Chapter 26 Dance
The Grand Admiral did not draw his sword.
His hand hovered over the obsidian hilt, the leather of his glove creaking as his fist clenched. The sound was small, but in the sudden, breathless silence of the ballroom, it was a thunderclap.
The thralls near the dungeon doors froze. The prisoners whimpered, huddled together on the polished marble like cattle sensing the bolt gun. The Emperor leaned forward on his throne, his blind eyes narrowing, sensing the sudden spike in aggression.
"Peregrine?" the Emperor rasped, the word sliding out like a snake tasting the air. "Do you object to the menu?"
Klaus didn't look at the throne. He looked at me.
His sapphire eyes were burning with a desperate. He saw the panic rising in my throat. He saw that if the slaughter started now, right in front of me, I would scream. And if I screamed, the glass would shatter, the Emperor would see the threat, and the game would be over.
He released the hilt of his sword.
"The menu is... premature, Your Eminence," Klaus said. His voice was smooth, dark velvet wrapped around steel. He turned to face the dais, shielding me with his body. "The blood is cold. The fear is stale. You want a spectacle?"
He gestured to the musicians who were cowering in the gallery.
"Then let the music build the hunger," Klaus declared. "Let the Siren dance before she sings. Let the court see the prize in motion before we spoil the floor with viscera."
The Emperor tilted his head. He looked from the shivering prisoners to Klaus, and then to me. He licked his thin, dry lips.
"Delayed gratification," the Emperor mused. "A sophisticated taste, Lord Falkenstein."
He waved a bony hand at the guards holding the prisoners.
"Take them back. Wait for my signal."
The guards dragged the sobbing humans back into the shadows. The heavy doors clicked shut.
I let out a breath I felt like I had been holding for an hour. My knees buckled, just for a second.
Klaus caught me.
His arm was a band of iron around my waist. He didn't let me fall. Instead, he pulled me flush against him, so close that the pearls on my bodice scraped against the silver embroidery of his coat.
"Music!" Klaus roared at the gallery. "A waltz. Something heavy. And if you miss a beat, I will feed you to the wolves myself."
The conductor scrambled. A second later, the cello began to weep.
It was a slow, haunting rhythm, deep and resonant. It wasn't a song for celebration; it was a song for a funeral march disguised as a romance.
"I don't know how to waltz," I hissed, my hands gripping the lapels of his coat. My fingers brushed the hard ridge of his collarbone beneath the fabric.
"I told you," Klaus murmured, stepping into me. "It is just geometry. You are the center. I am the orbit."
He took my right hand in his left. His grip was consuming. His other hand splayed wide across the small of my back, fingers digging into the abyss-silk dress.
"Move," he commanded.
He swept me backward.
I stumbled, my feet tangling in the heavy train of my dress.
"Eyes up," Klaus said, his voice rough. "Don't look at your feet. Don't look at the crowd. Look at me."
I snapped my head up.
He was staring down at me with a focus that made the rest of the room blur. The black veins on his neck were pulsing in time with the music, ugly and bruised against his pale skin.
"Step back. Left. Turn."
He guided me. No, he drove me.
He moved with a predatory grace that belied his size. He was heavy, solid, yet he spun us across the marble floor as if we were smoke.
I followed him. My body, trained to fight currents and dodge predators in the deep, found the rhythm.
We spun. The dark silk of my dress flared out, whipping around his boots like black water. The pearls on my chest caught the candlelight, scattering tiny, ghostly stars across his face.
"You stopped them," I whispered, the realization hitting me as we turned. "You stopped the feeding."
"I delayed it," Klaus corrected, his eyes never leaving mine. "I bought you twenty minutes. Maybe thirty."
"Why?"
He pulled me closer, eliminating the space between us. I could feel the cold radiating off him, seeping through the layers of fabric. It was freezing, yet it burned.
"Because," he murmured, his lips brushing my temple as we dipped, "if you watched them die, you would have shattered every window in this palace. And then I would have had to kill you to save the Emperor."
I shuddered. "So this is... strategy?"
"Everything is strategy," he said.
But his hand on my back wasn't strategic. It was possessive. His thumb traced the line of my spine through the silk.
We turned again, faster this time. The room became a smear of gold and crimson. The faces of the court were just pale blurs in the background.
I felt the Anchor bond humming between us. It wasn't a sound; it was a physical sensation, like a hook set deep in my chest, pulling me toward him. It was warm. It was terrifying.
"You're hurting," I whispered, looking at the sweat beading on his brow. The physical exertion of the dance, combined with the proximity of my magic, was taking a toll.
"I am fine," he lied.
"Your heart," I said. "It’s skipping."
"Focus on the steps, Nerissa."
"You're dying," I said, my voice rising in panic. "Klaus, stop. You're going to collapse."
"I will not collapse," he growled. "Not here. Not in front of them."
He spun me again, harder this time. The centrifugal force threw me against him.
"They are waiting for me to fail," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "Look at them."