The moment Lyja placed her hand in Klaus's, the air around them seemed to shift. It was heavier, charged with something neither of them spoke about but both felt. As Marcel stepped back, his smirk masking whatever frustration he was hiding, Klaus guided Lyja onto the dance floor, his grip firm but not forceful.
The music swelled around them, slow and deliberate. It was a melody that carried the weight of something unspoken, something lingering between them like smoke in the air.
"You certainly know how to make an entrance," Klaus murmured, his fingers resting lightly against the small of her back.
Lyja smirked, meeting his gaze as she placed her free hand on his shoulder. "And you certainly know how to play your games."
Klaus chuckled, leading her effortlessly into the rhythm of the waltz. "I assure you, love, this is no game."
Lyja scoffed, tilting her head. "Then what is it?"
Klaus spun her, pulling her back against him with a precise motion, their bodies nearly flush against each other. His voice was low when he answered, almost intimate. "Perhaps I simply enjoy your company."
She searched his face, looking for some hidden motive, some veiled manipulation—but all she found was that sharp, unrelenting intensity that always seemed to settle on her whenever he was near. It made her heart pound in a way she didn't like to analyze.
They moved in perfect synchronicity, as if they had done this before, as if they had danced a thousand times in another life. Lyja hated that it felt so effortless with him. That despite knowing who he was, what he was capable of, she didn't feel afraid.
"What are you thinking?" Klaus asked, tilting his head slightly as if trying to decipher her thoughts.
Lyja hesitated. She could tell him the truth—that she didn't know what to make of him, that she didn't know if she wanted to run from him or see what lay beyond that carefully crafted exterior. Or she could keep the upper hand.
She chose the latter.
"I'm thinking you should be careful," she said smoothly, letting a smirk play on her lips.
Klaus raised an amused brow. "Oh? And why is that?"
Lyja leaned in just slightly, letting her lips hover near his ear. "Because you seem to be getting a little too interested."
Klaus exhaled a soft laugh, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. His smirk was still there, but something darker lurked beneath it. "Oh, love. You give yourself too little credit. You had my interest the moment you walked into this city."
Lyja felt the weight of those words settle in her chest. She wanted to brush them off, to pretend they didn't stir something inside her—but it was impossible. Because when Klaus Mikaelson spoke, he meant every word.
The song ended, and yet Klaus didn't release her right away. His fingers lingered against her back, and for a moment, Lyja felt as if the entire room had disappeared.
Then, a voice broke through the trance.
"Hope I didn't miss my turn," Marcel said, stepping forward with his signature easy smirk, though his eyes were sharp as they locked onto Klaus.
Klaus sighed, finally releasing Lyja, though his expression remained smug. "We wouldn't want to deprive you, now, would we?"
Marcel ignored him, turning his attention to Lyja. "Up for another?"
Lyja exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of both men's attention pressing against her like a vice. This was exactly what she had tried to avoid—but now, she was in the center of it.
And she wasn't sure if she wanted to leave.
"Actually," she said, stepping back slightly, "I think I need a drink first."
Marcel chuckled, nodding. "Fair enough. Come find me when you're ready."
Klaus watched her closely, his smirk still in place as she turned to walk away.
Lyja didn't look back.
Because if she did, she wasn't sure whose eyes she would find first—or what she would do about it.