Eighth Moon

Chapter 47

She followed Claude up the rickety steps to the second level terrace: a platform of aged wood looking out over the rest of the headquarters, the broad windows at either side of it decorated with a fine film of dust. He led her to one such window, where a reinforced support beam artfully hid them from any prying eyes and the wintry sun rained slivers of pale gold upon them both.

Elaine was trying not to look at him, as she was afraid of whatever she may find in the look on his face, but it was too hard not to. He stood there, a sculpture, a man, every piece of him carved with care. She wanted to trace each tiny scar on his cheek, to let his soft, soft hair slip between her fingers.

He walked in a slow circle, eyes on the floor, his hand perched to his chin. Then at last he looked at her, and she saw him—Claude, truly—not the quiet, reserved alteration that had greeted her at the door.

"Lainey," Claude said, and crossed the floor towards her one step at a time, until her back met the sun-warmed window. He tipped her chin up with his knuckle and she let him, her head falling back.

"I should punch you. I should absolutely kick your teeth in, you lousy prince," Elaine exhaled. They weren't the words she had imagined she'd say to him when she saw him again, but that didn't make them false. "Why would you do that? Offer yourself up like that, after everything you've told me? After begging me to stick around?"

He swallowed, swiped a thumb across her bottom lip. "This is different."

Elaine shivered. "Different how?"

"How else was I to make you understand except to say it in your own language?" he said, and though his voice was gentle his eyes were fire, even more so as they fell like a final sigh to Elaine's lips.

Her eyelids fluttered, waiting for him to just give in, but he pushed out a ragged sigh and backed away from her, arcing his fingers through his hair.

"Claude?"

"I'm sorry. This just isn't—it's not fair to you."

"Why?" she demanded. "What isn't fair? You said you wanted to talk to me and yet you haven't said one coherent thing this entire time—"

"I must marry Roslin's Crown Princess," he said, "but doing so would be ignoring the fact that I'm in love with you, Elaine."

Elaine stared at him. She could do nothing else.

"It's unfair, I know. To tell you such a thing when it will hurt you the most. That's why I didn't want to," Claude explained. He sunk his face into his hand, and Elaine realized then that he had never looked so tired, not even after every transformation. This was true defeat. "This is why they've kept me alive despite knowing I survived the assassination for who knows how long. The Roslinites want me to marry into their royal family, whose status by default outranks mine, so Overvelde will no longer have a reason to fight."

"Claude," Elaine said, and her own voice sounded choked, far away. To make the Vandemark name one with Roslin—it would erase Overvelde's pride, Overvelde's autonomy. "We'd lose everything. You can't do that. Why would you do that?"

"I don't have a choice!" he cried, tearing his hand from his face. "I have to give them my answer by tomorrow. If I refuse, they'll not only kill you and everyone in the Garde, but they'll kill civilians too. They already have explosives planted in cities all across the nation. Kristianstadt. Ararin. Everywhere."

Elaine's first instinct was to scoff at that. "That's a bluff to manipulate you, Claude. Overveldian civilians are their workforce. They wouldn't kill them so recklessly."

"They can kill just enough to make a statement. To stir up fear, and mistrust in both me and the Veldegarde," Claude said. "Besides, Elaine. We have no proof that it's a bluff, and they know that. They know I won't take that risk."