Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Chapter 69: A Clasp Beneath the Toast

The hour sat between daylight and lamplight.

As it was Friday, the courtyard thrummed with departure: trunks clattering over cobblestones, horses snorting, and Sexton's iron gates wide open that led to the road outside. A neat row of Elite carriages stood at the front, with their side lamps already lit despite the daylight. By the gate, the Groundlings' coaches filled fast and were waved off unlit—no time and no oil to waste.

Ruelle stepped out with her trunk, dragging it. Kevin and Hailey had already caught the earlier coach, while she had lingered a few minutes too long for her wet dress to dry. She set her trunk at the end of the line and waited.

"Ms. Belmont," came Ezekiel's voice from behind. He stepped forward, his satchel strap resting over his shoulder. "Are you heading home?"

"Yes, Mr. Henley," Ruelle answered softly.

"Good," he replied. His gaze lowered to her unsteady hand. He reached for the handle, his hand brushing her fingers—and withdrew a second late as if it was an accident. "May I? Your trunk looks heavier than it should."

"It's manageable," she reluctantly said, drawing her hand back. A dull pain pulsed beneath her sleeve where no eye could see.

"Then allow me to see you to your home," Ezekiel offered. Ruelle couldn't help but think how kind her brother-in-law was, wanting to help her.

Though Ezekiel's words were low-pitched, another pair of ears caught them. A warm voice with a hint of mischief spoke from behind.

"Careful, Mr. Henley. The onlookers of the courtyard write romances out of boredom—especially when an instructor does it for the first time."

Ruelle looked back and found Dane standing a few steps away. His coat was buttoned, and he held his gloves in one hand. The wind teased his pale hair without ruffling his composure. He wore a smile as he walked towards them.

She offered him a small bow. Dane stopped before them and continued,

"Best not to feed them fresh ink. Isn't your house in the east, Mr. Henley? Ms. Belmont's is west in Brackenwell. A gentleman walking a young woman without a chaperone, especially—trunk in tow—reads as singular interest even to the dullest eyes."

Ezekiel's smile thinned.

And though Ruelle knew Ezekiel was married to her sister, the others weren't aware of it. She glanced toward the coaches and the faces looking their way. Gossip ran faster than horses. Dane was right. She had no wish to hand the courtyard another story—least of all at Mr. Henley's expense.

"It's nothing, actually," Ezekiel said. "Ms. Belmont seems to have trouble with her luggage—"

"Then we are twice in luck." Dane's eyebrows rose. "Fortunate timing: I'm bound toward the Brackenwell road on an errand and have an empty seat. With a driver to chaperone."

"That is kind of you, Mr. S," Ruelle murmured. "But I'll wait for the coach."

"Isn't that going to take time?" As Dane spoke, her gaze slid to the packed line. "Not to mention, I need a witness in case my coachman falls asleep. Come along. The students here will vouch that they have arrived home safe in my carriage."

Feeling his insistence, Ruelle hesitated. "I would rather not trouble you. Even if I did, I shouldn't go without offering something."

"You can give me what you'd pay in a regular coach—" a small grin appeared on the pureblooded vampire's lips, "—and if that still offends your conscience, double it."

She finally gave him a nod. "Thank you."

Dane gestured to his coachman, who stepped forward and took her trunk as if it weighed nothing. She then turned to Ezekiel and offered a quick bow before leaving.

She climbed inside the carriage and took the far corner of the plush seat. The air inside held a clean, faint sweetness—beeswax and linen. Dane followed, tapping the front window to signal the coachman.

While at the edge of the courtyard, Ezekiel's hand tightened on the satchel strap as the carriage slipped through Sexton's gates.

Back in the carriage, Ruelle's eyes had drifted to the window. Outside, the path was bordered with trees turned soft rose-red. Branches leaned in until they touched above the road, turning it into a tunnel of colour. Autumn was beautiful, she thought.

"Your family must sleep easier on weekends when you are under their roof," Dane said. "Humans breathe better when their daughters aren't under ours."

A faint smile appeared on Ruelle's lips as she answered, "Yes."

He settled his cheek against his gloved knuckle, studying her with that effortless, catlike calm. He started,

"You know, Mikhael is considering cancelling the weekend leave for Groundlings."

Mikhael Oak, the headmaster? She frowned. "Why cancel weekends?"

"Continuity, safety, preparation," he recited. "Mostly it is convenience. Though Sexton adores a draft that never leaves the drawer." He studied her for a long second. "If weekends go, you'll miss the village more than now. And also the villagers' tongues."

Ruelle let out a small laugh. "Probably not the gossips. I might hear them clear from Sexton."

"A public menace," Dane agreed, something wry shifting behind his pleasant eyes.

Ruelle had already heard them at Caroline's wedding: the way pity and distaste passed mouth to mouth at the mention of her admission to Sexton. The men and women had questioned what immoral things were taught. And she had smiled until her cheeks ached. It was Caroline's big day. Her parents would not forgive a scene, and the village never forgot one.

Dane then, almost idly, said, "I'm surprised you're not already promised. With your family sending you to Sexton, I would have expected a hat lingering on your doorstep."

Colour climbed Ruelle's cheeks. "There was… talk. Last spring."

"Oh?" Dane remarked with a mixture of surprise and interest.

For a foolish week she had allowed herself a candle's worth of hope—no more—imagining her mother's mouth softening and the neighbours' voices turning kind.

"It ended before it began." A small smile touched and left her mouth with a hint of embarrassment. "He wrote a letter saying he ought to choose a prettier bride."

Dane's brows lifted a fraction, the smile never quite reaching his eyes. "Then he did you a favour—he announced himself small. Men who shop for faces miscount everything else. Good riddance."

'What did you do to turn him away?!' Ruelle heard her father's angry voice. 'He found out you were utterly useless! You are worthy of nothing and just a burden!'

Ruelle's gaze flicked to the window. Her reflection moved with the trees—her cheeks less hollow, her mouth softer, and more colour in her face compared to the past.

"Perhaps so," she whispered.

the carriage wheels while the horses kept an even, patient rhythm. The sky deepened from turquoise to blue-black, with traces of

the town named Hushford—once a human town, now filled with halflings and vampires. Even in full daylight humans took the long way round, unless they had business here. Ruelle's eyes caught three women under

Dane

at all,"

coach drew up before a shop, where the board read

his features softened by a brief, amused smile. "Come. Let me show you what I'm

Inside, the air smelt of familiar leather and polish, but just more refined. Ruelle kept her fingers folded, remembering how last winter she had stitched her

racks as if they were treasures. One pair near

tanned. It

in the pits," stepped a man in view, whose silvered temples caught the lamplight. "Keeps the

bow, "Mr. Slater. Many happy returns. I see you've brought discerning company this

slightly surprised by Ruelle's knowledge of the shoes. "This is Ruelle, Holis. One of my dear students. Holis owns the place." He then

fingers. Soon a boy slid a stool and footrest into place, then

S," Ruelle

After a

shoelace cost more than her shoes? A ribbon? A very sincere potato? Heat crept into her cheeks. "If I'd known sooner, I would

impatient with late presents." Dane frowned. "Today would

Perhaps a wish

he said, amused, "and a

before a small, nervous

not guilty at once.

Keep both." He glanced toward the curtained doorway, then back to her. "There's a small gathering being held for me tonight—quiet, nothing formal.

gathering by the Elites? She tucked her scuffed shoes beneath the hem of her dress. "I shouldn't intrude. It's a private gathering

intrusion if you have been invited." His head angled before he asked curiously, "And how do

about shoes and liked to explain about them. But he was so old that he passed away before he could do

a pair of expensive shoes. "Wholecut from a crocodile, blind welt," he announced with quiet pride. "One could dance on a

performance." Dane looked pleased at the sight of

Holis breathed. "Turn, if you please, sire." He watched

close—no wobble. And the

cobbler's face.

paste underfoot?" Ruelle asked

the day's weight." Holis was impressed with the young woman. He watched her move to where the other shoes

stool was whisked away. Ruelle and Dane were about to step foot towards the door when the cobbler brought a small

for

in both hands. Inside lay a plain pair

back came home a little scuffed," Holis revealed,

on her feet had been stitched so many times that it felt like they were hanging

"I cannot take these."

should you ever take me up on that invitation. Please,"

murmured, offering him a

shoes, not to leave without my student," Dane

by talent," the

the leather, not my student.

box against her hip and smiled her

Holis called after them, "I'll be expecting

Hushford. The shop and the carriage's lamps burned steadily. The coachman stowed

announced, snapping his pocket watch shut.

collect something past Brackenwell?" Ruelle asked as they reached the

wait. Change of plan—home first. Guests

not dressed for the occasion."

you, you needn't worry about that," Dane replied as if it wasn't something to be worried

and climbed inside. He tapped the window twice. "Home, if

coachman. Reins lifted and soon the horses began to move. The carriage slid away

the trees in the path thinned and the Slater mansion lifted out of

steep roofs and spire tops. Tall

brightly along the path. As the carriage continued to move, she caught sight of a fountain ahead of them. Beyond, clipped

this would, Ruelle thought. Old blood, old money, old promises that never needed

entrance, and the horses finally halted, blowing white fog into the

"Welcome home, Master Dane."

in the direction where carriages were

was standing at the grounds of the Slater mansion, she felt a little anxious with her decision to comply with Dane's words. She

around her waist. Her

greeted, her voice carrying no emotion. "Several guests have arrived. They have been shown

Dane hummed. He turned a fraction, indicating Ruelle. "This is my guest—Ruelle. She'll need a room and a dress

a fleeting moment the woman's eyes

this place upright.

him slip from sight,

Maude directed, already turning—her step

with four careful steps behind, under

on the walls at intervals. Each of them was covered with a white glass chimney—milk-pale—so the light fell clean and colourless, almost like noon smuggled into evening. Paintings hung on some

at a room and Ruelle entered after the woman. The room was as cool as outside. She caught her reflection on the tall mirror in the room, and noticed pieces of her hair had come out. She quickly raised her hand to smooth her hair,

one of the walls of closets, pulling open the door. It allowed Ruelle to glimpse a dozen dresses hanging inside there. It looked no less than the shop

a velvet wine-red dress from there. She turned and said, "This should do. Put your things

undid her dress before the velvet gown climbed her skin. The colour of the dress deepened at the fold. The sleeves began with a light puff before running the length of her wrists. The neckline was deeper

it fall

"Breathe," Maude instructed. "Hold."

the woman pull the lace behind her. The

front of the mirror." The housekeeper

her shoulders, cascading down as Maude began to brush her hair with brisk care, catching the shorter fringe and coaxing it to fall soft over her

her own guiding a comb through her hair all these years. As stern

side before taking them behind. They were then tied with a red