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

vanished.
    “It,” he repeated.
    Had he never played tag, then? This serious, desperate prince… There seemed to be a storm in his dark green eyes, a brief battle of dignity versus temptation. Ilona began to smile.
    “It?” Vlad’s hand lifted, forefinger extended, and poked her in the arm. “Not anymore.”
    “That’s cheating!” Ilona objected, feeling her face flush with genuine indignation. Before he could expect it, she lunged at his chest, but he sidestepped, avoiding her touch and dodging hastily the other way as she tried to compensate. When Ilona leapt at him, he stunned her by jumping backwards over the bench behind him. Matthias and Miklós began to laugh.
    Ilona regarded him from narrowed eyes. Either he was a stupid player—the smart move would have been to jump on to the bench, which was “safe”—or a contemptuous one, and she would not permit the latter. Hoisting up her skirts, she flew after him.
    Vlad Dracula, the would-be Prince of Wallachia, turned tail and ran. Ilona’s siblings and cousins howled with glee, all except László, who stood still and bewildered as the younger ones raced around him both for a better view and to avoid Ilona’s tag. Ilona, however, had no intention of tagging anyone but Vlad. It had become a point of honour, all the more appealing because of the hilarity involved in trying to catch him. Ilona, it seemed, had met her match.
    He wasn’t just quick but agile, even with his long cloak and cumbersome sword swinging against his hip and legs. Within the space defined by the erratic, weaving circle of children, he leapt and dodged, feinted and swerved until finally she cornered him in front of the bench that backed onto the old willow tree. Ilona never used that bench to be “safe” except as a last resort; the roots of the willow sloped down to the river, and she knew from experience that it was just too difficult to get off the bench until whoever was It got bored and went after easier prey. Ilona had no intention of getting bored. She grabbed for his arm, just as he jumped onto the stone bench and safety.
    “He’s beaten you, Ilona,” Katalina crowed, her new adult dignity forgotten once more in the fun of the game. “Give him up!”
    “Not I.” Panting for breath, she smiled at Vlad Dracula and flexed her fingers significantly. “I’m good at waiting.”
    Vlad twitched in the direction of the river, and since she didn’t put it past him to get wet just to win, she followed immediately, only to discover it was a feint and he was already lunging the other way. Ilona didn’t hesitate. She hurled herself after him, knowing she’d fall hard but knowing too that she could reach some part of him as she went down.
    It was his boot, encountered in midair as she tumbled and rolled. But, frustratingly, his other foot remained firmly on the bench, so it didn’t count. She was still It.
    “Ilona! Come here.”
    Her father’s sharp command froze her as she sprawled on the ground. Vlad, finely poised to leap off the bench, managed to retrieve his balance and hold still. The tolerant half smile on his lips died. The gleam in his blazing green eyes, which was part teasing and part pure fun, became something else entirely. She almost saw him gather an invisible cloak of splendour about his shabby person, and yet he didn’t move at all. His gaze went beyond her.
    Ilona rose from the ground to face not only her father but Count Hunyadi, striding across the grass toward them, a gaggle of excited servants and men-at-arms streaming out in their wake. Obediently, she walked toward them, resigned to a lecture, at the very least, on the behaviour expected of a daughter of the Szilágyi family.
    But although she slowed as she met the two men, they strode past her as if she didn’t exist. Both pairs of anxious eyes were on the stranger.
    László, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice, said, “Let me introduce you to Vlad, son of Vlad Dracul, one-time Prince of