The fire had burned low, casting gold over every carved line of the room—just like it had done for centuries of marriage between them. Voices had risen and fallen like storm tides, sharp words exchanged until frustration finally broke her restraint. Now she stood before him, breath hitching, eyes glistening with equal parts fury and heartache, and struck out: small, furious fists landing hard against his chest. To Klaus, they felt no heavier than soft taps, harmless against immortal skin, yet he didn’t move to stop her. He stood tall and unflinching, every muscle still, his gaze dark and burning, fixed only on her.

Her blows slowed, turning ragged and tired until at last she slumped against him, sobbing quietly into his shirt. Instantly his arms came around her—tight, possessive, unyielding—pulling her flush against his heart as if he meant to merge their souls into one. One hand tangled gently in her hair, the other splayed warm and firm along her spine.

shh.