She laughs. “Right. Thanks. I’m Elizabeth, by the way. Er, Lady Elizabeth? You probably know that already, but it feels so strange not to introduce myself, so…”
“I’m Nora,” I say, shaking her hand. “Pleasure.”
Claude, in an unusual show of what could be mistaken for shyness, only steps in when we both look at him. “Lord Claude de Vulpe,” he says, with a small, self-mocking bow.
“Oh,” says Lady Elizabeth.
“Oh,” he echoes, rising from his bow with a sardonic ghost of a smile.
I look back and forth between them, not sure what to make of the pause in the conversation. At that point, I realize that the room’s attention is on us, a rather alarming number of heads turned in our direction.
Elizabeth clearly feels the spotlight too. “I…” she starts uncomfortably. “I’m afraid I have to…”
“No need,” Claude says, holding up a hand. “We’ll go. Just wanted to extend my compliments.”
He leads me away while I’m still trying to make sense of what just happened. His mouth is a stiff line, his shoulders tense.
“What was that?” I ask.
He pauses to sink into an unoccupied armchair, tugging me down to share the plush seat with him. A man sitting on the couch next to it abruptly stands and walks away. He heads to the bar, so he could have just been getting himself a drink, but I’m starting to get the sense that there’s more than that going on here.
“As I’ve mentioned, I’m not exactly popular with the Vulpe Court,” Claude says.
My brow furrows. “I didn’t realize that meant they’d treat you like aleper.”
“Perhaps they fear my lack of inspiration is contagious,” he says, leaning his head back against the chair.
But we both know that’s not the truth. “It’s Lord Ambrose, isn’t it?” I ask. “They’re afraid of him.”
Claude shrugs, but he squeezes my shoulder in a way that feels like a warning; it’s not safe to talk openly here. Because of course it isn’t. We’re surrounded by snakes.
“Surely you must have some friends within the court,” I say.
Claude’s smile is strained. “I used to. One by one, they’ve been chased away.” He breaks eye contact. “Or bribed away. One or the other.”
I study him, struck by what a lonely existence it must be, being shunned like this by his own court. Living in that house by the seaside, with no one for company before I came along. Ambrosemadehim come tonight, just so he could be reminded of how alone he really is.
I take Claude’s hand in mine and stand. “Well, there’s no use wallowing about it. Let’s go look at the art some more.”
He stares at me quizzically but lets me urge him to his feet and lead him out of the room.
We walk through the gallery together. People keep looking at Claude, but no one approaches him. Conversations have a habit of quieting as we walk past.
Claude seems resigned to it, but there is a spark of anger in my chest that grows every time I notice the way they’re snubbing him. I don’t let that show, though. Instead I talk loudly about the art, and laugh, and tease Claude. If these assholes want to see him miserable, then I refuse to let it happen.
Every time I coax a smile out of Claude, it feels like a victory. Yet every time that victory fades, and I catch him staring in silence—not at the vampires who are snubbing him, but at the artwork on the walls around us—with an expression like heartbreak.
* * *
On the ride home, Claude stares resolutely out the window. He looks especially broody, still wearing my sunglasses, but I can’t seem to find a good moment to ask for them back. Especially when the silence stretches out like this, bubbling with tension.
“That was awkward,” I finally say.
Claude doesn’t turn, but I catch his grim smile in his reflection on the window. “It was not much fun for me either, I’ll admit.”
“I can see why you don’t like to attend Vulpe events.” I chew my lip, trying to think of how to broach the subject. “I knew you had a strained relationship with Lord Ambrose, but I didn’t think the whole court would be so…”
“Oh, the Vulpe Court despises me,” Claude says, saving me from my fumbling.
