Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Chapter 47: Perfume, Pretence, and Peril

When the sun had set, Ruelle and her friends found themselves in the west wing’s room—where the past lingered. Furniture, trunks, and dust filled the space, the air heavy with the scent of time and neglect. Every creak of the floor seemed deafening in the otherwise stifling silence.

Ruelle’s fingers trailed over faded wood as she opened a trunk, pulling out the curtains first, beneath it was a deep blue fabric. It was an Elite’s robe. She wondered if it belonged to a past student.

"I can’t believe we are doing this," Kevin whispered, glancing nervously towards the door. Because this storage contained Elite’s things, and a human had no business here. "How do we know the person who gave you that potion isn’t setting you up to be someone’s midnight snack?" His voice was low, but the worry in his tone was evident.

Ruelle placed the Elite robe at the side and asked, "How long does this vampire perfume stay?"

"Three hours," Hailey replied, her arms elbow-deep in another trunk before standing straight. "I have never been to one of these things. I’ve heard about the gowns, the lights, and the music. I just wanted to see it once." After a pause, she asked, "Do you think this is a mistake? Maybe we shouldn’t..."

Ruelle saw the longing in Hailey’s expression, a yearning that mirrored her own. Despite the danger, the allure of stepping into the forbidden world tugged at her, too.

"We came here for clothes," Ruelle said gently. "And I’m sure Kevin’s curiosity isn’t letting him leave. I think at this point it is safe to say that somewhere we all want to go."

"Curiosity isn’t always a good thing," Kevin muttered. But then, with a resigned sigh, he held up a set of masks he had found in one of the trunks. "But it looks like we are all in."

Curiosity was the key that opened forbidden doors, but once inside, it was often hard to step out of it.

Ruelle’s gaze drifted to a rack tucked in the corner, barely visible under layers of dust and forgotten garments. As she sifted through the hangers, her fingers brushed against a black dress with delicate lace sleeves. She carefully lifted it from the rack and asked,

"What about this one?"

Hailey exclaimed, "That’s gorgeous! You have to try it."

But Ruelle shook her head, noticing the way Hailey stared at the dress, almost mesmerized. "Why don’t you try it, Hailey?"

"Me?" Hailey blinked, startled. "But it’s perfect for you."

"And it’ll look lovelier on you," Ruelle said firmly, pressing the dress into her friend’s hands.

While they continued to search, Kevin had managed to find a pair of black trousers and a faded shirt. But when he wore it, the shirt tore with a sharp rip. "These clothes are barely holding together," he glanced at the torn fabric, his irritation barely hidden.

Ruelle passed him the robe she had earlier found and said, "This should cover any possible tear. Nothing that can’t be mended."

"Thanks," Kevin took the robe, draping it over his shoulders and straightening the collar. He glanced at his reflection in the dusty, cracked mirror leaning against the wall. He remarked, "Clothes really do make the man. I would make a better vampire than the usual vampires."

Ruelle couldn’t help but smile faintly at his attempt to lighten the mood. But before she could respond, a faint creak echoed from the hallway. She froze, her heart stuttering. The sound was distant—but it sent a chill skittering down her spine.

A faint scrape followed, the sound of a shoe brushing against the floor, closer this time.

"Did you hear that?" Hailey whispered, clutching the dress to her chest.

Ruelle nodded, her breath shallow. The group fell silent, the tension thick as the door handle rattled, the noise loud against the stillness. Then, slowly, it creaked open, and they hid behind the furniture.

Two figures stepped inside, their silhouettes sharp against the dim light of the corridor. The group held their ground as the figures moved closer.

For a brief moment, Ruelle and the others felt as if the two people were Elites. But then came the soft glow that belonged to the lanterns. She glanced sideways at Kevin and Hailey, both crouched low behind a stack of chairs.

The voices grew louder, their words more distinct as the two figures moved deeper into the room, their footsteps careful.

"Is it okay to come here?" one voice hissed, low and harsh. It belonged to a young male, who was a human.

"Relax," the other young man replied with irritation. "No one’s going to catch us. They’re too busy prepping for the soiree. And you heard what the seniors said—it’s the event of the season. We’d be idiots not to go there. Besides, you don’t want to live your whole life on the sidelines, do you?"

breath hitch. A soiree. They were planning to sneak in,

was the one

from where she was. She gestured him silently towards the door and they

are worthy of it. I don’t want to live like a

hallway. Once they were far enough from the storage room, Kevin

"Let’s just get back to

his room. Ruelle and Hailey made their way through

it at the last second," Hailey said with a grin. "Good night, Ruelle!" she whispered, before running

Ruelle closed the door behind her, the faint echo of her footsteps vanishing into the heavy quiet. Her breath came slow and measured as she moved to the couch, her hands tightening around the bundle of fabric

couch. She peeled back the outer layer of cloth. The candlelight wavered, revealing the midnight blue dress. The sleeves were transparent enough to seem almost unreal,

Caroline’s hand-me-downs—somehow always fitting her thin frame. The years of neglect had left her wiry and frail, and she’d never

faint sound startled

she pushed it into a corner of her trunk. Just as she straightened, the door swung open with a low

striking features framed by the dim light spilling from the corridor behind him. Next to him was Sawyer, his easygoing demeanour

his coat with practiced ease. "You are free to go and indulge in whatever pleases you." Tossing the coat over the back of a chair, he continued, "I just fail to see the

out an exasperated groan as he followed him inside, running a hand through

in this dull place." He flopped onto one of the chairs, throwing Lucian a look. "And let’s

He remarked, "If their lives hinge on my attendance, then they must

noticed Ruelle, his expression brightening instantly. "Hey, Ruelle!

guard. She hadn’t expected anyone to notice her absence, least of all Sawyer. "I... I was with my friends," she said quickly,

His voice trailed off as an idea seemed to dawn on him. "Wait—why don’t you join us tomorrow night at the soiree? It will

speak, Lucian’s gaze snapped to Sawyer. The shift in his

in autumn. "Don’t be absurd, Sawyer. A human like her doesn’t belong at an event like that. She would be better off

Ruelle’s chest tightened, the sting of his dismissal sinking deep. She forced herself to smile, polite and unflinching. "Thank you for the invitation," she

harshness but quickly recovered, his easy charm

back to

"Alright, alright. I’ll leave you to brood in peace." Rising to his feet, he turned to Ruelle with a warm smile.

was now undoing the buttons of his shirt. She quickly averted her eyes, her hands twisting nervously

it call to her so strongly? And why, despite his words, did Lucian’s earlier glare feel less like an insult and more like a barrier he was determined to keep unbroken

to get distracted," Lucian said suddenly, his voice impersonal but carrying an undertone of sharp finality. "The last thing I need is to be saddled with a

practical, almost dismissive, but they carried an undercurrent she couldn’t quite place. Not warmth—never that—but something that felt less like

After a pause she asked, "May I ask for your assistance in

towards her. He leaned back slightly and asked, "Have the instructors of Sexton already failed

"It’s not that... They’re very competent. I just... There’s an equation

hand with a deliberate slowness that made her hesitate,

would reflect poorly on me if my roommate

from her desk. She handed it to him, her fingers brushing his briefly in the process. The fleeting contact sent a jolt of something unidentifiable

with a precision that felt almost surgical. "This

cheeks heated. "I was

interrupted, his voice brisk but not unkind. "The issue isn’t with the equation. It’s with how you’re seeing it. Look here." He gestured with a graceful flick of his fingers to a cluster of symbols on the page. "You’re treating these as if they’re independent variables. They’re not. The purrpaw stabilises the wilter’s reaction,

eyes following his

cone root," Lucian finished seamlessly. He picked up a quill and made several precise adjustments to the parchment, the movements fluid and confident. "Potion-making isn’t brute work. It’s the art of balance and intention. If you

he worked, the mess of her own attempts dissolving under the elegance of his corrections. Lucian spoke as if the principles of alchemy

said finally, handing the parchment back to her. His crimson eyes met hers briefly, holding her gaze just long enough to make her pulse

her awe. She said, "Thank

cool and dispassionate. "It’s not difficult when

so... good at

deeper you go, you realise potion-making isn’t just formulas and proportions. It’s the understanding that every ingredient you choose can carry consequences—some you don’t come

didn’t dare voice. Instead, she straightened, clutching the corrected parchment close to her