The room is silent, so I know he’ll hear when I whisper his name, a single word containing all of my sympathy and all of my pleading and all of my love.
Claude shuts his eyes. Then, with a shout, he tears Ambrose’s head off.
As Claude releases him, Ambrose’s head thunks against the tile. His eyes stare at nothing.
I stand frozen, mouth hanging open, shocked at both the sudden violence and that this is real.
It’s over. Ambrose is gone. And Claude…
Claude tries to rise once and falls back onto one knee, his hand clutching at his chest. I strain to break free from the cage of Benjamin’s arm, terrified that there is some wound there I cannot see, but Benjamin murmurs reassurance into my ear, and after a moment to gather himself, Claude manages to stand. He turns to the crowd, searching until he finds my tear-streaked face. Then, absurdly, he bows. And, just as absurdly, there is a scattering of applause from the watching vampires.
Benjamin and Sebastian don’t join in. Neither do I. I’m too busy sobbing in relief, held up only by Benjamin’s grip.
“Victory to Lord Claude de Vulpe,” calls the observing vampire, which feels unnecessary. But then nothing else matters, because Benjamin releases me and I run across the room to throw myself into Claude’s arms.
He stumbles back a step before hugging me back, and I loosen my grip, reminding myself that he’s wounded.
“You’re hurt,” I say, frantic. “Should I…?”
“I’m fine.” He pulls me closer, and I can feel him trembling, from exhaustion or adrenaline or both. “Don’t you dare let go.”
I swallow hard and clutch him closer, glad for the excuse to cling to him. “What happens now?”
Claude smiles at me, and then turns to slowly survey the Vulpe Court. My stomach twists as I realize that they’re all staring at us. We’re surrounded by a sea of still faces. It’s difficult to read their expressions; most of them seem shocked by what’s just occurred. That includes the man who was acting as witness to the duel. He seems to have dropped Ambrose’s coat at some point; it lies in a velvet heap at his feet.
He clears his throat as Claude’s gaze falls on him, and steps forward. “Congratulations on your victory, Lord Claude,” he says. “It was… well-fought.”
“Why, thank you.” Claude’s smile is sharp, his eyes narrowed.
“As for the matter of your valentine interfering…”
The man—Henry—turns his sharp gaze on me. My stomach drops. Claude’s grip on my shoulders tightens.
“What interference?” Claude asks icily when I find myself unable to respond.
“We all heard her yell for you,” Henry says. “She clearly snapped you out of Lord Ambrose’s command—”
Claude releases me to take a step closer to the other vampire. “If you doubt my ability to win a duel without so-called interference, you are welcome to challenge me yourself.”
Henry stares at him. Claude stares back.
Only the former flinches when there’s movement nearby. A vampire steps away from the crowd, watching the conversation. It takes me a moment to place her as the painter whose exhibit we visited.
Claude casts her a wary look, shifting his stance as if to hide me behind him. His shoulders brace like he’s preparing to face the whole of the Vulpe Court. And maybe he is, I realize with a burst of terror. How many of them were in Ambrose’s palm? I vividly recall how Elizabeth was reluctant to even speak to Claude at her exhibition.
But the painter—Elizabeth—lifts her chin and fixes her glare on Henry. “Lord Ambrose is gone,” she says. “And there is no one left to enforce his threats. I think you’ll find that many of us are not eager to be pressed down under someone’s heel again, Lord Henry.”
The rest of the room is silent. But when I glance around again, I’m shocked to see that a number of other vampires have stepped forward from the crowd, standing in a small half circle behind Elizabeth, and Claude, and myself, in silent support.
Claude turns to look, too. The shock is plain on his face, and then his features crumple in relief. I reach forward to squeeze his shoulder, silently conveying the same thing these other Vulpe members are saying:You’re not alone anymore.
“I suppose,” Henry says, “your valentine’s actions do not, strictly speaking, go against the letter of the law. And—” He clears his throat. “It’s rather a moot point. I’m willing to overlook it.”
“Howgenerous,” Claude says, the word ending in a hiss around his extended fangs. “And while I am here… I would like to bring up a change to my valentine contract. The removal of a certain clause.”
Henry smiles wanly. I’m certain he would be sweating, if vampires could sweat. “Ah, yes, we can certainly begin discussing it, but I’m afraid it won’t be possible on such short notice, or without Miss Nora’s representative…”
“Lord Benjamin?” I call, and he peels away from the crowd to come to our side. I blink innocently at Henry, smiling. “I believe this gentleman had a question for you.”
