Somehow, the car survives the perilous drive down a few blocks to the next store. I’m shocked the vehicle can carry this kind of weight or that the windows don’t bust from the sheer velocity Lore uses when going around turns. I don’t recall there being any vehicular manslaughters in his records, but I get the feeling there should be.

Lore’s insistence takes us to another clothes parlor. The owner recognizes him immediately, greeting Lore with that familiar “I’m-about-to-get-rich” grin.

“Your Grace, welcome, welcome!” he exclaims, making me wonder if he’d be as excited by the prospect of a dhampir purchasing a suit if he wasn’t a lord. The familiar necklace around the owner's neck points to him disliking dhampir as much as I do, but the saying is true; money rules the world.

“My apologies, did you happen to call in an order earlier? I don’t recall hearing of your arrival,” the owner says, keeping his gaze fixated on the literal gem in his store.

“No, this was a spur of the moment decision. I’ve come to procure him a few suits,” Lore says, causing me to pivot away from the illustrious suits to gape at the one foolish enough to make such an offer.

“Me? What for?” I point at myself in utter shock and slight terror. These fine garbs are worth more than my monthly salary! The thought of wearing any of them makes my knees shake. I know I’ll get them dirty and, oh mothers, the cost of the dry cleaning!! I feel faint.

Lore steps over donning a disgusted scowl. He pinches the shoulder of my robe to tug like it’s a piece of scum. “These rags are acceptable for certain circumstances, but there are events that I’m sure you will insist on attending that require more appropriate attire. Besides,” Lore’s long fingers slip around my neck that trembles beneath the touch. “These robes aren’t doing you any favors.”

Thankfully for my sanity, Lore retreats, allowing the owner to rush over. His hand grasping my arm brings me back to reality, reminds me that I should have slapped Lore’s hand away or at least showed a reaction other than standing there forgetting to breathe.

“Excuse me,” the owner says while gesturing to a nearby door. “Please allow us to take your measurements. While we do so, His Grace may look through a few of the options we have available.”

“Why don’t I get to cho--” I’m cut short by the owner swiftly dragging me towards the door. His eagerness to please Lore puts my desires on the back burner. Actually, they may not even be on a burner, probably tossed to the floor to be forgotten about and dragged off by a rat.

I’m thrust into a closet where the owner and another worker take my measurements. Dare I say it, this may be the strangest thing I’ve ever done. Never thought the day would come when two strange men would be rolling tape measures around me and finnicking with my robes to get proper numbers. Once they’re done, I’m taken back to Lore, who sits comfortably in a velvet chair. A wrack sits next to him already containing a few suits. He sets aside a catalog to face me.

“There are a few suits already here that you can try on, Seren,” he states. I contemplate whether that’s up for debate.

I approach Lore, leaning over him to whisper, “Do I have a say in any of this? Because I’ve never worn a suit, never thought I would, and would much rather wear my church garbs. I am a paladin of the Holy Church--”

“And they dress you in rags,” Lore interrupts. He even tugs on the ropes around my waist, nearly undoing them if I hadn't grabbed them fast enough. He smirks. “As I said, there may be times where a suit is necessary. I’ll purchase three or four for you. If it bothers you so much, you may leave them at the manor after you’ve gone. I’ll donate them.”

We stare at one another long enough for my lungs to ache because, apparently, having prolonged eye contact with him has that effect.

Grumbling, I give in and Lore eagerly points at the first suit to try on. I’m dragged away to change, but they at least give me privacy to do so. It takes me longer than expected. Why are there, like, a bajillion pieces to a suit?! Shouldn’t there be pants, a shirt, and a jacket?! This is too complicated. No wonder nobles take an eternity to get ready. There must be an entire handbook on how to wear every article of clothing!

After battling to get dressed, I’m taken back to Lore. This time, he grows still. I’d like to think he’s overcome by disgust, if only to ease the sudden tension in my gut and the voice in the back of my mind. His deep blue eyes linger on me long enough to warm my face, then he stands.

I’m not sure what to do when he grabs my arms to inspect the length of the jacket, then walks around while running his finger over the length of my shoulders. I try not to visibly shiver by stabbing my nails into the palm of my hands.

“That’s much better,” he says, guiding me over to a full length mirror. He at least let me keep the colors of the church; white, blue, and gold. Though the suit is slightly too big, it still hugs me in ways that make me unrecognizable.

Lore stands behind me, adjusting the jacket a bit more while making a few remarks to the tailor.

“I’m not a doll,” I grumble at him when he pinches the jacket at my waist.

“I know. Dolls don’t talk.” Probably to bug me more, he plays with my hair. I smack his hand away and try not to stare at myself any longer in the mirror. I don’t recognize the man looking back at me. I’m not sure how to feel about him.

Lore eases up on the teasing while I try on the other two suits. In the end, he agrees to purchase all three of them. The owner promises they’ll be ready in a few days. I wish it’d take longer, if only so it’d be more likely for Lore to forget.

“Stop acting like I’ve asked for the life of your first born child,” Lore says after we step out of the shop. I’m glad to be back in my robes. They feel like home.

“They’re a few suits for certain occasions that may not even turn up, depending on how swiftly you get your job done,” he adds while facing me. The sight of me makes him scowl, which in turn makes me scowl.

“What?” I growl, feeling like he’s challenging me.

He gives a disappointed sigh. “You were much sexier in a suit.”

“S-S-Se--” I can’t even get the word out, not that Lore gives me the time to do so. He sighs a second time, head lowered while he struts to the car like he didn’t just call me, practically a mortal enemy, sexy!

He’s doing this to rile me up, to make me uncomfortable or even enforce a false notion that he’s not a vicious killer beneath all that grandeur. Although I’ve yet to come across proof of his murderous tendencies, but a dhampir is a dhampir through and through. Even if he hasn’t done anything recently, the story of his adoptive family makes one wonder. How did they all die in such a short span of time, then leave everything to him? It’s suspicious. Lore seems to be the type whose secrets have secrets and I’ve yet to even get a glimpse of the answers.

However, he really is great with the children, like, stupidly wonderful as a father. The townspeople don’t appear to dislike him. He works hard alongside the local police force to protect the civilians when he could easily sit at home munching on grapes and blood cocktails, or whatever dhampir like to snack on. And Silra’s a well known state among the world for being relatively peaceful--wait… why am I complimenting him so much? Gah!

Grumbling, I’m about to join Lore in the car when a man turns the corner at the end of the street screaming, “Help! Help me, please!”

There’s blood splatter on his shirt. His frantic eyes meet mine. Apparently, this is one of Silra’s not-so-peaceful moments.

“Paladin!” He cries, running faster towards me. With tears in his eyes, he points over his shoulder and screams so loud his voice cracks, “A vampire. A vampire attacked!”