Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Chapter 121: He Who Waits

In the open casket lay Lady Irina’s body, her eyes closed in peace. The violence that had claimed her was hidden beneath a silk gown arranged with care. Her hands were folded upon her chest.

Black soil had been dug from the frozen ground and laid upon the snow that refused to melt, as though winter itself sought to keep her a moment longer.

"...a soul that never weakened but fought until her final breath. A brave woman. A devoted wife and mother," the priest spoke in a grave voice. "We return to the earth what was shaped by it and entrust to eternity. May her rest be undisturbed and her memory keep her among us."

Families close to Lord Azriel and Lady Irina were gathered around as the priest spoke. They were dressed in dark coats and mourning veils. When it was time for farewell, Lord Azriel knelt next to his wife, kissing her lips and then her forehead, where his lips lingered five seconds longer before he pulled himself away.

Dane followed next, kissing his mother’s cheek just as he used to in the past. His rigid hand fixed a strand of her hair.

"Lucian," Lord Azriel called his youngest son, who hadn’t moved from where he stood and wore a calmer expression.

Lucian walked to the head of the casket before he knelt beside his mother, who looked like she was asleep. His hand reached hers as he watched her, as if giving her a silent promise.

After a few minutes, the casket was closed. It was lowered into the ground. Soon the grave was filled with soil and the ground was smoothed before a headstone was set in place.

As days began to pass, the Slaters’ Mansion didn’t notice the passage of time.

Dane, who once spent his days beyond the mansion walls, shut himself inside with old books and parchments which were forbidden to be used, while the younger Slater turned to the training grounds with a focus that spoke less of discipline and more of intent to kill.

One afternoon, the head of the housekeeper ordered the servants to draw the curtains back and open the windows for the winter air to leave. Lucian’s room was among the last to be touched, even though his bed remained untouched as if he hadn’t slept in it.

"Master Lucian," said a maid, bowing her head, her voice low. "Where would you like this to be kept?"

Lucian, who was about to leave, paused at the threshold of his room, glancing at the bowl she held in her hand. His gaze fell on the dark soil and he looked at it with indifference.

"Get it out of my sight," he said at last, his voice cold.

The maid carried the bowl down the stairs. She had just reached the last stair and was about to head towards the back of the kitchen, where the dirt and waste were disposed of, when one of the servants called her in a hushed voice.

"Margot, Guillaume is looking for you," the maid informed her, glancing over her shoulder as if wary of being overheard. "He was asking where you kept the sickle. Maude wants the ground cleared before dusk and he’s been in a temper searching for it."

Margot shifted the bowl against her hip with a faint sigh. "I placed it in the stable, just as he asked," she replied with a small frown. "If he had eyes in his head, he would have found it."

The maid then made her way towards the stable, when she caught Guillaume already at work as he pulled the hardened soil in steady strokes to loosen it.

the maid sighed, stopping a

the hay." He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist and nodded toward her hands. "And what have you there in your

face, sniffing it and she answered, "Looks like just

to be laid with spring coming," he remarked, turning back to his work, the

the bowl and letting the dark soil slide out. The mud broke apart when it struck the ground. The maid wiped her hands on her apron. "I should go clean the bowl and put it to use." She turned and

the reach of their mourning and their gates, on the other side, the Belmonts, like many other human families, had fled or been

Mrs. Belmont stood by the narrow window, her brows drawn as she

to her husband, who was wearing his coat. "We should be able

attack anything that moves."

tenderness, but out of leverage, only to find later that the minister who had promised him and his

Belmont pressed, her lips thinning. She had not expected fear to root

us for trying to build an alliance. We are safer here. We can have a better life here. We are wealthier than most in this place.

moved closer to her, placing his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

Caroline parroted her father’s words while she sat with

picking up his cane. The thought of spending another hour within the same four walls had become intolerable to someone like him, who was used to spending his time

presence known," he muttered as he made his way down the road. Perhaps this village required a magistrate, he mused.

about to pass a low-roofed establishment, the muffled voices of men reached him along with the clatter of coins. Deciding to take a look, he had just entered the place when a man

in Harold’s fine coat and the polish of his boots. "Pray, allow me to fetch a chair. What will you have

you honour us

as he thought, importance suited him. It always had and Mr. Belmont

matters. Time is of the essence. You gentlemen can continue." Fools,

rose from the back, "Or perhaps you fear losing to the likes

the man who had just spoken with a glare. He offered coolly, "Then I ought to show you the strength of my

first round, his laughter rang bright in the room. He proudly taunted, "Perhaps you will now remember

upon you, Mr. Belmont!" someone in the gathering crowd commented with

in amusement and he

luck, like respect,

the games. Coins he had not meant to risk found their way into the growing pile at the centre of the table. In his haste to recover what

pride was often the downfall

as she watched strangers pass along the muddy

empty. Like a book from which pages had been

hurried to the window, breathless with excitement. "Come play with me. The governess isn’t coming today. Mama said so! We can have the

turned her head to look at her