Chapter 23 Prize
"She sees you," he murmured.
"She hates it," I whispered back, tightening my grip on his arm.
"She is terrified," Klaus corrected. "You look like the thing that comes for them in the dark."
We reached the bottom of the stairs.
The crowd didn't just part; they scrambled back. It was as if I were radiating a force field. They pressed against each other to clear a path, their eyes tracking the movement of the abyss-silk.
"Lord Falkenstein," a Duke murmured, bowing low as we passed. He didn't look at Klaus. He looked at me, his gaze lingering on my throat. "Exquisite."
Klaus stopped.
The Duke froze.
Klaus slowly turned his head. His eyes were blazing with sapphire fire, bright enough to cut through the gloom. He didn't say a word. He just stared at the Duke until the man flinched and stepped back, vanishing into the crowd.
Klaus pulled me closer. His arm wasn't just offering support anymore; it was a clamp. He pressed me against his side, his body a solid wall of ice and muscle.
"Do not leave my side," he ordered. His voice was low, audible only to me, but it carried the weight of a command that could level cities.
"I wasn't planning on it," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "They’re looking at me like I'm dinner."
"No," Klaus said, scanning the room, his gaze jumping from face to face, assessing threats. "They are looking at you like you are power. And vampires are addicted to power."
We moved deeper into the room, toward the dais where the Emperor sat.
The Emperor looked bored, slumped on his throne of bone and velvet. He was swirling a glass of thick, dark liquid. When we approached, he didn't look up immediately.
"You are late, Peregrine," he rasped.
"We were delayed," Klaus said smoothly, bowing his head but keeping his eyes on the court. "Wardrobe malfunction."
The Emperor looked up.
His milky, blind eyes fixed on me. He went still.
He sat up slowly, the boredom vanishing. He leaned forward, sniffing the air.
"Sorrow," the Emperor whispered. "And... salt."
He smiled. It was a terrifying expression, stretching his thin, papery skin over his skull.
"Vespera promised me a jester," the Emperor said, his voice carrying to the stunned crowd. "But you brought me a Queen."
"She is the Voice of the Empire, Your Eminence," Klaus said. "She should dress accordingly."
"Indeed." The Emperor gestured with a bony hand. "The dress is... familiar. First Era?"
"Recovered from the vault," Klaus lied seamlessly. "Restored for the occasion."
"Appropriate," the Emperor mused. "Considering what she represents."
He looked at Vespera, who was trying to hide behind a potted fern near the punch bowl.
"Lady Vespera!" the Emperor barked.
Vespera flinched. She stepped out, trembling. "Yes, Your Eminence?"
"Your taste seems to be slipping," the Emperor said coldly. "Perhaps you should take lessons from Lord Falkenstein. He clearly understands the value of presentation."
Vespera turned a shade of grey usually reserved for corpses. "Yes, Your Eminence. Of course."
She looked at me. If looks could flay, my skin would be on the floor.
"Music!" the Emperor commanded, clapping his hands. "Why has the music stopped? Is this a funeral?"
The conductor scrambled to restart the orchestra. The music swelled again—a dark, sweeping waltz that felt heavy with minor chords.
The tension in the room broke, but only slightly. The vampires began to move, to talk, but their eyes kept darting back to us.
"Dance with me," Klaus said.
It wasn't a request.
He turned me toward him. He placed one hand on my waist—firm, possessive, his fingers splaying over the pearls on my bodice. He took my right hand in his left.
"Klaus, I don't know the steps," I hissed, panic flaring. "We don't waltz in the ocean. We swim."
"Follow my lead," he said. "It’s just geometry. And physics."
He stepped in. I stepped back.
He moved with a fluid, terrifying grace. He was strong enough to crush me, but he guided me with a touch so light it felt like a ghost.
We spun.
The dress flared out, the midnight silk swirling around his black boots.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I looked up.
His face was close. Too close. I could see the individual lashes framing his sapphire eyes. I could see the faint, spiderweb cracks of the black veins creeping up his neck, throbbing in time with the music.
"They are watching," he murmured.
"Let them watch," I said, finding a strange courage in the heat of his gaze. "Let them see that the fish has teeth."
"Oh, they see the teeth," Klaus said, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smirk. "But right now, they are mostly looking at the leash."
"The leash?"
"Me," he said.
He spun me again, faster this time. The room blurred into streaks of red and gold. The only thing in focus was him. His eyes. His cold hand on my waist.
"I am the only thing keeping them from tearing you apart," he whispered, his voice dark and rough. "And they hate me for it. They hate that I have the prize."
"Is that all I am?" I asked, breathless from the spin. "A prize?"
He pulled me in, crushing my chest against his. We stopped moving, just for a beat, in the center of the dance floor.
"No," he whispered, his eyes searching mine with a desperation that shook me to my core. "You are the anchor. And I am the ship going down."