Disclaimer:: Henry Fitzroy belongs to Tanya Huff. My name is not Tanya.

Assuming that someone other than me knows what The Blood Books are and reads this, I hope they will enjoy it.
I'm having fun writing it!
--Stella


Prologue:: Awakening

On the very end of Juno Drive, there sat an ancient two-story house. From the outside, it was a simple off-white house with an equally simple black-shingled roof.

A simple oak door would let you inside, and, on the inside, it was extravagant.

The foyer—painted burgundy and decked by a full-length, golden trimmed mirror on the left and an oak end table lined with small figurines—cut off to reveal a chocolate brown living room on the right and a deep red kitchen on the left.

The front wall of the kitchen was lined with five marble-topped black cabinets, the third of which sat in front of a window and held a two-sided stainless steel sink.

Half of the wall to the far left was taken up by three more cabinets and a big stainless steel refrigerator, complete by a digital icemaker.

To the immediate right of the refrigerator sat a small painting of the Saint Louis Cathedral, followed by a brown pantry door and, on the other side of said door, a painting looking into Jackson Square.

From the back wall of the kitchen, another oak door could lead you out to the backyard, which was just a patch of grass surrounded by a dark brown wooden fence.

Beside the back door, a long, tall window sat behind ancient, round, oak table, complete by four big, ancient, oak chairs.

Both windows were covered with brown curtains across which kelly green vines danced.

When the back window cut off, the brown paint began.

The dark wooden floor of the foyer and kitchen became a cream-colored carpet, on the very edge of which a kelly green couch sat with its back to the kitchen. Three brown throw pillows were fluffed and perfectly positioned on the cushiony couch.

A kelly green loveseat rested in the middle of the front wall, holding another throw pillow and facing the long window on the back wall. The curtain was very much the same as the ones in the living room, but the colors were reversed. The background was kelly green and the vines were brown.

In front of the window, a glass-covered coffee table held a record/tape/CD-player hybrid.

A dark wooden, green-carpeted staircase took up three-fourths of the right wall.

Beside the staircase, an almost hidden brown door led to a painfully white laundry room, just big enough to hold washer, dryer, and hamper.

In front of the staircase and right beside the loveseat, another door led to a bathroom.

The bathroom's walls were painted a cream that matched the living room carpet, and the diamond tiles were a brown that matched the living room walls.

The normal white sink and silver-rimmed mirror would be hidden from sight if the door was left open. Beside the sink, a silver ring held a brown face rag.

The equally normal white toilet sat across from the sink, on the opposite wall. Beside the toilet, a long silver toilet paper stand shone almost too brightly.

A small window rested in the center of the front wall, and an ancient claw-foot bathtub sat in front of it.

Up the stairs was a very a small and narrow hallway with the same wooden flooring and paint job as the foyer. It held three different doors: one straight ahead, one to the right, and one to the left.

The door straight ahead led to a bathroom that was nearly identical to the one at the bottom of the stairs. The only difference was, in place of the bathtub, a double shower with a sliding glass door and a little plastic square that functioned as a seat on the far right.

The door to the right led to a guest bedroom. Centered on the lilac wall across from the doorway, oak headboard fitting just perfectly between two windows, sat a king-sized bed.

The bed was covered with brilliant violet, Egyptian cotton sheets, and a lilac comforter with a rounded violet trim was spread out over the sheets.

Four down feather pillows covered in lilac pillowcases were propped up against the rounded headboard.

The carpet was perfectly shaggy and the same shade of violet as the bed sheets.

On one side of the door, an empty, five-drawer oak dresser awaited the clothing of visitors who intended to stay for long periods of time.

The other side of the wall was bare, but a painting of an old Anglican church covered most of the tangent wall.

Across the room, an empty closet—surrounded by long flower paintings—awaited both suitcases and suits.

And, in the room to the left of the staircase landing, the floor of the master bedroom was wooden, a rectangular burgundy throw rug resting just inside the doorway.

The walls were also burgundy, the one to the left bare of everything except a closet door.

Across from the closet, a big wooden desk was bare of everything except a computer.

The layout of the back wall was identical to the guest bedroom, a headboard resting between two windows.

However, whereas the curtains in the guest bedroom were violet and pushed aside, closed blackout curtains covered the windows of the master bedroom.

Behind the curtains, two sheets of carefully secured plywood blocked any view of the outside world the windows might have provided.

In the cream-sheeted, brown-quilted, queen-sized bed between said windows, there was a man.

As the sky grew dark, Henry Fitzroy, bastard son of Henry the VIII, once Duke of Richmond and Somerset, slowly shook away the bindings of the sun.