Chapter 37 Liar
The air between us changed. It became thick, charged with the same electric static that preceded a deep-sea storm. My heart, finally slowing down from the ballroom, began to thrum with a different kind of panic. A hunger.
I reached out, my fingers trembling as I touched the torn collar of his shirt. His skin was freezing, but where I touched him, it felt like it was sparking.
"Klaus," I breathed.
He leaned in. He didn't stop this time. He didn't put the mask back on.
His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in the midnight-blue waves of my hair. He pulled me forward, out of the depth of the chair, until I was draped over him, my knees on the floor between his.
His face was so close I could see the individual silver threads in the embroidery of his shirt. I could smell the sharp, clean scent of the winter salve he used, mixed with the dark, heavy musk of his own skin.
He looked at my lips with a desperation that broke my heart. It wasn't just lust. It was a man looking at a miracle he didn't believe he was allowed to touch.
"You're bleeding," I whispered, my thumb brushing the cut on his palm.
"I don't care," he rasped.
He tilted his head, his nose brushing against mine. My eyes fluttered shut. I wanted it. I wanted the cold. I wanted the monster to swallow me whole so I didn't have to be the Sapphire Witch anymore. I just wanted to be his.
His breath ghosted over my mouth, smelling of mint and the amber liquor.
Then, he stopped.
He didn't pull away, but he froze. His fingers tightened in my hair, pulling just enough to be painful. I felt the shudder go through his entire frame.
The sapphire light in his eyes flared, then died, replaced by a cold, clinical darkness.
He let go of my hair. He pushed me back, his hands landing on my shoulders with enough force to pin me against the chair.
"No," he said. His voice was flat. Dead.
"Klaus?" I reached for him, confused and aching.
"Don't," he snapped, standing up abruptly. He backed away from me, his hands out as if to ward me off. "Don't touch me."
"What did I do? I thought—"
"That’s the problem," he hissed, pacing the length of the rug. He looked like he wanted to claw his own skin off. "You thought. I thought. We are both being fools."
He stopped and turned to me, his face a mask of the General once more.
"Look at yourself, Nerissa," he said, gesturing to my ruined dress, the pearls, the blood. "You just broke a Duchess with a single word. You commanded a beast that hasn't known a master in a century. You are the 'Voice of the Empire.' You are a weapon of mass destruction."
"I’m just a girl who wanted to go home!" I shouted, the tears finally breaking through.
"You aren't!" he roared back. The windows rattled in their frames. "You are the siren who is going to drown us all. And I am the man who has to make sure you do it for the right side."
He walked back to the sideboard, his back to me, his shoulders hunched.
"You are dangerous," he whispered, and this time, the words weren't a compliment. They were a confession of fear. "Not just to the court. To me. Every time I touch you, the Anchor pulls harder. Every time I let myself feel... this... I lose another year of my life to the rot."
I stared at his back. I saw the way his hand was shaking as he gripped the edge of the wood.
"Is that all I am to you?" I asked, my voice trembling. "A drain? A biological hazard?"
He didn't answer for a long time. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire and the distant, haunting sound of the wind whistling through the high arrow loops of the tower.
"You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he said, so softly I almost missed it. "And that is why I have to keep you at a distance. Because if I let you in, Nerissa... I won't have the strength to kill you when the Emperor orders it."
The silence that followed was a physical blow.
He turned around. The mask was perfect now. The sapphire eyes were twin stones of ice.
"Finish your drink," he said, his voice the same flat tone he used with the guards. "I’ve arranged for a new maid to arrive in the morning. A mute. She won't talk, and she won't try to kill you."
He walked toward the door.
"Klaus," I called out.
He stopped, his hand on the heavy iron latch. He didn't look back.
"Your hand," I said. "It's still bleeding."
He looked down at his palm, then back at the door.
"It's fine," he said. "I'm used to the taste of my own blood."
He stepped out and locked the door behind him.
I sat alone in the velvet chair, the amber liquid cold in my glass. I looked at the three red tracks on my arm. I looked at the pearls on my chest, now stained a permanent, ugly pink.
I had won the night. I had broken Vespera. I had gained the world's most terrifying title.
But as I sat in the dying firelight, I realized I had never been more of a prisoner.
I reached up and touched my lips, where his breath had lingered.
"You're a liar, Klaus Falkenstein," I whispered to the empty room.