“The last living spark in the salons of Paris, eighteen twenty-two… the only woman who could silence an archbishop in Rome… and the reason three dukes in Vienna nearly shot each other at dawn.”

His voice drips amusement, the kind that comes from knowing he’s already in control.

“And still,” he continues, tone almost affectionate, “you stand here as though centuries haven’t bowed at your feet.”

Footsteps echo… Smooth, unhurried, entirely predatory.

He’s pacing.

Not out of nervousness but because Klaus enjoyed the hunt.

“Elijah spoke of you,” he says, the name rolling from his tongue like an irritation and a joke all at once. “He claimed you aided him in his noble, laughably misguided mission to stop the breaking of the curse.”

A soft huff, not quite a laugh, but the shadow of one.

“He also said you were calm. Detached. Completely unfazed by the chaos you stepped into.”

Another pause. It’s one that stretches a little too long on purpose.

Then his voice lowers into a velvet-wrapped malice.

“Of course… he told me all that before I put a dagger in his heart.”

You hear the smile. That sly, cruel, entertained smile… A beat. A breath. Then the inevitable, dark, intimate whisper:

“You know what happens next… don’t you?”