Chapter Eight.

Two years later, Lance had become a big part of the lives of the Heretic and her daughter.
According to all official platforms, Emma had officially become Freya's adopted daughter, but all birds had to fly the nest eventually, even swans.
Lance had stuck around for Freya as she struggled to cope with Emma's departure to Boston and they even ended up moving in together.

"Hey, Dracula." The Heretic smirked as she found Lance splayed out on the couch.
"Yes, dear one?" He looked up from his book.
"I've made you something." She smiled, practically skipping over to sit next to him.
"Oh?" Lance raised an eyebrow.
"Hold out your hand." Freya instructed.
He did as told, holding his right hand out to her.
Gently, she placed her gift into his palm.
He looked down and saw it was a Signet ring with his family crest on it. The jewel beneath the crest, however, is what caught Lance's eye first.
It was Lapis Lazuli – she'd made him a Daylight ring.
"Are you serious?!" Lance stared at her, open-mouthed.
"Well, I thought nine hundred years waiting was about long enough." She shrugged, smirking.
"Holy crap, thank you Freya!" The Vampire beamed, instantly pulling her in for a tight hug.
"Like all magic, this comes with a price." The Heretic pointed her finger in his direction.
"Don't care. I'll pay it." Lance replied as he slipped the ring onto his right ring finger.
Freya hesitated, but came out with it all the same.
"I want you to start helping me find a way back to Killian again." She said.
Lance looked to her with sympathy.
"Freya, we've talked about this..." He sighed.
"I have tried to live without him, Lance. I got Emma back and that was a massive bonus. But now she's gone and even though you're here, I feel so alone."
Lance shook his head, thinking for a moment.
"I get it." He replied.
Freya took his hand, rubbing her thumb over the Vampire's latest item of jewellery.
"I need this, Lance." She practically whispered.
The Vampire looked up at his Heretic sire, taking in every detail of her face. She was more sincere about this than she had been about anything and Lance could see that.
"Okay." He nodded. "I'll help you get back to him."
Freya's expression instantly transformed into a wide grin as she pulled him into a tight hug.
"Thank you so much, my pup." She mumbled against his shoulder.

Flashback.

In late winter of 1144, an eighty-three year old Freya was on her way to a business meet in a stunning villa on the outskirts of Naples.
She rode in her carriage, drawn by two stunning black horses, accompanied by a small group of guards and two servants, who kept her company in the comfort of the carriage.

Freya looked out of the window to see the few hundred acres of land that surrounded the villa of Count Pietro Trevisan, one of the most powerful men in Italy, but also one of the most brutish.
A closer inspection led to Freya seeing the welcoming committee – the Count, his wife; Valentina, his head of staff and a few servants to collect the luggage.

"Salve Lady Freya. What an honour to be gifted with your beautiful presence. Gratias tibi, my Lady – gratias tibi." The short, balding, plump man greeted her as she stepped down from the carriage.
She smiled, putting her hand into his for him to place his greasy, stubbled lips to kiss.
"Gratias Count Pietro for having me." She curtsied deeply before turning to the wife. "And what a pleasure to finally meet you, Countess Valentina."
The young Countess gave a small smile and curtsey.
Freya paid a special attention to her, seeing her doe eyes and nervous posture. She was in her early twenties, clearly only married to the Count for the benefits it gave her and her family.
The count turned to his head of staff/right hand man, whom Freya had previously met during the Count's visit to England and uttered something in Latin.
The man appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties, though it was hard to tell if the wrinkles and marks on his face were because of age or wearing from long days in the sun.
Instantly, he scurried towards a building that was kept separate from the main house.
A few moments later, five young and pretty Italian women exited, jogging towards the carriage to collect the luggage, followed by a man of African origin.
The Heretic was intrigued by the man, having not seen a coloured person since a particular incident with a Kenyan tribe she'd rather not recollect.
He found her gaze within a matter of seconds, offering her a small smile that seemed awfully bold to Freya. She was a woman out of her time – the way she saw it, the people of Earth all bled the same colour, so why should anyone be treated differently because of something as insignificant as heritage or background? Any and all of Freya's servants were there of their own accord, paid very well and treated like Human beings.
But seeing him and his boldness only created questions. Freya felt drawn to the man and so, as soon as her meeting was over for the day, she decided to go and see him.

The Heretic chose to wait until after dinner, when the sun was setting and there weren't too many people around.
"Hello?" She called out as she entered the stables.
There was nothing. But upon further investigation, Freya saw the man attempting to hide himself behind one of the stable doors.
"Whatever are you doing there?" She asked, smoothing out her dinner gown.
The man remained silent.
Freya felt sympathy for the man and so crouched down next to him, repeating her previous question in Latin to see if that would help.
"Not supposed to be seen." The man mumbled in an accent that was quite unfathomable, thought must've been some sort of mixture of Kenyan and Italian.
"Well unlike the bastard you work for, I want to see you." Freya gave him a warm smile. "What is your name?"
The man looked awfully confused. "I have no name." He replied.
"That won't do at all. We'll just have to give you one." The Heretic took a moment to think. "Capheus? Ah, that sounds Roman. I suppose you don't want your name to be connected with this place."
The man shook his head.
"Max? Or how about Jack?" Freya thought aloud, but then it hit her. "I know! You shall have the name of a friend of mine. He's no longer using it – He died a long time ago. How do you like the name 'Lancelot'?"
The man offered her a small smile and a nod.
"Lance for short. I love it. I have a feeling you will fill its shoes nicely." She nodded her confidence in him.
"Thank you my Lady. I have had no name before." His eyes began to fill up with fresh, salty tears.
"I hope you take good care of that name. And please, there's no need to call me by my title. You may call me Freya and treat me as your equal, as I shall for you." The Heretic took his hand in hers and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze.

The next evening, Freya had decided to prep her horses and sneak Lancelot out of the stables for a ride at dusk to get to know him better.
"Why have you been so kind to me, Freya?" He asked as they rode through a deep forest.
"I've never agreed with the idea of slaves. I much prefer my servants. I treat them just as I have done with you and I pay them well for the work they do for me, in return, I have their unconditional love, loyalty and support. You don't get that with slaves. I believe everyone has the right to freedom. I just wish more shared those beliefs." Freya's expression saddened somewhat. She thought about how she had had it all, especially since she became a Vampire. "I wish others had the chance to experience even a small portion of the things I have."
"You are a woman like no other, Freya. You have kindness in your heart. I have found that this is rare in the world." Lancelot told her.
"Oh, Lance. You have no idea how different I am." The Heretic chuckled.
But he would soon discover, as at that moment, men's war cries were heard from all angles.
Lancelot and Freya steadied their horses as they tried to see what was coming at them, but it was too dark for Lance to see. Freya, however, used her enhanced sight to spy out a group of a roughly a dozen armed bandits headed their way.
There wasn't enough time to avoid blowing her cover, so she dropped down from her horse and used her Vampire speed to run at each of the bandits, ripping their throats out one by one.
At the last one, she buried her fangs deep into his throat and fed, enjoying the feeling of his life draining from his body.
Lancelot stood by and watched on in horror.
"Impundulu." He gasped.
Freya instantly stopped, having heard that name on her travels once before. Impundulu was an African superstition about a man who travelled at night, drinking the blood of Humans and cattle.
"No." She said.
Lancelot turned to run, but Freya was much faster, appearing directly in front of him.
He screamed.
With a sigh, Freya pressed her hand over his mouth, using a surprising amount of force to keep it there.
"I am not the monster you think I am, Lancelot. I was protecting you." She told him.
But before anything else could happen, Lancelot dropped to the floor, unconscious.
Freya instantly fell to her knees beside him, then she realised the blood that smelled the sweetest to her in that instance, wasn't the blood of one of the bandits.
She looked down to see a broken arrow impaling his liver.
"By the Gods..." She gasped, pulling the arrow out as she brought her free hand to her lips.
With a quick draw of her fangs, she bit into her hand and placed it over Lancelot's mouth.
"Come on, Lance. Drink. You have to drink." She pleaded.
Within a few seconds, Lancelot's mouth closed around the Heretic's wound, lapping up the blood like honey.
Freya watched as his wound healed almost instantly. She smiled.
"You saved me." Lancelot gasped out for air.
"Twice, technically." Freya raised her eyebrow, a smirk clear on her face.
"Thank you Freya."
"No." Freya shook her head as she sat back. "I will get that thank you after I've saved your life for a third time. I'm going to ask the Count to buy you and then I shall free you."
Lancelot sat up, not taking his eyes from hers.
"You would do that for a stranger?" He asked.
"Of course. So imagine what I'd do for a friend." Freya replied, sincerely.

The next morning, Freya asked for an audience with Count Pietro.
"Quid est, Lady Freya?" He asked, sat at his dining table eating bread and grapes.
"I wish to speak with you on the matter of one of your slaves." Freya cut to the chase.
"Oh? Which one would that be, my Lady?" The piggish man scoffed through his food.
"The African fellow you keep in the stables." The Heretic replied.
In a second, the Count stopped eating and glared at her.
"Why on Earth would you want him?" He raised a bushy, unkempt eyebrow.
"I see he has potential that might not be suited to..." Freya thought of the right terminology. "Your way of life."
"Ha! He's the best stable boy I've ever had. My team of horses have thrived since I brought him back with me. How could I ever give him up?" He chortled.
"I can promise you a very handsome fee for him." Freya smirked. The Count's attention peaked once more. "How does one thousand gold pieces sound to you?"
The Count was astonished. "You would pay so much for one measly slave?"
"On top of our deal, yes, Count." Freya nodded.
"Then you shall have him." He shrugged before charging his glass at her.
Freya simply smiled, curtseyed and left.

But it wasn't long before everything began to unravel.