Chapter 50 Jules
Jules
We spend the next stretch of time moving slowly through the orchard, the four of us drifting between the rows as though there’s nowhere else we need to be.
Well, five if you count our bodyguard/carriage driver, who follows at a distance, his silver eyes watchful at all times.
I can tell he takes his job and his promise to Lucian very seriously.
The old vampire couple turns out to be exactly the kind of people you want to spend an afternoon with—gentle, chatty, and endlessly patient.
As we work, I learn that the farmer’s wife is named Marilla, which somehow fits her perfectly.
She reminds me of my grandmother and has laugh lines around her eyes that make her look kind even when she’s not smiling.
“These poles are heavier than they look,” Hanna mutters, struggling to angle hers just right to catch an emerald green apple.
She’s not wrong. The wooden shaft is long and weighted at the end, and my shoulders ache faintly every time I lift it. I manage a few apples without incident, but Hanna keeps just missing—brushing the fruit, knocking leaves loose, and grumbling under her breath.
Finally, she gets one.
The metal cup closes around a blue apple with a satisfying snip, and when she lowers it into her basket, she lets out a triumphant laugh.
“I did it!” she says. “I officially picked a magical vampire apple!”
“Well done, my Lady,” Alfred says approvingly. He pulls a small folding knife from his pocket and flips it open with practiced ease. “Would you care to taste it?”
“Yes,” Hanna and I say at the same time. I’ve never had a blue apple and I like to try new foods.
He chuckles and slices the apple cleanly in half. Then he gives half to each of us.
I study my half with surprise. The inside is a shock of color—brilliant, almost neon orange, like a sunset trapped inside the fruit. Juice beads instantly along the cut surface, smelling sharp and bright.
I take a bite and the flavor explodes across my tongue—tart and sweet at once—almost citrusy, like a pink grapefruit and a Granny Smith apple had a baby. The texture is unmistakably apple-crisp, snapping cleanly when I bite down, juice flooding my mouth. It tastes delicious.
“Oh wow,” I murmur. “That’s… actually amazing.”
“Tastes like a really fancy apple crossed with a grapefruit,” Hanna says thoughtfully. “But without the bitterness.”
Marilla beams.
“Ah yes. Those are always a favorite with visitors.”
We move on through the orchard, sampling as we go.
The emerald green apples are next. Inside, their flesh is pale gold with faint green veins running through it like marble.
They taste cooler somehow—fresh and clean, with a faint herbal note that reminds me of mint and cucumber.
The juice feels lighter on my tongue—refreshing in a way I didn’t expect.
The purple apples have deep lavender flesh inside, softening slightly as we bite into them. They’re sweeter and rounder in flavor, with a mouth-feel closer to a ripe pear than an apple. There’s a floral note there too, something like violet or lavender, lingering at the back of my throat.
“This one tastes like it belongs in a pastry,” Hanna says. “Or baked into a tart.”
“I would eat my weight in these,” I agree. “They’re delicious.”
Then we reach the rows of apple trees growing the Pomme de sang.
Up close, the apples are even darker—so red they look black in the shade— their skins glossy and almost slick.
Something about them feels heavier…more intense somehow, than the other fruit in the orchard.
The air around these trees smells different too—richer and iron-tinged—with a sweetness underneath.
Alfred picks one for us carefully and slices it open and I see that the flesh inside is blood red. Not pink…not ruby, it’s actually the color of fresh blood.
When he hands me a slice of it, I hesitate.
“Does it… taste like blood?” I ask.
“Naturally, my Lady,” Marilla says gently. “But it’s sweet blood—you’ll like it. Go on. Give it a try.”
Hanna and I exchange a look.
Well, I think, when in Rome… or vampire country.
We each take a bite and I’m immediately surprised.
The Pomme de sang is crisp, like a perfect apple should be, but the flavor is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. There’s a faint metallic note—iron, unmistakably—but it’s wrapped in sweetness and salt—balanced and bright.
It reminds me weirdly of salted caramel, except fresher…sharper…more alive somehow.
“Hm…” Hanna murmurs, frowning thoughtfully. “That’s not bad.”
“I like it,” I say, surprised by my own reaction. “I want to bring some of these back to Lucian.”
“Oh, it would be our honor to supply his Lordship with as many Pomme de sang as your carriage can carry!” Marilla exclaims.
For a split second, I picture the carriage absolutely stuffed with apples, Hanna and I wedged in between baskets like produce delivery girls. That would not make for a comfortable ride home.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” I say quickly. “Just let me find a few really good ones for him to savor as a gift.”
“Of course, my Lady—whatever you wish,” Alfred says.
We spend a while longer picking, selecting the darkest, ripest Pomme de sang—the ones that feel heavy and perfect in my hands. But the whole time, my thoughts keep drifting back to Lucian.
What is he doing right now? Is he deep in negotiations? Scowling at some ledger? Missing me at all?
I tell myself not to think like this. Not to act like he’s my boyfriend—or my husband.
He kidnapped you, I remind myself. You didn’t choose this.
But I still want to bring him something nice. Giving gifts is one of my love languages. Which is probably the worst possible trait to have when you’re abducted by a Vampire Don and trying not to fall for him.
Maybe I just have the worst case of Stockholm syndrome ever.
Or maybe… I just miss him.
The realization settles warm and dangerous in my chest as I tuck another perfect Pomme de sang into my basket and wonder what he’ll think of my gift and if he’s missing me right now.