes flickered towards Giselle for the briefest second, as if begging her for an opportunity to escape. But unfortunately for him, Icarus had no intention of letting him go.

"And Miss FitzLarkspur, your job here is done. You may leave now," he added.

Giselle felt her heart drop as she saw the look of discomfort on Alain's face, but she had no choice but to abide by Icarus's orders. Very hesitantly, she stepped away, and the further she got from the table, the more her resentment towards Icarus grew.

It was a cool summer night. In the distance, she could hear the crickets singing by the running creek, their song blending with the chirping of the owls and crows, the gentle breeze rustling the trees, and the distant rumble of thunder.

She sat by the water fountain, and every now and then, she would gingerly run her fingers through the water, creating ripples on the surface. The moon shone brightly overhead, illuminating the forest as well as the grounds surrounding the palace.

And it was quiet, almost eerily so. For these past few days, she had grown accustomed to noise, the constant chatter, the occasional burst of laughter from those within the palace. Now, however, there was no sound but the gentle gurgle of the fountain, the whispering of the wind and the rustles of the leaves.

Giselle sighed as she knelt down by the fountain, pressing her cheek against the marble surface. It was cool to the touch, like every other inhabitant of the palace. Here, everyone was so cold, so stiff, so lifeless. It drained her, and the thought of being on her toes at all times left her restless. She wrapped her arms around her torso, wishing that they were the warm arms of another person instead, and that she could hear their heartbeat lulling against her own.

At that moment, she wished for nothing more than to be held by another person, to feel the warmth radiate from their skin, but it was simply not possible.

Giselle did not even have anything to reminisce about, as she could count the number of times she had been embraced with one hand. Willoughby, her dearest adoptive father, had not given her the warm hugs that she so desperately craved. Instead, all he had given her was a cold, hard pistol.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps approaching from behind, causing her to scramble to her feet. The footsteps drew closer, and she could see the familiar pair of scarlet eyes flickering in the dark. Icarus. She had hoped that it would be Alain instead.

"What are you doing, sitting here alone in the dark?" she heard him say.

Giselle gave him a glare. "Can I not sit wherever I wish to, Your Grace?"

"It is not safe," he reprimanded, his brows pressed into a deep frown.

"Oh?" she chuckled. "I thought you said that you didn't care whether I lived or died."

"I do not. But it will be problematic if you were to die on the palace grounds."

Giselle rolled her eyes. "I see. If I were to die, then I will be sure to leave this place before dropping dead."

"How kind of you to do so," she heard him laugh.

She gritted her teeth as she glared at him, wishing that she had her pistol in her hand at that moment. "How can someone be so cruel? Would it pain you to say, 'Oh, please don't stay out at this hour. You might get hurt'? You don't even have to mean it, just be a bit nicer."

"Is that so? Is that what you think of me? A cruel tyrant?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"And why is that?"

Giselle rolled her eyes. "Do you really need to ask? And it is not just me, you are also cruel to Sir de Beauchamp."

"How am I cruel to him? I welcomed him as a guest in my own home, so how am I cruel?"

"I could clearly see how uncomfortable he was when you began to bombard him with questions. He looked as if he wanted to be anywhere in the world but there. But you didn't care about that. You only knew to demand answers."

"Ah, you're defending him? So I am the cruel tyrant, ruthlessly attacking poor Alain de Beauchamp, is that it?" he chuckled. "How would you like me to be then, Giselle FitzLarkspur?"

He took a step forward and suddenly grasped her wrist, and then he brought it up to his lips. "Shall I kiss you on the hand every time we meet, then? Wouldn't that be very courteous of me?"

Her blood ran cold. She tried to pull her arm back, but his grasp was stronger than expected, so she was unable to break free. Icarus's gaze never once wavered from hers, as he lowered his head towards her hand and kissed it. His lips brushed against her skin for longer than he should have, causing goosebumps to rise along her arm.

"Tell me, Giselle. Is this what I should do?" he whispered. "Or shall I walk hand in hand with you like a proper gentleman?"

"You-" she managed to whisper through gritted teeth. Her heart was beating erratically, threatening to leap out of her chest any second, as she struggled to maintain control of herself. Her face felt like it was burning, yet she couldn't manage to utter a single word.

Icarus finally lifted his gaze upwards again, still holding her wrist captive in his hold. He looked into her eyes, and her heart stopped beating for a split second. Those crimson eyes stared right through her, as he spoke, "It is such a cold night, and yet, here you are, drenched in sweat."

Giselle blinked. It was only then that she noticed that she was sweating profusely, to the point where her forehead almost glistened.

He gave her one final smile as he let go of her wrist, which then dropped down by her side. He lifted his hand, and ever so tenderly, wiped away the beads of sweat on her forehead with his sleeve, a gesture that was starkly different from his earlier actions.

Giselle felt heat rushing onto her cheeks, yet despite her desire to turn her head away, perhaps even smack away his hand, she found that she was powerless to do so.

"There," he said as he pulled his hand away. "Now, go inside."

She nodded her head as she took a step back and made her way to the entrance of the garden. But before she left, she heard a soft, faint voice echo, "Be wary of who you trust."

It was Icarus's voice. But when she turned around to look, he was no longer there.