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.

even, patient rhythm. The sky

daylight humans took the long way round, unless they had

brief stop?" Dane asked, tapping the

all," Ruelle

coach drew up before a shop, where the board read

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

her fingers folded, remembering how last winter she had stitched her shoe soles with

velvet racks as if they were treasures. One pair near the end of the

It flexes without

whose silvered temples caught the lamplight. "Keeps the weather out and

bow, "Mr. Slater.

surprised by Ruelle's knowledge of the shoes. "This is Ruelle, Holis. One of

time," Holis replied. He snapped his fingers. Soon a boy slid a stool and footrest into

Ruelle wished him. "I…

you." After a pause, he asked, "Now that you know—what will you gift

crept into her cheeks. "If I'd known sooner, I would have made something. I can bring it on Monday,"

late presents." Dane

felt her stomach dip. Perhaps

he said, amused, "and a

a small, nervous laugh

not guilty at once. He

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. It would be

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

have been invited." His head angled before he asked curiously, "And how do you know about shoes?

a little," she admitted. "I used to work in a shop two years ago. The owner was very passionate about shoes and liked to explain about them. But

owner reappeared with a pair of expensive shoes. "Wholecut from a crocodile, blind welt," he announced with

pleased at the sight of the shoes. Soon, the first shoe slid on,

if you

Ruelle agreed softly. "You've set the heel in five lifts and pinned them close—no wobble. And the edge

face.

about a cork paste underfoot?"

impressed with the young woman. He watched her move to where the other shoes were lined up, keenly looking at

Ruelle and Dane were about to step foot towards

is for

took the box in both hands. Inside lay a plain pair

once by a patron and sent back—too tight for her liking, and the back came home a little scuffed,"

take it? The shoes she had on her feet had been stitched so many times that it felt like they were hanging by

"I cannot take these."

offered gently. "On wages, should you ever take

you," she murmured, offering him a

not to leave without my student," Dane remarked,

by talent," the cobbler

Dane looked rather amused. "Tempt the leather, not my student.

against her hip and

called after them, "I'll

steadily. The coachman stowed two parcels from

announced, snapping his pocket watch

you to collect something past Brackenwell?" Ruelle asked as they

plan—home first. Guests will

I ought to go home. Besides, I'm not dressed for the occasion." In truth, she owned nothing suitable

worries you, you needn't worry about that," Dane replied as if it wasn't something to be worried about. "The house has a wardrobe for guests and something

her palm in his and climbed inside. He

lifted and soon the horses began to move. The carriage slid away from the lamplight to the dark

hour, the trees in the path thinned and the

its steep roofs and spire tops. Tall windows threw light across the

move, she caught sight of a fountain ahead of them. Beyond, clipped hedges kept their shapes

Ruelle thought. Old blood, old money, old promises that never

fog into the cold. A footman stepped forward

"Welcome home, Master Dane."

in the direction where

anxious with her decision to comply with Dane's words. She took her shoe box

the mansion, another figure approached from the inner hall—a vampiress in a black dress and an apron tied around her waist. Her hair was drawn into a

carrying no emotion. "Several guests have arrived. They

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

fleeting moment the woman's eyes seemed to narrow—then it was gone, as if she had imagined

one who keeps this place

and watched him slip from sight, leaving her alone with the

you'll come with me, miss," Maude directed, already turning—her step brisk, as if she had no

the woman with four careful steps behind, under the

eyes caught sight of brass candle holders fixed 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

room was as cool as outside. She caught her reflection on the tall mirror in the room, and

allowed Ruelle to glimpse a dozen dresses hanging

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

the fold. The sleeves began with a light puff before running the length of her wrists. The neckline was deeper than what she was used to, but

shook the skirt once to let it fall clean, then smoothed the waist with

"Breathe," Maude instructed. "Hold."

behind her.

mirror." The housekeeper moved behind

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

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

make slim braids from either side before taking them behind. They were then tied with a red ribbon, turning it