Klaus Mikaelson Book Novels & Stories

I hushed, refusing to look away from the marble floor. Quietly, I adjusted Mikael’s arm over my shoulders again. Eventually, the silence was broken by the groan of his chamber doors. A wave of herbs rushed into our nostrils, and Mikael grunted, clearly disgusted. “You know,” he said as he settled onto the bed, “I do hate Malakai.” I moved toward his walk-in wardrobe, grabbing incense sticks. “Who doesn’t?” I replied while lighting them. Smoke curled upward, veiling Mikael’s faint grin.