Chapter 36 Afterparty
The heavy iron door of the tower room didn't just close; it sealed the world away with a final, echoing thud.
The silence of the room was a physical weight. It was different from the silence in the ballroom—that had been a predatory quiet, a room full of monsters holding their breath. This was the silence of the aftermath, the sound of the dust settling on a battlefield.
I stood in the center of the rug, my legs suddenly turning to water. The adrenaline that had carried me through the ballroom, through the command that broke Vespera, and through the Emperor’s terrifying decree, simply evaporated. It left me hollow, cold, and violently trembling.
My left arm throbbed where the feral vampire’s claws had breached my skin. The makeshift bandage was stiff with dried blood, pinning the abyss-silk to my wound. I smelled like spilled wine, stale smoke, and the iron tang of my own fear.
Klaus moved past me. He didn't speak. He went to the sideboard and began to light the candles, his movements jerky and uncharacteristically clumsy. He still hadn't put on his coat. His white shirt was a ruin, blood from his crushed hand staining the cuff until it was almost black.
I watched him, my vision blurring. Every time I blinked, I saw Vespera’s forehead hitting the marble. The word still felt like a jagged stone in my throat.
"Sit down," Klaus said. He didn't look at me. He was fumbling with a crystal decanter.
"I'm fine," I lied. My voice was a thin, raspy thread.
"You are shaking so hard the pearls on your dress are rattling, Nerissa. Sit."
I sank into the velvet armchair. My knees hit each other, knocking together in a rhythm I couldn't stop. I gripped the arms of the chair until my knuckles were white, trying to anchor myself. The pearls dug into my skin. I hated them. I hated the dress. I hated that I looked like a queen while I felt like a ghost.
Klaus walked over, carrying a glass filled with a deep amber liquid. He didn't offer it; he pressed it into my shaking hands, his cold fingers wrapping around mine to steady the glass.
"Drink it," he commanded. "All of it."
I took a sip. It was fire. It burned my tongue and scorched a path down my throat, but the heat was what I needed. It hit my stomach and radiated outward, dulling the sharp edges of the shock.
"What was that?" I whispered, staring into the liquid. "In the ballroom. What did I do?"
Klaus walked to the fireplace and shoved a log into the dying embers. He didn't use the poker; he used his bare, uninjured hand, ignoring the sparks that hissed against his skin.
"You survived," he said, his back to me. "You took the power they tried to use to break you, and you turned it into a leash."
"I made her crawl," I said, a sob catching in my chest. "I didn't even think about it. I just... I wanted her to feel small. I wanted her to feel what I felt."
"And now she does," Klaus said. He turned around. The firelight caught the sharp angles of his face, making him look like a predatory god. "But don't mistake revenge for peace, Little Fish. You just painted a target on your throat that will never fade. The Emperor doesn't give titles out of kindness. He gave you that rank because he wants to use your voice to break every clan that dares to defy him."
I looked at my hands. They were still stained with the dust of the storage room. "I’m an 'Officer of the Crown.' I’m one of them now."
"No," Klaus said, crossing the room. He knelt in front of my chair, his eyes level with mine. The sapphire light in his irises was dim, exhausted. "You are the thing they fear most. A mirror. You showed them tonight that their power is an illusion if you decide it is."
He reached out and took the glass from my hands, setting it on the floor. Then, he took my injured arm. His touch was incredibly light, as if he were afraid I would shatter. He began to unwrap the blood-soaked cravat.
The silk tore away from the scabs with a sickening, wet sound. I winced, my breath hissing through my teeth.
"Steady," he murmured.
He looked at the three jagged tracks across my bicep. They were angry, red, and weeping. He didn't look disgusted. He looked... pained. His jaw was so tight I could see the bone straining against the skin.
"Vespera will pay for this," he whispered.
"You already broke her glass, Klaus. You already threatened her throat."
"It wasn't enough," he growled.
He reached for a bowl of water and a clean cloth he’d brought over. He began to wash the wound. The water was cool, but every touch felt like a needle. I watched his head, the black hair falling over his forehead, the way his shoulders stayed tensed as if he were waiting for an attack even here, in the safest room in the Citadel.
"Why did you do it?" I asked.
He paused, the damp cloth hovering over my skin. "Do what?"
"Draw your sword. Crush the glass. Risk everything to get to me." I leaned forward, my face inches from his. "You could have stayed with the Emperor. You could have let the feral have me and told him it was an accident. It would have been easier for you."
Klaus finally looked up. His eyes were black holes, the sapphire drowned out by something raw and starving.
"Easier," he repeated. The word sounded like a curse. "Nothing about you is easy, Nerissa. You are a constant, screaming ache in my blood. Every time you are in pain, the Anchor rips into me. Every time you fear for your life, I feel my own pulse failing."
He dropped the cloth into the pink water. He reached up, his hand trembling as it hovered near my face. He didn't touch me. He just let the heat of his palm radiate against my cheek.
"I didn't draw my sword for the Empire," he whispered, his voice dropping to a register that made the hair on my arms stand up. "I drew it because when I couldn't find you, the silence in my head became unbearable. I would have burned the East Wing to the ground to find you."