Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

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.

thought you had gone home," she uttered, her voice barely above

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

curiosity flickering in her brown eyes. She wondered if this was how he always managed to stay ahead—choosing

final year," she murmured, unable to hide her quiet admiration or perhaps worried about having to read such a big book

leave the page, but

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

loudly. The sound was deep and reverberated across

didn’t reach the human town where the Belmonts lived. Inside the house, Mr. and Mrs. Belmont stood in the cramped kitchen

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

carefully smoothed a wrinkle from the tablecloth, her tone

people talk, Harold. Caroline’s wedding needed to be respectable. She can’t

debts. It’s always your airs, your little displays." He paused. "We should have paid them first, before

softly, as if the blame might belong to anyone but her. "I only wanted what was best for our

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

almost sweet. She suggested, "We could

shook his head, jaw tight. He muttered, "I don’t want to ask her. I won’t beg

a small silence before Mrs. Belmont let her next thought drop, almost as an

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

replied, "You’re right. People who

battered clock, then the calendar on

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

in a thin, bitter line

familiar creak of carriage wheels grew louder until it finally drew to a stop outside

bright voice,

eyes lit up at the sound. She smoothed the apron around her waist before opening the door. Caroline stepped into the entry, cheeks

her smile blooming, her

"You should see the market—they’ve started selling sugary hawthorns again. Ezekiel bought me two, and I ate them

brushed a stray curl from her daughter’s eyebrow. "You always did have a sweet tooth," she laughed, her

with a bow so smooth it seemed as much

his lips. "I find it simpler to indulge her," and it was true. Every time she whined about not spending

I am his wife after all," Caroline proudly tossed a

kitchen’s threshold, managed a

As Caroline and her mother moved towards the warmth of the kitchen, his gaze travelled through

you cooked?" Caroline asked her mother eagerly, with

small laugh. "After all, we did decide to host a small

around. "Where’s Ruelle? Didn’t

at Sexton still," Mrs. Belmont replied, "She

her brows. "But I thought the

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

the small house and his in-laws busied themselves with

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.

elsewhere. Caroline began to recount the amusements of her new life, her words weaving

eyes, too many whispers. He had learned to keep his glances brief, lest rumour found a foothold and reached the ears

of Ruelle’s presence left him edgier than he meant

have been here. She should

would have chosen him over everything else. Didn’t she know how long he had waited? How much

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

Lucian Slater.

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

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

table in the dining room, steam rising from the

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