The warm evening air of the French Quarter buzzed with energy, but Lyja barely noticed. She walked alongside Marcel, their steps slow and deliberate as they moved through the quieter streets, away from the usual chaos. He had asked her to take a walk with him—just the two of them. And despite knowing better, she had agreed.
"You look like you've got a lot on your mind," Marcel said, his voice smooth, breaking the silence between them.
Lyja huffed a small laugh. "Is it that obvious?"
Marcel smirked. "Only to someone who knows how to read people."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It's just… everything. The witches, the battle that's coming. The fact that I have no idea where I stand in all of this."
Marcel glanced at her, his expression turning more serious. "You stand with me, Lyja. You know that, right?"
She stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "Do I? Because lately, it feels like I'm being pulled in two different directions."
Marcel exhaled, stepping closer. "I won't lie to you, Lyja. Klaus is dangerous. You know that. He's not someone you trust—he's someone you survive."
Lyja swallowed hard, her chest tightening. "And what if I don't want to just survive?"
Marcel's jaw tensed, and for the first time, she saw something raw in his eyes. "Then let me be the one to show you something better."
Her breath caught in her throat. Marcel wasn't just trying to convince her of strategy anymore—this was personal.
Before she could say anything, the familiar hum of a presence made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She turned slightly and, sure enough, Klaus was leaning casually against a nearby lamppost, watching them with that infuriatingly unreadable smirk.
"Well, isn't this cozy," Klaus drawled, stepping forward.
Marcel sighed, shaking his head. "You really don't know how to mind your own business, do you?"
Klaus chuckled, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. "Oh, but when my business is currently being persuaded by a man who thrives on fragile alliances, I do find myself invested."
Lyja groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "For once in your lives, can you two not turn everything into a competition?"
Klaus raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Ah, but love, you are the prize worth fighting for, aren't you?"
Marcel rolled his eyes. "See? This is exactly what I was talking about."
Klaus ignored him, his sharp blue eyes locking onto Lyja. "Tell me, Lyja. What exactly has Marcel promised you? A city untouched by war? A peaceful rule? A choice in all of this?" He scoffed. "Because we both know how well that worked for him before."
Marcel's expression darkened. "You don't know what's best for her."
"And you do?" Klaus countered, tilting his head. "Tell me, Marcel, what exactly do you have to offer her that I don't?"
Marcel clenched his fists, but Lyja had had enough. "Enough!" she snapped, stepping between them. "This is exactly why I feel like I don't know where I stand. Because you both keep acting like this is about you."
They both went silent.
Lyja exhaled sharply, running a hand down her face. "This isn't about who wins, or who's stronger, or who has the better plan. This is about saving the city. And I don't have time for your egos."
Marcel looked away, clearly frustrated but holding back. Klaus, however, looked amused, as if her outburst had only made him more interested.
She turned to walk away, but Klaus spoke again, his voice softer this time. "I do not wish to push you into anything, Lyja. I merely want you to see things for what they are."
She hesitated but didn't turn around. "And what exactly am I supposed to see?"
Klaus stepped closer, his voice dropping just for her. "That no matter which side you stand on… you will always belong with me."
A shiver ran down her spine, but before she could react, he was gone—disappearing into the shadows like he had never been there at all.
She let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
Marcel sighed beside her. "He's never going to stop."
She shook her head, feeling more exhausted than ever. "Neither are you."
Marcel gave her a small smile, but there was something sad behind it. "Because you're worth it."
Lyja didn't respond. She didn't know how to respond.
The war was coming, and she had a choice to make.
But she wasn't ready to make it yet.
Lyja sat on the rooftop of her apartment, her legs dangling over the edge as she stared at the flickering lights of the French Quarter below. The city was alive, as it always was, but beneath the hum of jazz and laughter, she could feel the tension building. The witches were coming. The war was inevitable. And yet, all she could think about was the way Klaus and Marcel had looked at her earlier.
Pulled in two different directions.
She exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple. You will always belong with me. Klaus's words from earlier replayed in her mind, mingling with Marcel's softer confession—Because you're worth it.
Damn them both.
A familiar hum of magic tingled against her skin before she heard soft footsteps behind her. "You know, sitting on rooftops doesn't solve problems," Davina said, stepping up beside her.
Lyja snorted. "No, but it keeps me from punching anyone, so I'd call that a win."
Davina smirked, but her eyes held something deeper—concern. "You're struggling."
Lyja sighed, running a hand through her hair. "That obvious?"
Davina sat down beside her, pulling her knees to her chest. "You're caught between two powerful men who both want you on their side—and not just for this fight." She hesitated. "I don't want you to get lost in them, Lyja."
Lyja let out a humorless laugh. "Lost? I barely know where I stand anymore."
Davina reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Then take a step back. Don't let them be the ones making the decisions for you."
Lyja swallowed hard. "The thing is… I care about them both, Dav. And I don't want to choose."
Davina sighed, looking up at the sky. "You might not have to. But you will have to decide where you stand before this war starts. Because if you don't…" She trailed off, her grip tightening.
"I could lose everything," Lyja finished for her.
Davina nodded.
The weight of those words settled between them.
A Midnight Visitor
Hours passed, and Davina eventually left, leaving Lyja alone with her thoughts.
She had almost convinced herself to go inside and sleep when a familiar voice drifted through the night air.
"You have an unfortunate habit of making yourself unreachable."
Lyja turned her head to see Klaus standing near the rooftop access, hands in his pockets, watching her with that damnable smirk.
She exhaled, not in the mood for another cryptic conversation. "You have an unfortunate habit of showing up when I least expect it."
Klaus chuckled, stepping closer, the dim moonlight casting sharp shadows on his face. "And yet, you never turn me away."
Lyja rolled her eyes. "Did you come here just to gloat?"
Klaus tilted his head. "No, love. I came to see where you stand."
Lyja clenched her jaw. "I don't know yet, Klaus."
He studied her, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something dangerous and genuine all at once. "I told you before, I do not wish to force you into anything. But you must see by now… this war isn't just about power. It's about survival."
"I know that," Lyja said, standing up. "But survival at what cost? Do you ever stop to think about what happens when the dust settles?"
Klaus smirked. "The dust never settles, love."
She sighed, rubbing her temple. "You and Marcel… you both think you know what's best for me. But neither of you have stopped to ask what I want."
Klaus took another step forward, his voice quieter now. "Then tell me."
Lyja hesitated.
She wanted safety, certainty. She wanted to know that at the end of all of this, she wouldn't just be another casualty in their war for New Orleans. But most of all…
She wanted to matter.
She looked up at Klaus, and for the first time, she didn't see just the ruthless hybrid. She saw the man beneath it all. The one who did care, even when he tried not to.
"I want to fight," she finally said, her voice steady. "But on my own terms."
Klaus's lips curled into a slow smirk, as if he had expected nothing less. "Then you shall."
Before she could respond, he took a step closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "But know this, Lyja… when this is over, I will still be here. And I will still want you by my side."
Her heart pounded, but before she could react, he was gone.
Again.
Damn him.
The Other Side of the Coin
Lyja had barely gotten into her apartment when she heard a knock at her door.
Her heart sank. Not again.
She pulled it open to find Marcel standing there, looking just as conflicted as she felt.
"We need to talk," he said.
She sighed, stepping aside to let him in. "Of course we do."
Marcel turned to face her, his jaw tight. "I know Klaus came to see you."
Lyja raised an eyebrow. "Do you two have me under surveillance or something?"
Marcel ignored the jab. "I need to know where you stand, Lyja."
Her patience was wearing thin. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"
"Because this city is about to go to war," Marcel said, stepping closer, his voice low and urgent. "And I need to know if you're standing with me or with him."
Lyja swallowed hard.
She was so tired of feeling like a prize to be won. But the truth was, she cared for both of them—maybe in different ways, maybe in ways she didn't want to admit.
She took a deep breath. "I don't belong to either of you."
Marcel searched her face, and for once, there was no cocky smirk, no playful banter. Just something real.
"Maybe not," he said softly. "But I still need you."
She inhaled sharply, but before she could respond, he took her hand, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. It was a simple gesture, but one that sent her already racing mind into overdrive.
"I'm going to fight for this city," he continued. "And I want you with me."
Lyja's head was spinning.
You will always belong with me.
I still need you.
She yanked her hand away, stepping back. "I can't do this right now, Marcel."
He nodded, but she saw the flicker of disappointment in his eyes. "I get it."
He turned toward the door, but before leaving, he hesitated. "When the time comes, Lyja… I hope you'll know where you belong."
And then he was gone.
Lyja exhaled, pressing her back against the door as she slid to the floor.
Two kings.
Two paths.
And only one choice.
And time was running out.