the balcony air in new orleans was thick with the scent of jasmine and the distant, brassy hum of the quarter, but up here, shadowed by the stone arches of the mikaelson mansion, the world felt dangerously small. marcel had only been gone a few seconds, his offer of a crown still hanging in the humid air like a threat, when the floorboards creaked behind you.

klaus didn't move like a man; he moved like a predator who had forgotten how to be anything else. he stepped out of the darkness, the moonlight catching the sharp line of his jaw and the dark curls that fell over his brow. his blue-green eyes were fixed on you with a terrifying intensity, tracking the way your breath hitched beneath the silk of your gown.

"he offers you a crown of plastic and beads," klaus said, his voice a low, melodic gravel that vibrated in your chest. "i offer you a legacy. he loves the idea of you because it hurts me. i want you because you’re the only thing in this godforsaken swamp that feels real."

you gripped the stone railing, your knuckles white. the weight of being hayley’s sister, a werewolf in a house of vampires, usually made you feel like an outsider, but under klaus's gaze, you felt like the center of a very violent sun.

"you're just territorial, klaus," you whispered, refusing to look away even as he stepped into your personal space. "marcel offers me a life. you just want to make sure no one else touches what you think belongs to you."

klaus let out a soft, huffed laugh, a sound devoid of warmth but full of a dark, magnetic charm. he reached out, his hand hovering just inches from your waist, the heat radiating from his palm soaking through your dress. he didn't touch you, not yet, but the unspoken tension was a physical weight between you.

"marcel wants a queen to sit beside him while he plays at being king," klaus murmured, leaning down until his british accent brushed against your ear, sending a traitorous shiver down your spine. "i want the woman who looks at me and sees exactly what i am, and stays anyway."