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.

patient rhythm. The sky deepened from turquoise to blue-black, with traces of

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 the street lamp, mouths red as

brief stop?" Dane asked, tapping the

all,"

shop, where the board read Fallow

first, then turned, his features softened by a

of familiar leather and polish, but just more refined. Ruelle kept her fingers folded, remembering how last winter she had stitched her shoe soles with wax and thread. Here, a

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

It flexes

a man in view, whose silvered temples caught the lamplight. "Keeps the weather out and the temper

Dane and offered a bow, "Mr. Slater. Many

of my dear students. Holis owns the place." He then asked the cobbler. "Is

replied. He snapped his fingers. Soon a boy slid a stool and footrest into place, then knelt and

Ruelle wished

could you?" Dane's smile was easy. "Thank you." After a pause, he

ribbon? A very sincere potato? Heat crept into her cheeks. "If I'd known sooner, I would have made something. I can bring

with late presents." Dane frowned. "Today

dip. Perhaps a wish note

accept coins," he said, amused, "and a gulp of

nervous laugh

not guilty at once.

a small gathering being held for me tonight—quiet, nothing formal. It would be lovely to

beneath the hem of her dress. "I shouldn't intrude.

before he asked curiously, "And how do you

ago. The owner was very passionate about shoes and liked to explain about them. But he was so old that he passed away before he could do

shoes. "Wholecut from a crocodile, blind welt," he announced with quiet pride. "One could dance on a nail and never feel the

Dane looked pleased at the sight of the shoes. Soon, the

"Turn, if you please,

the edge looks burnished with bone until it keeps a shine. That will take

passed over the cobbler's face. Nodding, he said, "Bone, yes. Elk. Holds

about a cork paste underfoot?"

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

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

for you,

Ruelle blinked, surprised, and took the box in both hands.

a patron and sent back—too tight for her liking, and the back came home a little scuffed," Holis revealed, clearing his throat. "Unsellable to my usual clients. But I think they should fit you

times that it felt like they were hanging by a thread. The area near the

"I cannot take these."

advance," Holis offered gently. "On wages, should you

murmured,

for shoes, not to leave without my student," Dane remarked,

by talent," the cobbler

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

shifted the box against her hip

Holis called after them, "I'll be expecting your note, Mr.

over Hushford. The shop and the carriage's lamps burned steadily. The coachman stowed two parcels from

Dane announced, snapping his pocket

past Brackenwell?" Ruelle asked as they reached the carriage

plan—home first. Guests will be gathering

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

replied as if it wasn't something to be worried about. "The house has a wardrobe for

set her palm in his and climbed inside. He tapped the window

came the answer from the coachman. Reins lifted and soon the horses began

path thinned and the Slater mansion

Tall windows threw light across the drive. As they drew nearer, the wrought-iron gates swung inward

along the path. As the carriage continued to move, she caught sight of a fountain ahead of them. Beyond, clipped hedges kept their shapes even in shadow, and farther

daunted people before, this would, Ruelle thought. Old blood, old money, old promises that never

blowing white fog into the cold.

"Welcome home, Master Dane."

guests have arrived," Dane remarked, looking in the direction where

little anxious with

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

evening, Master Dane," she greeted, her voice carrying no emotion. "Several guests have arrived. They

is my

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

head of the Slater housekeeping, and she's the one who keeps this place upright.

weak smile in return and watched him slip from sight, leaving her alone with

Maude directed, already turning—her

woman with four careful steps behind, under

was covered

cool as outside. She caught her reflection on the tall mirror in the room, and noticed pieces of her hair had

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

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

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 than what she was used to, but it was covered

it fall clean, then

"Breathe," Maude instructed. "Hold."

woman pull the lace behind her. The concealed hooks

of the mirror." The housekeeper moved

hair quickly fell over her shoulders, cascading down as Maude began to brush her hair with brisk care, catching the shorter

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

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