Chapter 49 Chapter forty-nine
That night, Claus couldn’t sleep.
Sleep had circled him, hovered above him, teased him even but it never landed. He lay on his back for hours, staring at the curve of the ceiling,.at some point he was counting the ceilings.
Every time he closed his eyes, the same memory flashed before him: her hand snapping forward, slapping Sylvia’s hand away with a force that had not been accidental.
Claus hadn’t even been close enough to hear the words exchanged, but he had seen enough.
Something also that was disturbing him wasn't only the slap itself—it was what came after. it was the fear all written on her face when he step in as if he had caught her doing something wrong.
The way Sylvia try to lighten the mood, saying; Ellie was just having a series of mood swing. All of that make him feel uneasy.
But he knows it was a lie. A poorly stitched one.
Claus knew Ellie. He had memorized every single thing of her, he know the meaning of her silences, her laughter and the tilt of her smiles. She could be stubborn, impulsive, soft, gentle but she wasn’t the emotional and violence type. Not to him or anyone else for that matter.
He turned on his side again, trying to will sleep into existence. But another unease thought creep into his mind. Something about the child growing in Ellie’s womb.
He should have felt joy. This was his heir. The future of his bloodline. Yet every time he rested a hand on her stomach, his skin prickled as though touching something foreign. Something that didn’t belong.
He hated himself for thinking it. He had never been a man ruled by instincts alone, but this one would not quiet. It hummed inside him, low and restless.
He let out a sigh and sat up. The room was dim, only a single candle burning low. He glanced at Ellie sleeping beside him, her breaths soft, her hair spilled across the pillow like threads of dark silk. She looked peaceful.
Claus swung his legs off the bed, tugged on a shirt, and silently stepped outside.
The night air greeted him immediately. Crisp, cool, almost biting. It seeped into his lungs and grounded him more than any thought had done in hours. He walked until he reached the courtyard balcony, where he could see the moon clearly .
The compound lay quiet. The guards stationed at the far ends stood like statues, barely moving. The trees along the wall swayed, their leaves dancing to the tone of the wind.
Claus leaned on the stone railing, letting the breeze brush over him. His thoughts scattered and regrouped, circling the same thoughts he was having in the room.
What was Ellie hiding?
And why did her fear widen every time he caught she and Sylvia in the same room.
He stayed there a long while, until his senses, sharper than most picked up a faint change in the air. A familiar trace, subtle but distinct.
Sylvia’s scent.
Claus did not turn immediately. He stayed still, breathing it in, letting his mind calculate what it meant. Sylvia rarely wandered this side of the courtyard at night. The timing was… too fitting. Almost as if the universe had decided to bring him answers itself.
Soft footsteps approached from behind.
Claus slowly straightened, turning just enough to see Sylvia step into the balcony’s lantern glow.
Sylvia stopped a few paces away. He looked smaller in the moonlight, swallowed by shadows that seemed to cling to him. He met Claus’s eyes briefly.
“Claus, what are you doing here so late in the night?” he asked, his voice low.
Claus didn’t respond. His gaze held Sylvia as tightly as a hand around the throat.
Sylvia walk towards him,.His hands in his pockets. He stop when he get to him and stood beside Claus.
Finally, Claus spoke quietly, but with a weight that made the shadows around them stir.
“What’s going on between you and my wife?”
Sylvia froze.
His head snapped up, eyes widening just slightly, but not enough to look surprised just enough to look caught. The muscles in his jaw twitched. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
The question wasn’t a question. It was a blade. And Claus had placed it against Sylvia’s skin without flinching.
Sylvia opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked away, as if gathering the pieces of an answer that refused to fit together. His hands fidgeted, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides.
Claus took a step toward him, slow, deliberate. Not threatening, but firm. The kind of step that demanded truth without needing to raise a voice.
“I’m not blind,” Claus said, each word cutting precisely.
Sylvia’s breath hitched. He dropped his gaze to the floor tiles, where moonlight flickered around their feet.