Claimed by the Prince of Darkness
Chapter 63: At the edge of the room

Chapter 63: At the edge of the room

The little murmur in the dining room flickered out, like the candle flame smothered between fingers. The two Halflings froze, their earlier bravado draining from their faces. Their backs stiffened. Their eyes darting in uncertainty.

"W–We’ll ask one of the servants to clean it up," one of them offered quickly, her voice high and trembling at the edges. "It was only a joke, really..." She glanced at Ruelle with a strained smile. "Right, Ruelle?"

"But I wasn’t." Lucian’s voice didn’t rise. He didn’t need to. Stillness hung on him like a tailored cloak. And yet, his dark red eyes remained narrowed and unblinking. "Wasting food is rude. And wasting my time...is something far less clever."

No one in the dining room dared to move. Their backs bent low over their bowls hoping to stay out of view.

Ruelle felt the tremor of fear ripple through not just the Halflings but also others in the room. The turned vampiresses swallowed, dread pooling in their eyes and their reluctance growing thin with time.

The Halflings sank to their knees, shoulders trembling. The one closest to Lucian pressed her forehead to the cold floor, words quivering,

"Forgive us! Being former humans, we should have been more mindful with food. Next tim—"

"Looks like your ears need to be checked, as you have trouble hearing," Lucian’s words were calm but held a quiet promise of consequence. The Halflings words were caught in terror when they saw him lift a polished silver fork from the table.

If there wasn’t motivation before, there was now as the vampiresses quickly crawled forward with shaking limbs and hands pressed flat against the cold floor. Hesitantly, the talkative vampiress was the first one to brush the sticky floor with her tongue. Each lick was mortifying. Across from her, the other followed suit—her cheeks hollow, as if each lick scraped away what pride she had left.

Ruelle watched them, her heart pounding. She wasn’t sure if it came from the sight before her or the truth of what happened when one crossed an Elite here.

Yet beneath it all was a strange undercurrent of power—Lucian’s presence had shifted the atmosphere, made everyone around small. His gaze remained steady. He showed no satisfaction. He watched the Halflings lick the floor clean until he placed the fork aside.

"I–It has been cleaned..." the second vampiress murmured, eyes cast downward and carried humiliation.

Lucian said nothing for a long moment, letting the silence stretch. Then, as if dismissing a dull matter from his attention, he remarked, "Now that you’ve had your fill, remove yourselves."

The two Halflings didn’t linger. They scrambled to their feet with skirts brushing their heels, eager to escape the dining hall and from the heavy weight of Lucian’s gaze.

When he turned to Ruelle, she instinctively straightened her spine, though the sudden motion sent a quiet ache through her back. Slowly, she met his gaze.

"Get food and come to my table," Lucian said simply, already turning away. "You missed breakfast. I don’t need you adding more pain to yourself."

Without another word, he strode to the Elite’s table and took his seat, his posture reflecting the same authority with which he had spoken.

Ruelle remained where she was for a beat longer. The food? At his table?

Her eyes flicked toward the Elite table. Until now, she had never seen a Groundling, let alone a Halfling, seated there. It was unspoken, but understood—certain places weren’t meant for lowly beings.

And yet he had told her in front of everyone.

Clutching her plate with unsure fingers, Ruelle walked toward the empty table where Lucian sat, a book opened before him, thick with notations that looked strikingly similar to the books he had given her.

"Sit," he instructed her without looking up.

Ruelle didn’t question it and quietly sat across from him. She didn’t recall him carrying a book earlier when he had entered the room. A red porcelain teacup rested by his elbow, the dark liquid within swirling with a faint, metallic aroma—blood tea. The cup sat oddly elegantly against the rough and old surface of the table.

She took a careful bite from her plate, the food heavy and tasteless on her tongue. Every so often, her gaze drifted toward Lucian, who sat across from her, his eyes intent upon the thick book open before him. The academy’s examinations had ended only two days ago, yet here he was, already submerged in study.

She had just managed another mouthful when his voice, low and firm, broke the silence.

"Eat more than that," Lucian said, the words quiet but firm. He didn’t look up right away, yet she felt the weight of his attention settle on her. "You’re not impressing anyone by starving yourself."

Startled, Ruelle’s fork stilled above her plate. Her cheeks warmed under the unspoken scrutiny. She murmured,

"I’m not..."

Lucian’s wine-red eyes lifted from the pages, his gaze meeting hers across the narrow width of the table. There was a certain gravity that pressed against her skin, as if it could peel away every shield she had ever placed. Soon she found herself blurting words just to fill the space between them, not out of discomfort, but to soften the weight of his attention.

"I thought you had gone home," she uttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"A soiree is being held at my place. It will be noisy," Lucian remarked, almost as an afterthought. "It seemed like a good time to stay behind and catch up on this." His fingers tapped lightly against the thick spine of his book, a gesture more telling than the words themselves.

Ruelle studied him for a moment, curiosity flickering in her brown eyes. She wondered if this was how he always managed to stay ahead—choosing study over spectacle, solitude over noise.

"That’s a thick book to study for the final year," she murmured, unable to hide her quiet admiration or perhaps worried about having to read such a big book in the future. "Will I have it too?"

Lucian’s eyes did not leave the page, but his mouth twitched.

"No Groundling ever makes it to the final year," he replied, lifting the red porcelain teacup with a practiced ease, his voice as even as ever. "They’re usually given assignments—placed in jobs—by the end of their second or third year. Besides, this isn’t a book on the syllabus here," and he took a sip of the blood tea.

Somewhere beyond the thick stone walls, the great tower bell began to ring loudly. The sound was deep and reverberated across the campus, echoing into the quietness of the dining hall.

The same bell, as if softened by distance, didn’t reach the human town where the Belmonts lived. Inside the house, Mr. and Mrs. Belmont stood in the cramped kitchen of their small abode.

"—if you hadn’t insisted on those horses and the fancy carriage for the wedding, with endless soirees, we wouldn’t be lacking coins for next week!" Mr. Belmont’s voice cracked as he paced, hands raking through his thinning hair. His agitation filled the kitchen, bouncing off walls worn thin with years of disappointment.

Mrs. Belmont did not meet his eyes. She carefully smoothed a wrinkle from the tablecloth, her tone soft—almost soothing, as if she might smooth away his temper as easily as the linen.

"You know how people talk, Harold. Caroline’s wedding needed to be respectable. She can’t begin her life with Ezekiel in shame, can she?"

Mr. Belmont’s fists curled at his sides. "Now the debt collectors will be here next week, and we’ve nothing left but debts. It’s always your airs, your little displays." He paused. "We should have paid them first, before spending on dresses and cakes and—"

She looked up at him, eyes wide and almost innocent. "We?" she echoed softly, as if the blame might belong to anyone but her. "I only wanted what was best for our Caroline. And I don’t recall the cards and dice at the wedding." She let the implication of his gambling habits hang, her voice gentle but her eyes sharp with knowledge.

Mr. Belmont’s scowl deepened. He turned away, shoulders hunched, the weight of failure sitting heavy on him. He was once a respectable man with wealth and status! He couldn’t believe how the vampires had pushed him to this state and he despised them for it.

Trying to soften the tension, Mrs. Belmont’s voice turned thoughtful, almost sweet. She suggested, "We could always ask Caroline. Perhaps Ezekiel can spare a little—just until things settle."

He shook his head, jaw tight. He muttered, "I don’t want to ask her. I won’t beg from my son-in-law."

There was a pause, a small silence before Mrs. Belmont let her next thought drop, almost as an afterthought, by saying,

"Well, Ruelle is still at Sexton. She must have found some way to manage by now. I’ve heard people there can make a fair bit of money." Her words carried a faint, calculated curiosity. It was just enough to plant the seed.

Mr. Belmont’s lips thinned. He replied, "You’re right. People who attend there do make plenty. Where is she?"

Mrs. Belmont glanced at the battered clock, then the calendar on the wall.

"It is the weekend. She should have been here by now. But it seems like she likes to stay at Sexton more than return home..." the woman’s voice dropped, soft but pointed. "Well, perhaps she prefers their company to ours, after all we have done for her. I suppose there are finer things and finer people to keep her busy at Sexton these days."

Mr. Belmont’s jaw tightened, his mouth set in a thin, bitter line before saying, "Ungrateful girl."

The familiar creak of carriage wheels grew louder until it finally drew to a stop outside the house.

"Mama! Papa!" came Caroline’s bright voice, ringing like bells outside the house.

Mrs. Belmont’s eyes lit up at the sound. She smoothed the apron around her waist before opening the door. Caroline stepped into the entry, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, her deep blue coat revealing her new life. The embrace between mother and daughter was warm.

"It is so good to see you, Caroline!" Mrs. Belmont said, her smile blooming, her arms holding her daughter as if she could press a little luck into her bones.

"You too, Mama!" Caroline beamed while pulling her gloves off her hands. "You should see the market—they’ve started selling sugary hawthorns again. Ezekiel bought me two, and I ate them both before we got here."

Mrs. Belmont’s hand, always gentle with Caroline, brushed a stray curl from her daughter’s eyebrow. "You always did have a sweet tooth," she laughed, her tone half-chiding, half-admiring. "It’s good to see Mr. Henley is spoiling you with treats."

Ezekiel, tall and composed, walked behind Caroline and entered with a bow so smooth it seemed as much habit as respect.

"Caroline is difficult to refuse," he replied, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting his lips. "I find it simpler to indulge her," and it was true. Every time she whined about not spending time with her, all he had to do was bring her something.

"Of course, I am his wife after all," Caroline proudly tossed a smile in Ezekiel’s direction.

Mr. Belmont, watching from the kitchen’s threshold, managed a stiff greeting, "Good afternoon, Mr. Henley. How’s work been?"

"The same as before," Ezekiel replied, his eyes polite but restless. As Caroline and her mother moved towards the warmth of the kitchen, his gaze travelled through the narrow, familiar corridor. As if expecting to catch a glimpse of Ruelle, who had been on his mind.

"What have you cooked?" Caroline asked her mother eagerly, with her eyes skimming the table. "It smells delicious in here."

"Oh, nothing grand! Just this and that," Mrs. Belmont replied with a small laugh. "After all, we did decide to host a small lunch today."

Caroline turned, glancing around. "Where’s Ruelle? Didn’t she come home?"

"She’s at Sexton still," Mrs. Belmont replied, "She must be very busy these days."

"Busy?" Caroline echoed, a small frown knitting her brows. "But I thought the term was over, wasn’t it?"

Ezekiel said nothing, but something in his posture grew rigid. He had foolishly hoped and counted on Ruelle to be here today. He had reminded her, hadn’t he? That she should come home for lunch today. Yet, she wasn’t here.

As Caroline’s laughter filled the small house and his in-laws busied themselves with pleasantries, Ruelle’s absence pressed at him like a bruise.

Mrs. Belmont, catching the drift of her husband’s mood, steered the conversation back to its safe course. "Enough about who isn’t here. Tell me all about your new life, Caroline. You are the woman of the hour. Isnt’t that right, Mr. Henley?"

"Of course," Ezekiel replied, his tone polite, though his thoughts drifted elsewhere. Caroline began to recount the amusements of her new life, her words weaving bright patterns in the dim kitchen, while Ezekiel’s gaze strayed once more to the empty hallway.

At Sexton, Ezekiel was always the polite, friendly and calm instructor. Too many eyes, too many whispers. He had learned to keep his glances brief, lest rumour found a foothold and reached the ears of the court that he was hoping to get a seat in. _{f(r)eew(e)bnovel.(c)o(m)}

Right now, the lack of Ruelle’s presence left him edgier than he meant to be, annoyance festering beneath his skin.

She ought to have been here. She should have obeyed.

If she had truly cared, she would have chosen him over everything else. Didn’t she know how long he had waited? How much he cared about her? The thought twisted in him, raw and hungry, before he forced his expression back into its careful mask.

He had tried to get her out of Sexton or move her back to her previous room, but it hadn’t worked. He had faintly considered removing her current roommate, but the young man belonged to a higher bloodline. Any rash move would have drawn unwanted attention. Besides, he doubted it would be easy to do it.

Lucian Slater.

Ezekiel had never exchanged so much as a word with the pureblooded vampire. Yet he had watched enough to know: Lucian excelled at Sexton, his reputation as sharp as the family name. It was assumed by many that he would inherit the lordship from his father soon enough. The muscle in his jaw ticked.

But if that was the person he had to face in order to have Ruelle, so be it. He would pry her from Lucian’s room, by hook or by crook—even if Ruelle would be burnt a little in the process.

Soon the meal was laid out on the small round table in the dining room, steam rising from the freshly heated food. Mrs. Belmont spoke,

"They still haven’t found June Clifford. To think such ill times have come upon the Cliffords. Her body remains nowhere to be found. Nothing, not even a scrap of her dress."

"Body?" Caroline paused mid-bite, her brows knitting together. "Why are they even looking for a body? Maybe June just ran off somewhere. She must have known she would fail at Sexton. Still, it’s strange... I saw her only two weeks ago."

For just a moment, Ezekiel’s hand hovered motionless above his plate, the pause so brief it passed unnoticed by the others.

"You did?" Mrs. Belmont’s eyebrows arched, interest sharpening in her gaze.

"I forget what she wanted. I think it was about the sweaters. When did she go missing again?"

"Two weeks ago, if I’m not mistaken," Mrs. Belmont replied her lips pursing in the end. She thoughtfully tapped her fingers against the table. "I ought to let Mrs. Clifford know. Perhaps this information will help them."

Ezekiel watched, aware now of how quickly careless words could spread. He hadn’t counted on Caroline’s memory—or her tongue. And his mother-in-law was not a woman who missed details.

"There’s no need to do such a thing," Mr. Belmont interrupted their conversation, his tone flat and final. "Let the Cliffords mind their own troubles. The officials in this town are too quick to point a finger. They’ll have us blamed for June’s disappearance before the day is out. We already have enough on our plate as it is."

While steam rose from the Belmonts’ lunch, in Sexton, Ruelle’s plate was already scraped clean, not a crumb wasted. As she set down her fork, in time she heard Lucian closing the book with a quiet snap.

He rose, his movements fluid and precise, the air around him seeming to draw back in submission. Without a word, he walked out of the dining room. Only when she stepped out did she see him standing there just beyond the threshold, shoulders squared, his gaze fixed at the far end of the corridor.

"The results must be pinned up," Lucian spoke in a low voice. "Are you still in pain?"

She shook her head and replied, "No, it’s much better now." Yet hearing the mention of the results had her stomach in knots.

Lucian’s head inclined in a single unnoticeable nod, his eyes on hers. He then turned, walking a few paces before he paused and glanced back over his shoulder—an invitation.

"You can come along if you like."

Ruelle walked right behind him, her gaze briefly catching on the line of his broad shoulders as he led the way down the corridor.

When they reached the notice board, Lucian drifted a step away, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets with practiced ease. His expression as impassive as always, while Ruelle’s eyes darted over the list for first-year results, fingers trembling as she traced the names. She felt relief flutter through her chest when she noticed that she had passed all her exams except for one.

Her gaze drifted, briefly catching the bold letters of his name at the top of the fourth-year list. Lucian, however, only seemed to scan the news about rogues, as if his results held little meaning for him.

"Satisfied?" he asked, finally looking away from the news and moving closer to where her name appeared. "Ninth position. With how hard you were studying, I expected you to be rather... higher."

I would have... if you didn’t hide my earrings, Ruelle thought dryly.

Back in the Belmonts’ house, Caroline shook her head, toying with her spoon.

"Do you think she ran away with someone? How scandalous would that be...?" she asked with a little laugh. "Ezekiel, you knew June, didn’t you? She studied at Sexton. Was she failing?"

"June Clifford?" Ezekiel echoed, stirring his food without appetite. "Frankly, I never paid her any mind. Not someone I registered."

Caroline smiled, as if this was the only answer she could have wanted. Her husband doting on her alone. But a doubt flickered. "But you saw her that day, didn’t you? When she came by the house?"

Ezekiel looked up.

"Did I? I must have missed her. I was running an errand that afternoon after I dropped you off—remember?" His smile was faint and reassuring, and Caroline, not given to doubt, nodded and let the matter drop as if her husband were right.

He continued, turning his words to Mr. Belmont.

"It is a shame about the missing girl. Even Sexton’s faculty has been searching for her. If there’s any way we can help the Cliffords, I think we should. Don’t you, Father? It would be dreadful if such a thing happened to your daughters."

He let the words hang, the implication trailing in the air.

"I think he is right, Papa," Caroline said, "As pompous as she was, we don’t know if there’s a killer out there," and she reached for Ezekiel’s hand, squeezing it for comfort. Never guessing the chill beneath his touch.

Caroline let go of Ezekiel’s hand and dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Well, I suppose Ruelle is living comfortably now, isn’t she? With June gone, she must have the room to herself."

"She wasn’t sharing the room with June," Ezekiel replied, his tone deceptively mild.

"No?" Caroline blinked, puzzled. "But that’s what she told me the last time we spoke."

"Didn’t she tell you?" Ezekiel asked surprised, letting the words hang for a second before continuing, "Ruelle’s been sharing a room with a man lately. I thought you knew?"