Holding Sofie facing away from him, her back to his chest, Fredericks levels Emelia with a serious stare and says, "Drop the book."

She does so immediately, the book landing by her feet with a loud thud.

"Don't hurt her," she implores him, not missing the way his hand lingered threateningly below Sofie's throat.

"I won't," he replies, his demeanour once again cool and professional. "As long as you to as your told."

"I'll do anything," she concedes. Go to hell, you psycho.

"I am going to escort the both of you back to your room now," Frederick states. "And you will not attempt to run away again. Am I clear?"

He waits expectantly for a response.

"Crystal," Emelia mutters grudgingly through gritted teeth. She takes a cautious step forward and reaches out. "Now let her go."

"Not yet," Frederick says, retreating and pulling Sofie with him. "I will once we are upstairs."

"Emmy..." Sofie whispers, eyes so wide they look just like they might pop out of their sockets and roll onto the floor.

"It's okay, Sofie," Emelia coos, following Frederick across the room. She glances over at Malcolm who has since stopped laughing and gone back to reading his book as if no one else is in the room with him.

Silently and obediently, she follows Frederick out of the library and back upstairs. True to his word, he releases Sofie as soon as they are back in the guestroom.

Emilia grabs her younger cousin and hugs her close whilst glaring daggers at the butler.

"Lunch will be served in at one o'clock," he tells them before leaving the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

The next couple of hours pass agonisingly slowly and as Emelia anxiously paces the room, Sofie falls asleep on the bed, curled up in the fetal position, hugging a pillow to her chest

Guessing that she must be exhausted, Emelia leaves her to rest, retrieving the fresh clothes Marie-Claire provided and heading into the en-suite, figuring that she might as well take advantage of the facilities. Staring into the mirror above the black marble washbasin, Emelia barely recognises herself.

The whites of her eyes are slightly bloodshot, her skin is a shade paler than it usually is, and her hair looks like a bird has come along and made a nest in it.

Turning on the tap, she washes her face with lukewarm water before carefully unravelling the gauze that is around her wrist to assess the extent of the damage beneath it.

Embedded in her flesh, surrounded by bruised skin, are two small circular indentations. Confused, Emelia prods at the strange wound, wincing at the tenderness of it. It almost looks like a bat bite. A wave of dread engulfs her, seeping right into her bones.

I'm first in line to the throne of the vampire kingdom. François' earlier words ring in her mind like hollow, nightmarish echoes and she wonders how any of this can be possible.

After carefully cleaning and rebandaging the wound, Emelia returns to the room and sits by the window to stare out at the beautiful and expansive estate grounds, her mind a stormy ocean of worry and doubt.

Sofie wakes up when Marie-Claire delivers a light lunch and Frederick returns late in the afternoon to escort them downstairs to the dining room for the evening meal.

Someone is already sitting at the long, elegantly laid table when they arrive. It's Camille. Emelia recognises her immediately.

"Votre grace," Frederick says, bowing his head. Camille smiles politely and he leaves.

"Please," she addresses them, "have a seat."

Emelia watches, her belly churning uncomfortably, as Camille picks up her wine glass and sips at the suspicious red liquid in it. When she's finished, she licks her lips and studies them with a curious expression.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?"

"I'm not hungry," Emelia replies tersely.

"I'm vegetarian," Sofie adds, grimacing down at the meat on display with repulsion.

Unperturbed, Camille cuts into the steak on her plate which is practically raw and delicately pops it into her mouth.

"I hear that you're both from London."

"Yeah.." Emelia says slowly, unsure where exactly this conversation is going.

"And that you're related to the defence minister."

There's a strange edge to Camille's voice when she speaks - excitement, maybe - although Emelia has no clue of the reason why.

"That's right," she confirms. "He's my father."

"What an unusual situation," Camille muses, seemingly more to herself than anyone else whilst she twiddles her fork. "What are the odds that my brother would capture two members of an important political family merely by accident?"

"You tell me," Emelia answers tightly. "You're part of the psycho family that's holding us hostage."

"I'm aware of your circumstances," Camille replies, cutting some more pieces off her steak. "And I'm sorry that my brother is the cause. He has always been like that, you know."

"Like what?"

Emelia's spine stiffens immediately at the sound of Francois' voice. She refuses to look at him as he enters the room, choosing instead to ignore his presence completely.

"So utterly charming," Camille says with an overly sweet smile. Her brother grunts, taking a seat at the far end of the table.

"I was just telling these humans how unusual it was for you to have come across them," she continues.

"Sofie and Emelia," he says.

"Hmm?" She glances over at him questioningly.

"Those are their names," Francois states, his eyes flickering across the table. Emelia looks at him now, surprised, and sees that he's holding a smartphone.

"Emelia Florence Temple," he reads off the screen, "daughter of Elias Temple and Madelene Rossi. Sofie-Rose Llewellyn, daughter of David Llewellyn and Evelyn Temple. The niece of Elias Temple."

The two gawk at him, horrified. When he's finished, Francois raises his eyes and smiles, satisfied.

"Where the hell did you get that information?" Emelia demands.

"Oh, it's all online," he answers with ease. "You just have to know where to look."

"You have no right to be researching us!" she fumes, shooting up from her seat.

"I wanted to know whether you were really who you said you were," Francois explains calmly. "From my experience, humans will say anything if it helps them get out of a dangerous situation."

"Well," Emelia says, "I bet you feel like a complete idiot now. When my dad finds out-"

"He already knows you're here," Francois interrupts her. "My father contacted the British Embassy a few hours ago and they've informed him of your whereabouts. But don't get excited." He smirks. "He won't be sending anyone to your rescue. Not anytime soon anyway."

"You're going to be sorely surprised if you actually believe that," she replies, scoffing. "Any moment now the Armed Forces are going to turn up and storm this place with their guns blazing and-"

She's interrupted yet again, this time by Francois' phone. He glances down at the screen before answering.

"Yes?" he says. His eyes flicker over to Emelia a second later. "Yes."

He rises from his seat and she tenses as he approaches, frowning when he holds the phone out to her.

"It's your father," he tells her.