A Prince to be Feared: The love story of Vlad Dracula Read Online Free PDF Page A

László, but Ilona suspected that half the attraction of such a crush was its safety. They could practise flirting with impunity—and so, to be fair, could László.
    But that afternoon, the amusements were more childish: a boisterous game of tag, at which Ilona excelled, even against the athletic, long-legged youths like Miklós and László. At thirteen, she had no compunction about picking up her skirts and leaping over fences and younger children, dodging and swerving to avoid being tagged, hurling herself onto benches, boulders, or tree trunks to be safe. And since her mother and aunt had begun to groom her for staid adulthood, it was doubly exhilarating.
    Flying across the slightly wilder, bumpier ground that led up to the high garden wall, with László ever closer to her heels, she swung around the big oak tree, feinted to the left, then, when László fell for it, she dashed back the way she’d come. At least, she tried to, but without warning, an obstacle dropped into her path as if from the sky, and she cannoned into it with enough force to rattle her teeth.
    Somewhere, she recognised that the obstacle was a person, but it didn’t give or fall or even allow her to. Hands at her back and shoulder steadied her, and she found herself gazing breathlessly up at a handsome stranger.
    He was young, no older than László. Large, dark green eyes framed by long, black lashes stared back at her with blatant curiosity. They seemed to flash in the sunlight, blinding her.
    Then he moved, urging her behind him as László stumbled to a halt.
    The stranger drawled, “Are you in need of assistance?”
    Even then, his voice did something to her. Deep and low, it seemed to reach far inside her and turn her awakening body outside in. And in her confusion, it took a moment for her to realise what he meant, that he was addressing her rather than László.
    As the stranger’s hands fell away from her, she blinked from him to her glaring cousin and back again. A touch of hysteria bubbled up with the laughter. László, flushing with all the embarrassment of a young man being caught in childish pursuits by a possibly dangerous contemporary, took an aggressive step forward at the stranger’s implication. His hand even reached to his hip for the sword that wasn’t there.
    In response, something leapt in the stranger’s eyes. Though his hand never moved, he did wear his sword. A rather fine one, with an elaborately carved hilt that sat oddly with his worn and dusty clothes.
    Ilona said hastily, “Of course not. We’re playing tag. László is my cousin.”
    The stranger took a quick breath and bowed as though to an equal. “I am delighted to meet your cousin.”
    László frowned, clearly as flummoxed by the change of manner as by the greater mystery of who the devil this man was and where he’d come from. And why. The other children were running over to join the crowd, Ilona’s older sisters hastily gathering their dignity back around them as the stranger bowed to them.
    His cloak, hanging off one shoulder, was spattered with mud. Beneath it, his tunic showed signs of mending. His long boots, reaching up over his knees, were good quality but looked well-worn. He wore no jewels. There was certainly nothing about his dress to impress, and yet no one doubted his importance.
    “Won’t you introduce us to your friend, László?” Katalina said, gazing modestly up at the newcomer from under her eyelashes. Ilona wanted to slap her.
    “Can’t,” said László baldly. “I’ve no idea who he is.”
    “Forgive my oversight—I have been most remiss,” drawled the stranger. Even then he had a way of turning the most civil or even bland statements into insolence. Only you couldn’t put your finger on how or why. He bowed with unsurpassed elegance. “I am Vlad, son of Vlad Dracul, Prince of Wallachia.”
    The air crackled. The dangerous stranger smiled around his stunned audience. It wasn’t a nice smile, and it was aimed,