Happy Birthday Aisha! I hope you have a beautiful day. You're a real gift to this fandom, your bubbly personality and beautiful soul and I don't know how you manage to write and keep up with so many stories? Most of all thank you for your friendship.

Damon wakes to the sound of breathing that isn't his own. Already he's annoyed at the arm that's laying possessively across his waist. Slowly he turns his head, finding Isobel and Alexia naked and splayed out on his king sized bed. From the pounding head, vomit taste in his mouth and the dehydrated feeling overall, he knows he drank heavily last night. His throat feels like sandpaper and it hurts to move.

At least the curtains are mostly still closed, he's always adverse to bright light when he's hung over. Maybe if he curls up under the duvet he'll sleep it off? But then his eyes drift to the women. "The hell," he mumbles out loud, exacerbating the throbbing in his temples. He lifts the arm off his middle, shifts in bed and closes his eyes again.

Sometime later, Damon again becomes aware of his cracking headache and the layer of dry saliva that coats his cracked lips. Although he wants to bury himself under the covers again, he'll pee the bed if he doesn't relieve himself. Once on his feet, the room sways almost causing him to lose his balance and he reaches out for the wall. His hand slides along the paint and suddenly he's sprawled out on the carpet with a crashing thump. The room swirls before becoming stationary again and he uses the bedpost to pull himself upright.

The hangover means he'd had some fun last night but somehow it's escaped his memory. Perhaps Lex had come over? Or maybe Isobel? Or both? No matter. He smacks his lips as his stomach turns in an unfriendly way.

Some greasy food is probably the last thing he needs but he's going to have some anyway. Maybe Honoria will cook it for him, she makes the best fried eggs and bacon? But first he has the stairs to navigate...

After making it to the bathroom, he takes a quick shower, cinches a towel around his waist and goes back to his room to put on some clothes. Opening the door, he groans when he finds his curtains wide open and sunlight streaming through, piercing his eyes like needles. Once he can see, he finds his mother sitting in his chair, her fingers tented and staring at him with lethal intensity.

"In case you're wondering, I sent your bedmates on their merry way," she informs him, her foot tapping rhythmically against the carpet.

"Don't look at me like that, mother," he shields his eyes from the bright light.

"Damon, you're the future King, you have to conduct yourself like a gentleman."

"I'm twenty five, I like women, they like me, it's a win - win," he retorts, pulling a pair of boxer briefs and a tee shirt out of his top drawer.

"Really Damon, you have a responsibility to the throne and this family. Do you have any idea how much work Alaric always has to do to clean up your messes?"

"Clean up my messes?" he waggles his brows at her while slipping his briefs on, dropping the towel once his junk is covered. Feigning boredom, he yawns, infuriating his mother - the Queen - even more.

"You're incorrigible and yes, your messes. He always has to get your women out of here without being seen by the paparazzi, not to mention the scandalous photographs he has to track down and destroy."

"Who asked him to? I'm young, I'm single, it's not like I'm playing around behind someone's back," he defends himself, slipping a tee shirt over his head.

Standing up, she gets in his face. "You need to find a good woman and settle down. You're heir to the throne Damon, there's protocol that goes with that responsibility. You have to behave accordingly. I'm sorry you were born into royalty, clearly you'd prefer to be an average Joe, I think that's what they call it... no matter, but you can't change who you are."

"Mother, I know you mean well, but this is my life, I'll settle down when I'm ready... Until then, I'm going to live it the way I see fit."

"No it isn't your life, it's the country's. And I happen to know that Lady Caroline Forbes is very interested in you. She's a fine young woman, well bred, smart..."

"You want me to go out with Blondie?" he flops on the bed and buries his face in his hands.

"Blondie? Really Damon!" she scoffs, brushing a loose piece of hair off of her forehead. "For your information, the Royal Family of Sweden is coming for a state visit next month. I expect you to act like the future king that you are... And I think you should ask Lady Caroline to be your guest at the banquet?" she states firmly, staring pointedly at him.

"So Stefan's coming?" Damon sticks his tongue out.

"Yes, he is your cousin after all. What about Lady Caroline?"

"I'll think about it."

"I have a tea to attend to. I'll take my leave but I hope you'll think about what I've said." When their eyes meet, she quirks a brow at him knowingly and then leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind her, the sound reverberates... again causing his temples to throb painfully.

The palace sits high upon a hill overlooking the city, it's many pointed towers giving it the look of an eccentric crown. The walls are a white stone that glistens in the summer sun and the roof is made grey slate. It's as big as twenty ordinary houses and employs a good number of the townsfolk as servants. Around the palace are the horse pastures, kitchen gardens for the royal family, around that is a stone wall topped with iron spikes that is guarded day and night.

With Lady Caroline on his arm, dressed to the nines in a deep blue, one-shouldered gown with softly draped details by Armani, pairing it with her favorite diamond cuff bracelets. An already bored Damon stands beside his father as they greet the Swedish Royal Family, welcoming them to the banquet. The tables are decorated with the colors of Sweden's flag and the hall is spotless, glimmering under the lights of the many chandeliers. A string orchestra is playing soft music in the background, practically lulling him to sleep. When he feels an elbow in his side, he looks up, seeing his father's rather unflattering look. Straightening his posture, he offers his hand to shake Stefan's, the crown prince of his country.

Ignoring Damon, he turns his attention to Caroline. "And who might you be?" he asks, kissing the beautiful blonde's hand.

"This is Lady Caroline Forbes, my date," Damon interrupts, laying his hand on her arm.

"Please save me a dance, milady," he grins and moves on to greet Damon's parents. When the bell sounds, they all take their seats at the table and wait to be served. The meal consists of Scottish langoustines wrapped in smoked salmon with citrus crème fraiche. Grilled English asparagus wrapped in Cumbrian ham. Garden pea panna cotta with quail eggs and lemon verbena . Heritage tomato and basil tartare with balsamic pearls . Poached free-range chicken bound in a lightly spiced yogurt with roasted apricot . Croquette of confit Windsor lamb, roasted vegetables, and shallot jam . Warm asparagus spears with mozzarella and sun-blush tomatoes .

Damon however is more interested in the beverage selection. Guests sip on Pol Roger Brut Réserve Non Vintage Champagne and a selection of wines. Soft drinks are also served, including an apple elderflower mocktail for the young people. Clinking glasses with Caroline, he smiles and takes a long swallow, quickly snatching another from the waiter. After finishing it, he gets up and offers his hand to lead her onto the dance floor.

The applause of the audience dies down as he tries to ignore the stares they receive. Honestly he should be used to it by now but it still frosts him every time. Once they take their place, the soft flow of music begins. Together they take a step forward and bow. They circle each other, their gazes locking. Damon places his hand on her back, her hand on his shoulder, and their free hands finally meeting. Together, they dance to the music, their feet in perfect sync to the beating of his heart. As the song progresses, he begins to relax and allows a small smile to form on his lips.

Damon's wearing a navy blue tux which matches her dress. His eyes, blue as spring rain, are deep and irresistible. One thing is for sure… she's one lucky girl to have scored a date with him. He turns elegantly, his body in tune with the slow music. Yet, there is a sort of harshness to him, he's someone not to be underestimated. She doesn't quite care at the moment. The warmth between them grows more powerful by the second. Her heartbeat is growing steadily along with it. Their dance is perfect; everything from their breathing to how their feet move in sync.

Still, she's no fool, she knows who Prince Damon is, she's heard the rumors, but who is she to turn down a good time, even if it's one night? When the music ends, they stay on the dance floor and wait for another song to start when Prince Stefan approaches, bowing before her, asking for the next dance.

Damon spreads his arm, gesturing for Stefan to take his place and after a short nod to Caroline, walks off the dance floor to find a good glass of bourbon.

When the festivities come to a close, Damon signals his driver, then he and Caroline crawl in the backseat of the gun metal colored Mulsanne Mulliner Bentley. Damon pops the cork on a bottle of champagne while Tyler drives them to his country place. When they arrive, he holds the neck of the champagne bottle with one hand and takes hers with the other. With a nod, he signals Tyler to pick them up in the morning.

Barely over the threshold, Damon pulls her against his body and kisses her fiercely. She gives as good as she gets, pushing his tux jacket off his shoulders and unbuttons his shirt without breaking the seal formed by their mouths. Lifting her dress over her head, Damon picks her up and carries her to his bedroom, throws her on mattress and stalks over her like a panther cornering its prey. Staring at her blue eyes, he takes her mouth in a deep kiss, their lips sliding together like butter on a hot stove.

Suddenly, inexplicably, he has an attack of conscience, something that never ever happens. He rolls off of her and onto his back.

"What's wrong?"

"Caroline, you're a good person. Me... not so much. I'm selfish, I do what I want, take what I want but I don't want to hurt you." He laughs, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. "This never happens, you know, I'm the bad guy. I have a reputation to maintain," he waggles his eyebrows playfully.

"Oh I know that, you're quite the scoundrel from what I've heard," she laughs, winking at him.

"What do you say we watch a movie and then we can go to sleep, I'll take you home in the morning unless you'd rather go now?"

"I'll stay, if you have something good to watch...?"

Giving her hand a squeeze, he sits up and struts to the closet. After slipping on a pair of pajama pants, he hands her the top. While she changes, he pulls the covers back and turns on the TV, flicking through the channels to find something to watch. She returns with her hair down, wearing only his pajama top and her panties. Crawling in beside him, she leans her head against his shoulder.

"One of these days when you least expect it, some girl will come along and knock you on your ass... Just sayin'."

"Blondie," he laughs, looking down at her, "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

After a long night of clubbing and finally giving Alaric the slip, Damon stealthily approaches the servant's entrance. He stands by the climbing rose bushes on the trellis, listening. Hearing voices, he carefully cracks open the door and peers inside, fist pumping when he finds the room empty. He crosses the hall to the foot of the stairs. Taking off his boots, he starts to climb two at a time till he reaches the top. Looking around, his luck seems to be holding so he makes a mad dash towards his room.

One moment Damon is rushing forward, eyes focused on his bedroom door and his face showing impish exuberance. The next he is flying in a superman pose yet his expression is one of shock, having run smack dab into his father. He lands spread eagle on the floor with a loud groan while the King lands on his behind. After shaking the cobwebs out of his head, he sits up only to meet the elder Salvatore's eyes. There is no softness in his gaze. It's a look that conveys disappointment, disgust perhaps.

"I'm so sorry, dad. I...," he apologizes. As soon as he's on his feet, he offers the King his hand, helping him up.

Giuseppe eyes him with scrutiny, the unkempt hair, wrinkled shirt, fly down, he shakes his head back and forth. "You look wrecked. Go take a shower and meet me in my office in a half an hour. You and I are going to have a chat."

Knowing he can't get out of it, Damon nods... "I'll just go to my room now."

"You do that, I'll have Honoria make us a strong pot of coffee."

"Maybe some breakfast...?" Damon knows he's pushing his luck but he's hungry and a little hungover.

"My office, 30 minutes, are we clear?"

"Yes, sir." Damon watches him depart before slinking off to his bedroom...

Damon steps out of the elevator that opens directly into his father's private office, a huge room occupying an upper corner of the palace with floor-to-ceiling windows giving views of the city. The two remaining walls contain the door, a low bookshelf, and a single oil painting - a vase of flowers by Vincent van Gogh. The black glass surface of his huge desk is equally uncluttered: a computer, a leather bound notebook, and a framed photograph of a Damon as a fourteen year old boy.

"Have a seat," the King gestures, point at it with his hand. Damon does as he's told and moments later, Honoria enters with a coffee and Danish.

"Thanks you, Honoria, you're a lifesaver," Damon smiles, groaning in delight at the taste of her homemade pastry.

"You're welcome," she turns to Giuseppe, "Will there be anything else?"

"No Honoria, that will be all." They watch her disappear through the door and after taking a long sip of her delightful coffee, his eyes bore in on his son.

"Do you know why I asked you here?"

"I suspect it's to tell me that I'm not behaving like a crown prince should..."

"Among other things. I want to tell you about your great - great grandfather."

"I don't remember you talking of him before."

"I know that but he was much like you when he was a young man, breaking norms, taking his own path, upsetting his parents... sound familiar?"

"Dad?" Damon refills the china coffee cup then leans back in his seat.

"He almost didn't marry, he finally did later in life to carry on our lineage but he never fell out of love with a portrait."

"What!?"

"On the day of his coronation, he was given a portrait of a lady. It was painted by George Frederick Watts. The woman, Katerina was a Bulgarian princess. He became obsessed with her. But that is of no matter, the point is, you and I would not be sitting here if he hadn't come to his senses before it was too late for him to have children."

"That must've been some portrait," Damon remarks a little awed at the story.

"Yes, if it can so mesmerize a man, it must have been. The only reason I'm telling you this is because you're just as rebellious as he was. And speaking of rebellion, Alaric told me that you got away from him again last night."

"I'm 25, father, I shouldn't need a babysitter."

"I'm not going to argue with you about Alaric, he has his duties, namely you. Now listen to me, Damon, I know you're friends with Lady Caroline, I take it she isn't to your liking romantically but you need to find yourself a good woman, settle down and prepare for the day you take my place as King."

"You've been talking to mother haven't you?" he quirks a brow at the older man.

"We're married, we talk."

"I like my life the way it is, it's fun."

"Of course it's fun, you enjoy pushing the boundaries but you hear me now, I will cut off your allowance if you don't straighten up and fly right as the Americans say."

"You wouldn't?"

"Try me..."

"Fine, we'll play it your way but since the point of this conversation was to tell me about great - great grandfather, do you still have the portrait, I'd like to see..."

"Your great- great grandmother demanded its removal. As far as I know it wasn't destroyed, I believe it's hidden somewhere but as you know, this palace has a myriad of places to hide it."

"Can I look for it?"

"If it'll keep you in your pants, then yes, you may."

"Thanks father," Damon jumps up, sets his cup on the silver platter and hurries to the door. Turning around, he bows his head, laughing when his dad gives him a reluctant smile.

Damon keeps himself occupied for the next couple weeks searching the palace high and low. No matter where he looks, he comes up empty. He thought he knew every hiding place in the centuries old palace. Frustrated, he sits on the top of the stairs, only looking up when he hears a creak, his eyes meeting his mother's.

"Still haven't found the portrait?"

"No, mother, I don't know where else to look," he answers in a frustrated tone.

"Come on, I may know a place." He looks at her curiously and then follows after her. He's on her heels when they reach her office. She reaches up to a light fixture, turns it and much to Damon's surprise, the bookcase swings open revealing a secret passage. When she leads him into the "inner sanctum" he almost laughs but there's no hint of repressed humor. Instead there is a nervousness that is foreign to him, doesn't belong to him. He follows behind, running his hands along the cold walls till they reach a big heavy door and when it's opened, his jaw nearly falls to the floor. There hanging above a majestic stone fireplace is a portrait, the portrait.

The tone of the painting is muted, the style reminiscent of Monet. Each stroke has a smudging quality that renders the image watery, like a reflection in a rippled puddle. Even as old as the portrait is, the woman is simply breathtaking. It takes him far away to another time, another life. "How did you find this?" Damon asks, unable to take his eyes from the woman.

"Actually is was your grandfather who showed it to me. Your father was away on a state visit, I was recovering from the flu or something. He explained to me that the Salvatore line almost died out because of this woman."

"So she was real?"

"Very much so. Her name was Katerina Petrova, she was a Bulgarian princess. Her parents gifted him with the portrait because they thought the two would be a perfect match and a way to unite their kingdoms. He wanted to marry her but she was in love with another man."

"She broke his heart?" Damon looks at his mother.

"She did, he didn't marry for almost ten years after she said goodbye to him. Your grandfather didn't know what became of her, if Adriano, you great-great grandpa knew, he took it to his grave with him."

"Can I take it?" he turns to face her.

She looks at her son, letting her eyes drift from him to the portrait and back again. "I will let you take it on one condition..."

"Which is?"

"Prince Grayson and Miranda, the Duchess of Saxony, are coming for a state visit next week. I want you to attend and be on your best behavior. No sneaking out."

Mesmerized by the portrait, he agrees. Sliding a chair over, he steps on it and lifts the painting, carefully handing it to his mother before climbing down and taking it from her arms. He follows her out of the hidden passage and goes directly to his room, the treasure safely in his arms.

The first thing the next day, Damon takes the portrait to an art gallery to talk to the proprietor about repairing the picture. It's dusty and aged, he hopes it can be restored to its original glory, Katerina deserves no less. From what he could find on the internet, her surname was Petrova. She eventually married and had a daughter, Nadia. Really there wasn't much information to found on an obscure princess from that era.

"This is old, very old, Enzo," he cautions when the man takes the picture from him and lays it on his workshop table. Damon stares at picture while Enzo studies it. There she is. He can fully understand his ancestor's fascination with the young princess. Her beauty, her brunette locks - a painting for his eyes alone. Night is the only time he can really be with her. Imagining a whiff of her sweet and subtle scent, he dreams of making love with her. One day in the land of fairytales and ever afters, he won't be the mysterious guy loving her from the shadows, he'll be her lover and she his. He can think of nothing else but her. It's as if she had bewitched his very soul.

"Prince Damon?" Enzo waves his hand in front of his face.

"Sorry, I was lost somewhere. Can you restore it?"

"I believe so. It'll be a slow meticulous process but it'll look brand new when I'm done."

"How slow?"

"A few weeks. Will that be a problem?"

"No, not at all. Let me know when it's done, I have to go." Damon shakes his hand and hurries out of the gallery. He's either losing his mind or that painting is hexed somehow. The woman has probably been dead for well over a century and he's dreaming of making love to her!? Dear God, he needs a drink. Jumping behind the wheel of his Aston Martin Vantage, he steps on the gas pedal and puts as much distance between himself and that portrait as he possibly can, barely missing a truck when he careens onto the bridge that leads to his country estate.

He slams on the brakes when he reaches his destination. He hurries inside, throws his keys on the countertop, grabs his finest decanter of bourbon and after popping the cork, drinks it straight from the bottle.

Damon walks into the banquet hall, freshly returned to the city after a week away. Other than letting his parents know where he was, and a text to Blondie, he hasn't spoken to anyone. His head is still reeling over that painting. But having promised his mother he'd be on his best behavior during the Bulgarian state visit, he cleaned himself up and drove home, stopping only to buy himself a new tie to go with his black Louis Vuitton suit.

To be on his best behavior, Damon settles for a glass of punch instead of champagne. When he reaches his parents, he's introduced to Prince Grayson and Duchess Miranda. He bows and shakes their hands before taking his place beside his mother.

"You look dashing tonight," his mother scrutinizes him carefully.

"And you're the most beautiful woman in the room," he winks at her and takes a sip from the flute.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she teases, whispering in his ear just as the announcement comes to take their seats for the meal. The tables are covered with the finest china, flower arrangements in the colors of the Bulgarian flag are the centerpieces on each one, the grandeur is beyond compare.

The servants push the cart of roast pig in front of the King. Cuts of pork are being served with a refreshing apple sauce, easing the perfectly cooked meat down. It's accompanied by potatoes that are diced up in a bowl with carrots, mushrooms and zucchini topped off with a healthy dash of pepper that sting the throat in the most pleasurable way.

After the pork comes dessert, the servants place a slice of a cherry torte on the table in front of everyone. The pastry is light, both in texture and color, with a thick dark brown crust, all of which contrast with the beautiful cherry red sauce that pours out of it. The torte is topped by a thin layer of icing sugar as white as snow, but as sharp as salt.

Leaning close to Damon, Caroline whispers, "It looks good," and puts a spoonful into her mouth.

"Ah ha," Damon agrees, doing the same. "I thought you were coming with a date?" he asks, eyeing her pointedly.

"Oh I do, Nik will be here soon, he had to fly in from London."

"Save me a dance."

"It is tradition," she laughs, elbowing him playfully.

The meal comes to end and afterwards, the guests are led to the ballroom, the orchestra is playing a jazzy number, surprising Damon. Taking Caroline's hand, he leads her onto the dance floor. Damon turns elegantly, his body in tune with the music. He guides her across the dance floor, keeping his eyes on her. Every moment, every angle seems to be planned in advance. Nothing feels forced, Caroline literally feels like she's floating. He's that good of a dancer. They stop when the crowd suddenly parts and Damon is the most dumbfounded of all, his eyes nearly popping out of his head as he takes in the woman standing regally in the doorway. The scene is quite unbelievable, shocking really. His mind is reeling, unable to comprehend or even process the image being sent to his eyes, how could it be possible? He looks down for a moment and then back again to see if she's still there or if his mind is playing some sort of crazy trick on him.

Katerina...

When she walks into the room, Damon's whole world slows down. Perfect brunette hair that rests right above her shoulders and chocolate brown eyes that could swallow galaxies. Flawless skin that looks so fragile yet so soft and unblemished. Cheeks the color of pink roses and eyelashes longer than any he's ever seen before. Her out-of-this-world body catches his attention, a small waist magnificently revealed in her royal blue off the shoulder gown. Sapphires are dripping from her ears and her long swan-like neck is bare and oh so kissable. This is the girl, it's her, and he's absolutely certain she will change the way he looks at life.

"Who is that?" Damon whispers to Caroline, unable to take his eyes off of her.

"That's Princess Elena from Bulgaria and you are clearly mesmerized." When he doesn't answer, he follows her every move, she whispers next to his ear. "Did you see the monkeys hanging from the chandeliers?"

"Um, yeah, monkeys..." Several moments pass before he forces his eyes off the princess and looks at Caroline, "Did you say monkeys?"

"Yes, I said monkeys, you were in another world. Care to explain?"

"I can't explain it?" His heart is beating so fast that he almost feels faint.

"Then maybe you should be a gentleman and introduce yourself, your Highness." She looks at him pointedly.

Nodding, he gives her hand a squeeze. "Thanks Care, you're the best."

"And don't you forget it," she smiles and gives him a nudge. With singular purpose, he skirts through the crowd to get to the girl. Finally finding her talking to his parents.

"There you are, Damon," His mother extends her hand, urging him to come closer. "Princess Elena, this is my son."

"You're staring?"

"You – you just look... I'm sorry, you just really remind me of someone. I'm Damon."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she curtsies, spreading her gown slightly. There is only one word to describe the sun-kissed man. His eyes are the blue of the afternoon sky reflecting off a crystal clear mountain lake. His lips are pink, his jaw curves gracefully and the strength of his neck shows in the twining cords of muscle that shape his entire body. Even though she's heard rumors about the scalawag prince, she cannot deny that he is an Adonis among the other men who pale in comparison. Her heart jumps when she feels the touch of his hand upon her own.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Princess Elena." he kisses her hand, giving it a soft squeeze before letting go.

Knowing protocol, she smiles brightly, "The pleasure is all mine, your Highness."

"Please call me Damon, my father is his Highness."

"Only if you call me Elena."

"Done," he starts to say when the orchestra begins to play again. "It would be my honor to dance with you," he extends his hand. Again she smiles and offers hers and together they walk to the dance floor, one hand moves to encircle her waist while the other links with her hand.

The music spins around them lifting away gravity. He smiles brightly as their heels click over the ballroom floor. He watches as her hair spins out and bounces more with each move and beat. This is perfect.

She is perfect.

The lights are twinkling with every step as Elena spins in delicate circles, her royal blue dress billowing out. She loves things like this, the pressure of a warm hand on her back and the feeling of her small agile feet gliding along the floor. Elena remembers when taking dancing lessons. At first she felt like small bird just learning to fly, flailing around and finally taking off on outstretched wings and windswept feathers.

The music slows and twirls like thread around them. Elena lets him sway her body 'round and 'round again. The violins come in, then the piano, and then the slow and soft beating of a drum.

Damon looks down at her with his soft blue eyes, his heart is thrumming like a humming bird's wings, every nerve in his body is on fire just having her in his arms. Suddenly the song ends before he can ask for another, she excuses herself and disappears into the crowd...

"The hell," Damon yelps, in the darkness, having walked into the door frame.

"What's wrong?" Elena hurries into the living room where he's sitting on the couch, his palm rubbing over his left eye.

"I ran into the fucking door."

Leaning over him, she kisses his bruised skin. But seeing her so hot and sexy looking in her camisole and panties, all thoughts of his eyes are forgotten. Sliding his hand to her neck, he brings her closer to his mouth and whispers, "Kiss me." As their lips collide, he slips his tongue into her mouth as she moves to straddle his lap. With their mouths fused and tongues hungrily tasting one another, his hands move beneath the hem of her top to caress her bare skin. Somehow she manages to undo all the buttons on his shirt, allowing her fingers to dance down his chest and abdomen causing his body to tremble. Breaking their kiss, his lips glide along her jaw and down her perfectly curved neck, paying special attention to the soft flesh where her neck meets her shoulder.

Gasping with each touch she moves her hands to unbuckle his belt. "God, I've thought of nothing else all day," he murmurs against her hot skin. Unzipping his pants, she groans as she lifts up to slide them down and reposition herself to grind against him. Pulling the camisole over her head, Damon tosses it haphazardly on the floor and begins ravishing her full and heaving breasts. Drawing one nipple in his mouth he hears her moan as she threads her fingers into his hair. With her free hand she grabs the one that's teasing her hard nipple and guides it towards her aching clit. Only too happy to oblige, he runs his fingers in a circular motion causing her to grind even harder against him.

"Yes... that's it."

Damon smirks and moves his lips to the other nipple as he runs his fingers along her already wet folds. When he dips into her warmth, he smiles against her breast when she hisses aloud.

"I want you..."

Moving his hands to her hips, he lifts and guides her over him. Locking eyes, she pulls her panties aside then lowers herself onto him, taking in every delicious inch before beginning to ride him. "You feel incredible," he murmurs while lavishing kisses on her breasts while she moves above him. Needing more, he meets each one of her downward moves with an upward thrust. Moving harder and faster he feels her body tighten against his. A mere brush of his fingers against the divot at the base of her spine sends her completely over the edge.

"Damon," she screams as he feels her orgasm takes hold. Gripping her hips firmly, he makes one final upward thrust as his release tears through him... Several minutes pass as they hold each other, their bodies still trembling in the aftermath. She kisses his shoulder and starts to climb off his lap. Having none of it, Damon pulls her back to him. She smiles, kisses him and lays her head against his still thundering heart.

His dream ends abruptly, as he's shaken back into reality. His eyes open, his eyelashes faintly batting against his lids when he blinks. Laying on the bed, he debates whether he should get up or try to resume that incredible dream. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he groans and sits up. Glancing at the clock, he yawns, stretching his arms above his head and then ambles to the bathroom with one person on his mind...

Elena.

Freshly showered, Damon walks into the dining room wearing an expensive pair of dress pants and a Vuitton button down, pairing his attire with Salvatore Ferragamo cap-toe Oxfords. His eyes twinkle in surprise when he sees Elena and her parents at the table.

"Good morning," he greets them and takes a seat next to her. His slacks already tightening as he recalls the dream. He's pulled from his reverie when an arm brushes his.

"Thank you, Honoria," he smiles when she places a plate in front of him. After taking a long swallow of coffee, he turns to Elena.

"Do you have plans for the day?"

"No," she answers curtly and takes a bite of her eggs.

"Damon, why don't you show her around the city?" she smiles and looks at the princess. "We have some wonderful shops, I'm sure my son would be glad to escort you."

"Actually, I have to make an appearance at the zoo. I'm cutting the ribbon on their new addition. I would love to have you join me, then I could take you to lunch, show you around as mother suggested?"

Elena looks at her dad who nods affirmatively then shifts in her seat to face Damon. "I'd like that, thank you for inviting me."

"The pleasure is all mine, princess. We'll leave around 10," Damon can't help but notice his mother's appreciative grin so he gives her a sly wink, picks up his fork and dives into his food.

With Elena at his side, Damon looks over the crowd and listens as the zoo curator makes the introductions. When the official announces Damon's name and turns to look at him, he winks at Elena and drags her with him to the ribbon. After being handed the huge pair of scissors, he takes Elena's hand and together they snip it, the ends dropping gracefully to the ground.

Once the formalities conclude, they start to walk through the new area. Elena notices what a lively place the zoo is with its large display of animals and birds of different species. Everywhere she looks, people seem to be enjoying themselves.

"This is very nice zoo, the animals have large enclosures and aren't cramped into small cages with nowhere to roam."

"This place is one of my charities, I do a lot of fundraising for it. I always loved the rare day when my mother brought me here but there was always an entourage and they kept people away. I hated that. Now of course, I have Alaric on my tail, the man back there with a brown hair and the stubble. He likes to look unassuming," Damon laughs, catching Ric's eye.

"I've always loved them too so I guess we have that in common," she laughs, unexpectedly enjoying his company. Taking her arm, he links it with his as they continue down the trail. The sweet voice of the birds fill the air as they chatter back and forth.

The giraffe in the paddock leans its long neck over toward its mother, resting its head against her silky fur and half closing its eyes in bliss. Elena is mesmerized by their shape, so elegant, beautiful. Their pattern is a rich chestnut hue painted on golden cream and their heads are held high. She watches them, ears like cuddly toys moving according to their mood. It's not like she's never seen one before, still she can't quite get over their legs, so stretched looking but strong at the same time. Then as if right on cue the smaller giraffe looks her way, its eyes a rich brown. It reminds her of the time a beluga whale had eyed her at the Varna Aquarium, located in Bulgaria's largest city on the Black Sea coast.

They wander around for some time when Damon leads them to an ice cream parlor. She orders chocolate ganache in a waffle cone while he orders pistachio. With cones in hand, they find a seat and enjoy the creamy goodness.

"It's so good," she takes a lick and grins at him.

"Of all the flavors, you picked chocolate?" he waggles his brows, teasing her.

"It's my favorite," she retorts, poking her tongue out to take another lick and the site of it makes Damon shifts uncomfortably in his chair. Although she knows exactly what he's doing, she asks, "Something wrong?"

"Not a thing, princess, not a thing," he laughs, and pokes his own tongue out to give her a taste of her own medicine. After finishing up, they spend the rest of the afternoon looking at the exhibits and enjoying their time together.

"It's pretty here," Elena remarks, walking side by side with Damon.

"It is, the view is the reason I bought this place," he looks up the hill at his estate. He wants nothing more than to link their hands together and pull her into his arms to kiss her fiercely. However, his mother informed him that she's been seeing his cousin, Prince Stefan. His stomach turns at the very thought. Sensing the fire inside, he is without doubt that his boring cousin will throw a bucket of water on it and turn her into some sort of Stepford wife.

"You have very good taste, your home is amazing. It must be hard to leave this place to go back to the city."

"Don't get me wrong, I like the city but this place is my sanctuary."

Elena nods and they continue along the ocean shore, no-one speaking a word, each lost in their own torrid thoughts. The ocean shore lies jagged, the rocky outcrops a torn piece of paper where they meet the rushing waves. The shore is everything at once, every sense bombarded in a way that brings his mind to elevated thought.

Elena is mesmerized by the myriad shades of blue before her, every shade from white to browns and greys at her feet. Finding some big boulders, she sits down on the rocks and lets her bare feet dangle in the water. The breeze is cool, stealing warmth, giving her the taste and smell of the brine. The ocean's music takes command of her ears with crashing waves and the cries of the gulls. Behind her the cliff face rises sharply. Between rock and wave she's intoxicated on the breath of mother earth, of nature and all the wonders she holds.

Damon moves closer to the water's edge, wading in a few feet. The small, wet pebbles that line the beach sparkle in the sunlight. The water is fairly calm today, small waves occasionally lap the beach with little force. Stooping over, he reaches down to pick up a rock, running his thumb over its smooth surface. When the thought of his cousin enters his mind again, he swings his arm back and flicks his wrist, watching the small pebble skip across the surface of the sea.

"I suppose we should return, I would hate for the tabloids to scandalize you, princess."

"What do you mean?" she asks, slipping her shoes back on.

'You're here alone with me, the notorious bachelor prince. It's a headline made to order."

"Don't tell me you pay attention to them..."

"They don't bother me but my parents... not so much."

Elena laughs and shakes her head. "You really are a scoundrel aren't you?"

"At your service, my lady," he teases, bowing dramatically before gesturing for her to lead the way back to his home.

Damon steps out of the shower wearing only a towel around his waist, he's more than surprised to see his mother waiting for him, her index finger rhythmically tapping on the arm of the chair. "Mother, we really need to stop meeting like this," he quips, quirking his brows.

"Damon! I just came to see how you're doing?"

"Walking on sunshine. Thanks for asking. " He steps into the closet, away from her eyes to slip on a pair of designer jeans and V neck tee shirt.

"Damon..."

"Mother...?"

"We should be able to talk about this, Damon. I really want to know how you're doing."

"How do you think I'm doing? For the first time in my life, I meet someone that I want to know better only to find out she's seeing Stefan?" he rolls his eyes at the image that pops into his head.

"I think that you're hurt." She moves to stand in front of her son.

"Mmm, no, I don't get hurt, mother... There are plenty of girls out there."

"No, Damon, you don't admit that you get hurt. You get angry and cover it up, and then you do something stupid that Alaric inevitably has to clean up."

"You're scared. You think I'm going to go off the deep end, don't you? Scandalize and tarnish the Salvatore monarchy perhaps?"

"I never said that, but I know you like Elena, I've seen you light up when she's around. As things stand now, I don't see a future for the two of you. You'll have to accept it one way or another, I just don't want you to spiral and cause a huge uproar." Before Damon can respond, there's a knock on his door.

Without bothering to wait for an invite, Alaric pokes his head in. "Princess Elena is waiting for you. Said you're taking her to an art gallery."

"Tell her I'll be right down, my mother and I are done here." Damon's eyes move from Ric's to his mother. She sighs and leaves the room, allowing Damon to finish getting ready.

"We're here, " Damon takes a sharp corner causing Elena to grip the arm rest before he pulls his Jaguar F type into a restricted parking space. Stepping out, he walks around the rear and offers his hand when the door opens. His hand brushes against the small of her back as they walk into 'Momentum', Enzo's art gallery. Designed in Art Deco the building is richly embellished with hard-edged, low-relief designs: geometric shapes, including chevrons, ziggurats, stylized floral and sunrise patterns.

"It's beautiful," Elena remarks as they look at the paintings and sculptures displayed. "I wouldn't have taken you for someone who's into art."

"Why's that princess?" he waggles his brows at her.

"Well, cause I've seen your estate, sure it's luxurious, the home and the grounds, the beach front but there's really nothing artsy about the way you decorated it."

"My taste is rather eclectic, I like what I like," he shrugs. With his palm on her lower back again, he leads her to Enzo's office and raps on the door.

"Come in," comes from inside.

"Enzo, I'd like you to meet Princess Elena Gilbertova of Bulgaria."

The proprietor's eyes blink before darting back and forth between the princess and the portrait. After a nudge from Damon, he snaps out of it. "It's an honor, your Royal Highness," he bows momentarily and turns to Damon, "What can I do for you today?"

"I brought the Princess here to see the portrait."

"Aww, I understand, come with me," he leads them to his workshop where the painting is on a big easel.

Damon examines it, running his fingers over it wispily. "You've really done great work with it." He gestures for Elena for step closer. When she does, an audible gasp escapes her mouth.

The painting takes her far away to another time, another life. In this picture is her ancestor Katerina Petrova. There have been stories told of her, how she gave up the throne to marry her commoner husband and as a result, her brother, Elena's great- great grandfather ascended to the throne. "How did you get this?"

"It belonged to my great - great grandfather, he was in love with her and wanted to marry her. She broke his heart..."

"She broke his heart by following her own?" she arches an eyebrow, "what's your fascination with it, I can see it in your eyes so don't lie to me?"

"I found myself mesmerized by her beauty... You have an uncanny resemblance to her. But to answer your question, there's just something about the painting, I don't know what magic it holds but there's something about it."

"I'd like to go now," Elena shifts uncomfortably under Damon's scrutiny and walks out of the workshop and gallery. Damon follows, catching up to her at the car.

"Okay," he opens the car door and once she buckles her seat belt, he pushes her door closed and hops in himself, driving straight back to the palace, quickly losing Alaric when he zips through a red light. Looking out the window, the starlight draws her eyes heaven-bound, the white-light shining all the brighter for the blackness all around them. When they arrive, it's late. Damon's certain both his parents and hers have retired so he walks her to her suite. Pausing in the doorway, she turns and stares into his deep ocean blue eyes.

"Elena," Damon whispers, gently cupping her face with one hand. He leans down and softly kisses the tender area at the base of her neck. Elena's body goes rigid with surprise as trembles shake her body and a euphoric warmth blossoms within her, each touch of his tongue has its own flicker of heat. She gazes up and he draws back slightly, spending a moment studying her face and suddenly warm lips press against hers.

All she can focus on is Damon. His touch is intoxicating like diving head first into an erupting volcano but most of all he tastes like fine bourbon and midnights under turning galaxies. His kiss is long, his mouth is hot and her heart is thundering in her chest, causing her to step back to catch a breath of air.

"You can't kiss me again... it's not right."

"It's right... It's just not right now." He brushes his thumb along her cheekbone.

"Goodnight, Damon," she whispers then slips into her room shutting the door behind her and when the sound of his footsteps grow faint, she slides down the door determined not to let this man get any further under her skin.

"Morning, Princess," Damon greets her when she enters the dining hall. He stands up to pull a chair out for her, pushing it forward after she's seated.

Feeling uneasy after he kissed her last night, she replies rather stiffly, "Good morning," and moves her chair, putting some distance between them.

"Elena, we should talk about it," he shifts a little closer earning her ire.

"You need to keep your distance, Damon. We're leaving this afternoon, I'll be making plans with Stefan as soon as he arrives in Sofia."

"Do you love him?"

"That's none of your business."

"Really? I don't think you do or you wouldn't be so defensive. They've got you trapped, Elena. And you're gonna die if you don't break free. Maybe not right away because you're strong but...sooner or later that fire that I love about you, Elena...that fire's gonna burn out..."

"It's not up to you to save me, Damon."

"You're right...only you can do that," he swallows down what's left in his coffee mug and without looking back, he leaves the room.

Damon stands outside with his parents to formally say goodbye to the Gilbert family. Moments later, they descend the staircase with all the pomp and pageantry of the monarchy. Elena follows after her parents.

It's time. The time Damon knew would come much too soon. He has to say goodbye to her. How is he supposed to do that without feeling like he's lost a part of himself? When Elena moves to stand in front of him, he takes her hands and leans forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Goodbye, Princess."

"Goodbye," she whispers and quickly ducks into their waiting limousine. The pain she carries in her chest in inexplicable. Having to say goodbye to him is more painful than it should be. Even though she wants to feel his arms around and remain at his side for much longer, she knows it's impossible. As much as she knows her parents only want what's best for not only her but everyone, she never expected to feel so strongly about someone not named Stefan. She'll never forget the moments she shared with him, nor will she regret the memories. All she can do is hope he finds his own happiness someday.

"Goodbye, Damon," Duchess Miranda shakes his hand followed by Prince Grayson. They too slide into the limousine and moments later it pulls away with Elena's eyes on Damon's until they're no longer visible.

"Bourbon, double on the rocks," Damon says, taking a seat at the bar. Knowing his shadow is right behind him, he spins on his stool and meets Alaric's glower. "Stop pouting and have a drink with me."

"One of us has to stay sober," he mumbles and sits down, ordering one for himself when the bartender slides the glass in front of Damon.

"You're much more fun when you're chasing me," he quips, ignoring Ric's scowl. Taking a swallow, he savors the rich caramel and oak flavors. The bar is off the beaten path, one Damon likes to go to, he can be anonymous in this place. Although he can't deny he likes the perks of being a royal, sometimes it feels good to kick back and not worry about propriety. Bumming a cigarette, he lights it up and takes a deep pull. Smoke twists in its artistic way, forming curls in the gloom, illuminated only by the age-speckled bar lights. Along the wall is every hue of amber liquid in their inverted bottles, every vice that Damon has been ordered to avoid.

"Ladies," Damon blurts out when Isobel, Lexi and their friend Val approach him. He wraps an arm around Lex and tells the others to sit. "You guys know my babysitter, right?" Damon winks at him, earning another glare from Ric.

A couple hours pass, Damon is quite drunk and when Lexi suggests they go to the palace for a foursome, he wants to say yes. The word, those three letters are on the tip of his tongue but he can't spit them out, not when her image flashes before his eyes. When he starts to stagger, one hand on the nearest wall, Ric unceremoniously throws him over his shoulder and hauls him out of the bar. Tossing him in the back seat, he shakes his head, jumps behind the wheel to take him home. By the time they reach the palace, Damon's starts to sit up in the backseat.

Without waiting for Ric, he drags himself inside and to the foot of the staircase. Usually he takes two at a time but tonight they are a mountain to be negotiated on all fours. His arms flap down on the carpet too hard and with each push his back end sways like a tranquilized horse. His stomach begins to heave in a sickly way and his head is spinning in a way that just makes no sense. It's like the whole house just got put on a carousel, slow at first but gaining momentum. Suddenly feeling like a balloon's inflating in his stomach, everything he ate and drank for the past couple of hours is racing to be purged. Vomit. There's vomit on the carpet in front of him. The room spins one more time and it's lights out until the morning.

"Good morning mother and father," Damon greets them, laughing when he sees their mouths drop open.

"How are you up so early? Ric had to throw you in the shower and tuck you in."

"Tuck me in?" he raises an eyebrow while pouring himself a stiff cup of coffee.

"Explain yourself," his father demands, tenting his fingers over his plate.

"Well, I have a plane to catch. So if you'd be so kind as to ask Rose to clear my schedule for the next few days."

"A plane to catch? Where are you going?"

"To Sofia, of course. I have to see her, I can't not try, she may slam the door in my face but at least I can say I tried."

"Damon, she's about to be betrothed to your cousin..."

"Not if I can help it, now if you'll excuse me, Alaric's waiting to take me to the airport." Standing up, he kisses his mom's cheek and winks at his dad, saying goodbye as he steps over the threshold.

Having done a little research with his laptop while in flight, Damon knows that Elena will be at The City Garden of Sofia, the oldest park in the Bulgarian capital. She's to attend an event at the National Theatre and Arts Gallery. After finding a hotel and dropping his things off, he hops a cab to take him there. As soon as he steps out, another one stops behind him and Damon's not surprised to see Ric climb out.

"I knew you'd show up, it was just a question of how soon," Damon chuckles, waiting for him so they can go inside together.

He's dressed in his finest dark wash jeans, a white button down along with a Dolce and Gabbana tie and suit coat. He's again wearing his Salvatore Ferragamo oxfords and a pair of Gucci sunglasses. Walking into the gallery, he looks around and follows the crowd, Ric directly behind him. It's then he hears her sweet voice, as she greets visitors and shakes hands. Getting in line, Damon waits his turn, not wanting to use his status to butt in front of the others. He sees the exact moment that shock registers on her face before she can hide it. When he moves to stand in front of her, a small smile plays on his lips.

Words fail her. She stares into those bright blue eyes brimming with mischief. But she can't will her lips to move.

Loving the effect he's having on her, Damon waggles his brows teasingly and quips, "Hello Princess."

"Mr. Fiori, would you please excuse me for a moment?" Elena smiles before grabbing Damon by the arm and pulling him into a nearby empty room.

"What are you doing here?" she snaps, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do you not know me at all?" he asks, as they circle around each other like two foes getting ready to raise pistols.

"Damon you can't be here, Stefan is due to arrive tomorrow."

"I haven't seen my cousin for awhile, I think I'll stick around to say hi," he boasts, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"You can't be serious," she huffs. Her glare is fuming, like a knife to his ribs, the point digging deeper with each syllable that leaves her mouth.

"Deadly," he responds, the laughter evaporating from his eyes. His customary warmth gone faster than summer rain on a busy tarmac.

"I'm about to get engaged," she prattles, blowing out a frustrated breath of air.

"There is something going on between the two of us and you know it," he steps closer and moves to cradle her face in his palms. "And you're lying to me, and you're lying to Stefan, and, most of all, you're lying to yourself. I can prove it."

The moment their lips touch, the world vanishes, her eyes fall closed and all she can feel is him. He kisses her, soft and slow and he tastes like November, like hot chocolate on stormy evenings and crisp autumn air. And it is with this one kiss that she knows she's in too deep. With the negative space between them, she lowers her head, knowing once she pulls it up, he'll be gone.

When she hears the door close, she looks up to find he is indeed gone... but she also knows she hasn't seen the last of Prince Damon.

"Elena dear, you look tired," her mother remarks when she joins them for dinner.

"Was it the gallery appearance?" her father intones, taking a swallow of his wine.

"It was busy yes, but," Elena pauses when Nora slides a plate in front of her while Mary Louise fills her wine glass. "Thank you," she smiles at the women who helped raise her when her parents were away on official business.

"But?" her mother emphasizes, sticking a bit of lamb in her mouth.

"I got the shock of my life when Prince Damon showed up...," she takes a bite of her croissant.

"What did you just say?"

"Damon is here."

"Here... as in Sofia?" her father throws back what's left in his glass and quickly refills it. "Did he say why? Nothing's been scheduled."

"He just showed up with his bodyguard."

"You'll have to invite him to stay here with us. We have to return the courtesy," Miranda looks at her husband and then Elena.

"I don't know where he's staying," she stabs at her meat in frustration.

"I'll find out somehow and offer an invite. Finish eating and then get some rest. We have Stefan's arrival tomorrow too," he eyes her pointedly then spears another piece of meat and starts cutting into it.

"I'm not really hungry, I think I'll go to bed," she wipes her face with her napkin then stands up.

"Of course dear, take a nice bubble bath and we'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," she kisses each of them and slowly walks up the stairs, unable to shake the feeling that an earthquake is creeping up on her.

"Please forgive my lateness," Damon offers when he's escorted to the dining room. Stefan's eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees his roguish cousin taking a seat opposite of Elena.

"I wasn't aware you had a visit scheduled for Bulgaria?" Stefan's eyes dart to Elena and back to Damon.

"Oh I didn't but you and I both know cousin that I make my own rules," he catches Elena's attention with his eye thing. "Where are your parents?" Damon looks around, not bothering to answer Stefan.

"They're at the opera tonight. Mother loves Bizet's Carmen." Elena thanks the servants when they serve the meal.

Time flows like cement as they eat in relative silence. Damon checks his cell for the umpteenth time. Only minutes have passed since he last checked an hour ago, or at least it seems like an hour has passed . Sitting there with listening to their vacuous small talk is excruciatingly dull and there is no telling when it'll let up. It's beyond pointless. Go in, get your picture taken and then take a seat and bow out amidst a parade of paparazzi and flash bulbs. He begins to drift into an unpleasant daydream or is it fantasy? So hard to tell and he doesn't care. It helps to pass the time and he isn't one for entertaining himself. Having subjected himself to enough of Stefan's mindless blather, he's about to leave the table when a question is directed at him.

"So you just came on the spur of the moment?" Stefan interrupts, "Surely you knew Elena and I are about to make an announcement, how nice of you to be here to support us," he glares at Damon, taking a swallow of his wine.

"Keep telling yourself that," he winks at him, knowing it'll invoke his cousin's ire. When Stefan rakes his hand through his hero hair, messing it up, Damon chuckles, knowing he hit the target. "So Elena, what are we doing tonight?"

"What are we doing?" she looks at him with fury. "We are doing nothing, Stefan and I are going to the theatre."

"Oh, sounds boring but okay, if that's what you like, I'm game."

"Who invited you?"

"Now princess, what kind of a hostess doesn't include her guest?" he quirks a brow at her and takes a swallow of wine.

"You... you're exasperating."

"And you, milady, are much too uptight..."

"I'm not uptight," she protests chugging what's left in her flute. Although he's pushing every one of her buttons, she has to dig her nails into her palm to keep herself from laughing at his antics.

"I don't know, you seem pretty rigid to me..." he turns to Stefan, "What about you cousin, you're an expert at being a stuffed shirt, do you have an opinion?"

"You son of a bitch!" Stefan lunges at him, knocking the chair over with him in it."

"Careful Stefan, we don't want to break the china," he bursts out in laughter while picking himself up and off the floor. "I seem to remember the last time you did that, we both ended up with black eyes."

"And you're okay with him?" he explodes at Elena, flashing Damon the middle finger behind his back.

"He is rather entertaining," she says stiffly, stuffing a piece of food into her mouth.

"Unbelievable! If you two get along so well, you can have him."

That lights Elena's fuse. Lurching upright, she glares at both of them. "Now you hear me," her angry eyes dart from one to the other, "I'm not a prize to be won," she growls and stomps away, her Louboutin heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor.

Sometime later, Damon walks out onto his balcony. Hearing voices, he looks down, observing Elena and Stefan getting into a limousine. He watches till the tail lights disappear into the darkness. Shaking his head, he grabs his leather jacket and storms out of his room, knocking when he reaches Alaric's.

"Did you want something?" he asks, his fingers clutching the door.

"I need a drink. You coming or not?"

"I'm coming," he yanks his own jacket off the back of a chair and follows Damon down the stairs and outside where they wait for ride. Since he's not well acquainted with Sofia, he asks the driver to recommend a place. He drives them to Barabar, five star joint at a corner location in the center of the city.

Stepping inside, Damon likes the atmosphere already. The lights are dim, people seem to be having a good time. Walking up to the bar with Ric on his heels, they sit down. Damon orders their best dark beer. Stout is black, not sweet to the taste. It features a rich, creamy head and is flavored and colored by barley. "It's good," Damon says, wiping the foam off his upper lip.

"You do have good taste in alcohol," Ric laughs, taking a long drink himself.

"Well who do we have here?" a woman asks, sliding another glass in front of both men.

"Thank you," Damon says, finishing off his first one.

"I'm Irena, I own this place and it's not often that I find myself staring at royalty."

"Ssshh," Damon puts his finger to his lips and looks around hoping no one heard her.

"Your identity is safe with me. Drink up," she laughs and moves to wait on her other customers.

Not wanting to be drunk, he and Ric enjoy a couple of beers and thank Irena before they return to Elena's home. After saying goodnight to his bodyguard, Damon returns to his room. He's deeply immersed in a book when he hears his cousin's voice saying goodnight to Elena.

He walks out of the balcony and when he sees a light come on, he crawls up and onto the trellis, climbing towards what he hopes is her room. Hearing a distinct cracking sound, he hurries up, pulling himself over the balcony. Taking a breath, he raps softly on the sliding glass door.

"Damon! What are you doing here?" she asks while tying the sash on her robe.

"I saw you leave with Stefan earlier."

"You knew we had plans, we are going to be married."

"Yeah, I know," he looks away for a moment. "I thought for one second that I wouldn't have to feel guilty anymore."

"What? What are you talking about? Guilty for what?"

"For wanting what I want."

"Damon...," she repeats softly.

"I know. Believe me, I get it... Cousin's girl and all." He starts to leave then stops at the doorway.

"No! No, you know what? I'm not going to feel guilty for this," Damon pulls her to him and wraps his arms around her. His mouth covers hers with an intensity that lets her know he isn't as calm about the night's events as he seems. The kiss seems to go on forever. His tongue is in her mouth and his hands are on her back urging her closer. When he pulls away they are both breathing hard.

"Good night," he whispers and slips through her bedroom door. He's going to get Ric and leave for the airport tonight, he will not burden her any longer. The pain he carries in is chest is inexplicable. Seeing her get away hurts a lot. Even though he wants to hold her and keep her by his side for the rest of his life, he has to do what's best for her. He loves her enough to let her go, still he knows that Stefan won't stoke her fire, he'll tame it. He'll never forget the moments they shared. "Thank you, Elena, for everything. I hope you find your happiness with him," he laments, watching her window till the light goes out.

When Elena comes downstairs the next morning, her first clue that something is awry is Damon's notable absence. Before anyone notices her, she quietly goes back up the stairs to his room. When he doesn't respond to her rapping on the door, she turns the knob and goes in. An audible gasp escapes when she sees the portrait of her ancestor, Katerina Petrova laying on the bed.

The restored painting is all in bright oils but the composition of the painting is curious. The stroke lines are bold and it's both stunning and head-ache inducing, like a novel condensed onto a single page. She runs her fingers along the frame's edge and as she continues around the rim, she palms her chest with her other hand when she finds a letter. Holding her breath, she unfolds it.

Dearest Elena,

I didn't expect our story to end like this but know I wish you every happiness. I hope your marriage to Stefan will become everything you wished for when you were a child and dreamed of such things. My mother told me she imagined marrying her own Prince Charming and riding off on a white stallion to her happily ever after. I suspect most little girls do. The only thing I ask is that you remain true to yourself and don't let him douse your fire, the one that burns so brightly inside of you. I saw it the first time I laid eyes on you, I don't want you to lose that part of yourself.

Just writing his has helped me come closer to a place where I can admire our short time together. Please consider the portrait of your ancestor - Katerina - a gift from me to you. She deserves to be here in Bulgaria from whence she came.

Always, Damon...

"Damon," she says softly. Inexplicably she feels like a glove of ice begins to encase her heart as a cage keeps a tropical bird. It longs to fly again, to stretch its wings and soar, and see the vast possibilities of life waiting to be explored. Confused by the visceral reaction, she carefully puts the letter back in the envelope and takes it to her room, safely tucking it into her jewelry box. Hearing her name, she sucks in a needed breath of air. A feeling of dread creeps over her but there are duties and responsibilities she must adhere to. Rather than let herself fly free, her heart stays inside it's frozen prison, afraid to pick the lock or try to break the bars.

Squaring her shoulders, she trots down the stairs only to be greeted with the smug Cheshire cat grin on Stefan's face. Before she can pull out a chair to sit down, he drops to one knee in front of her and holds out a beautiful pinkish-orange Padparadscha sapphire. "Elena, will you..."

She hesitantly looks down at him. When the guilt comes it takes her down an unfamiliar path, one she doesn't want to walk. Nor does she want to pretend that she's the person protocol demands her to be. She wants to see herself in sepia tones, not perfect color. It's true what they say, "Those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it." And she can't bear the thought of a loveless marriage, cobbled together just because he's who he is and she's who she is.

"Stefan, I... I'm sorry, I can't marry you," she looks at him, a look of sympathy on her face.

"Elena darling, what are you saying?" her mother asks, her shocked eyes landing on Stefan.

"I'm sorry, mother. I don't love him."

"Do you love him, Damon?" Stefan spits, now on his feet and rounding on her.

"Yes, yes."

"Are you sure, Elena?" her father studies her face.

She nods vigorously.

"What are you waiting for, go pack a bag and I'll call Tyler to fuel the plane."

"Are you serious?" Stefan snarls, "You two deserve each other."

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Stefan. I really am sorry."

He snaps the jewelry box closed, glowers at her with hatred and walks away.

"Stefan, don't," Miranda runs after him. "She doesn't know what she's saying."

"Daddy?"

"Get your things, I'll give the King a call so someone is there to meet you when you arrive and then I'll drive you to the airport."

She gives him a hug and hurries to her room, her heels clicking all the way up the marble staircase.

Elena steps out the vehicle and walks to the rear with Brady who gets out her suitcase. "Thank you for bringing us here," she offers, looking out over the water at Damon's country estate. After her father called King Giuseppe, he drove her to their private airstrip where the plane was fueled up and readied to take her to Italy. When she arrived, the royal limousine was waiting to escort her to the palace. She was greeted with little fanfare by his parents and told that Damon left to spend some time at his country estate outside of Naples. Giuseppe graciously offered her and her bodyguard Matt access to one of his own guards, Brady, to take them to him and after a 2 1/2 hour drive, they arrive.

Looking at the water, Elena breathes in the salty scent of the sea air. The ocean shore lies serene, its sparse rocky outcrops, a torn piece of paper where they meet the rushing waves. The shore is everything at once, every sense bombarded in a way that brings her mind to elevated thought. The ocean's music takes command of her ears with crashing waves and the cries of the gulls. Behind her the cliff face rises sharply, graphite in the summer sun.

"Of course, I'll take Matt and we'll be in the cottage over there with Ric," he points at the upscale guard headquarters when Damon decides he needs an escape.

"I'm a little scared," she admits, her eyes meeting his.

"Don't be... Come, I'll carry your suitcase in." Brady picks it up and leads her inside. Damon isn't immediately visible so he sets the luggage down and looks around with Elena on his heels. When he finds him, he gestures with his head, revealing him standing on his large stone deck, looking out over the water.

"Thank you," Elena squeezes his hand. He gives her a short bow then leaves her alone to speak to him. Before she can prepare herself, Damon steps from the shadows, stealing her breath and the heat from her skin.

"Elena? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be making wedding plans?"

"No, I can't marry Stefan. I realized you were right, I don't love him. I'll be honest, being around you, Damon, having a taste... it was like being swept up into a current. I-I-I was consumed by it... I don't really know what this thing between us is but I'm certain I want to explore it with you."

In two steps, he's in front of her. "Elena," he starts but before she can draw in the air her body needs, she melts into his form. She can feel his firm torso and the heart that beats within. His hands are folded around her back, drawing her closer. He is devouring her with his eyes, running his hand through her hair, as if he can't quite believe she's not part of an almost forgotten dream. When he kisses her it's sweet, gentle, and it tastes of her. His mouth paints a soft smile. With a sly wink, he scoops her in his arms and swings her around the room till they're both laughing with delight.

Elena and Damon lean over the boat railing, his arm around her skinny waist, gazing at the lazy ocean below. They giggle and flirt while feeding each other fresh grapes. They're on a holiday in the Lavezzi Islands, it's an archipelago of small islands and reefs lying 6 miles south-east of Bonifacio. With their granite rocks, light-colored sand and a series of small creeks with an intense blue color, they are as beautiful as the finest tropical destinations.

Damon brought her here to snorkel in the crystal-clear waters and explore their superb sea beds, the home of hundreds of fish species. The Lavezzi Islands have been protected as a marine reserve since 1982. The fish are long used to human presence, so it's an exceptional spot for discovering underwater life.

"Look, Damon," Elena marvels, pointing to starfish and the crabs that scuttle around them. The Mediterranean waters are so clear that the sea bed is visible.

"Didn't I tell you how gorgeous it is here?" he gestures with his head at the shoals of fish that dart this way and that. She gives him a kiss and then turns back to the sea, spread out all around them.

They arrived last evening under the cover of darkness, not wanting to alert the press. Once their budding relationship became public knowledge, they've been dogged by paparazzi hoping to get pictures of the new royal couple.

Ric and Matt are piloting the boat while Damon and Elena are enjoying the scenery and just being together. Ric drops the anchor near the beach of Achiarina. Elena slips on her face mask and snorkel then hops in after Damon, kicking her flippered feet to swim parallel to the beach. She's glad that he slathered a generous amount of sunscreen on her back because she could stay like this for hours observing the sea life around them, breathing steadily through the plastic tube.

Fish swim to greet them. Highly colorful ornate or Mediterranean rainbow wrasses dart through the water above the granite rocks. Painted combers, adorned with blue and yellow, which are more discrete, but just as elegant do the same.

Damon's happy just watching her. Even a four dimensional theatre can't compete with this. After a time he doesn't even notice the mouth-piece and with the sun on his back, he could almost sleep right there in the briny waves. It doesn't take long for them to lose track of time. It's another world below the waves. In the deepest areas, they see large shoals of salema porgy and small groups of sea bream, which are hard to see outside the protected areas. The Neptune grass seabed also reserves some surprises with red starfish and noble pen shells.

Damon tugs on Elena's arm when they catch a brown-marbled grouper, the star of the Corsican reefs, but the depths of its habitat make it difficult for snorkelers to see it. He'll never grow weary of exploring this exceptional place.

When they climb back onto the boat, Ric hands them each a towel. "Thanks buddy," Damon nods and plops down on one of the deck chairs. Elena winks and drops into his lap, snuggling against his chest as he wraps his arms around her.

"Did you like it?" he asks against her ear. His hot breath tickling her sensitive skin.

"It was fantastic. Can we go back in later?"

"Sure princess," he laughs and holds her close, thinking this must be what heaven is like.

Elena swallows several times and feels a tear leaks out from the side of her eye. She loves him. Damon smiles tenderly and leans down to capture her mouth in a kiss full of promise. His lips rub intimately against hers and his tongue seeks hers out, touching and caressing, until she gives a small moan. He breaks the kiss and trails small kisses along her jaw line, flicking his tongue out to taste her skin.

She smooths her hands over his chest and smiles up at him. "I'm in love with you."

A dazzling smile spreads across his face for a moment before his expression turns serious, passionate. "You're the reason I finally know what it means to love someone."

They kiss and caress hands, cheeks, and bodies against one another amid whispers of love and desire. Hands tug at clothing, lips nip, and tongues taste. Elena's heart hammers against her rib cage, her body on fire. The experience of being with Damon after he confesses his love for her nearly makes her light headed. By the time they reach his bed, both are panting and frantically pressing against each other. Damon lifts her onto it, slips off her bra and panties, then kicks off his cargos and pulls her into his arms.

Elena explores his body, familiarizing herself with his physique. His hands stoke up an inferno within her and soothe her flesh until she screams for release. He complies with her request and presses her deep into his mattress, locking eyes with her as he unhurriedly eases inside, drawing out whimpers from her. He moves slowly, loving her, filling and stroking, until she is hoarse from calling out his name and shouting her love for him.

Afterwards she lays with her head on his chest, her hair is fanned out over its chiseled perfection. Her finger traces a lazy circle around his nipple and his hand slowly caresses a path up and down her back.

"That was worth the wait," he posits, his voice a low buzz rumbling against her cheek.

She smiles against his hot, damp skin. "Mmm, definitely."

They lay silent for a long time, simply pressed together and enjoying one another. He sighs softly and pulls her close, his hand slides up to gently cup the back of her neck. "I love you," he whispers.

Elena trails her hand down over his abdomen to circle around his belly button. "I love you too." She leans down and presses a kiss to the sculpted curve of his pectoral muscle.

Damon gently lifts her off his chest and turns her over onto her back, then props himself up on his elbow to stare into her eyes and lightly graze her cheeks with his knuckles. "Are there any promises I can make you tonight?"

She shoots him a wicked smile. "I'm sure I can think of a few things."

We took a few liberties with your plot idea, Aisha so I do hope that you're happy with it.

Thank you Eva for everything. Love you.

I do post teasers for some of the stories we're working on, on my scarlett2112 fb page.

I don't know when we'll be back to posting regularly. We have 3 short stories written. We're working on Cold Wind and when we finish that, we'll start in on the SIMM sequel. Maybe once that's complete, we'll return full time.

Anxious to hear your thoughts on this one.

Have a safe and wonderful day and Happy Birthday Aisha.