D.D. Ward is Writing

Midday came, and the countess remained awake. Tristan sat at his desk with his ledger. The countess stood and walked to the window. The black out curtains lay closed against the sunlight. Candles flickered in the darkened room. The countess slid a hand between the curtains and flinched as the daylight hit her hand.  Tristan watched her in silence. Not writing. Around his ledger sat an army of heavy candles. Tristan held his quill, but did not write. Instead, he watched the countess.  “She has resisted me four times now. That is impressive and infuriating. I want that tasty morsel in my bed. I should not have made a game of this.” She continued pacing. Several times she reached for an object on a stand or a shelf. And each time, Tristan flinched. Instead she continued pacing, her hands clenched. A little blood trickled from her palms.  “Tristan? What have you learned?” Tristan nodded, and adjusted his glasses. “The caravan master who survived the attack had information. Sh...