Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Though it was only afternoon, the sky had darkened with heavy clouds. The lamp posts around the Sexton buildings were now lit with bright flames while the lands around were only going to get darker.

"...thank God," Ruelle murmured, her finger gliding down the parchment until she found Hailey's name. One subject failed just like her and Kevin had barely passed.

Lucian, who stood just behind her, let his gaze shift from the parchment to the curve of her spine as she leaned in toward the board, head slightly tilted, hair loose near the nape. It was the kind of detail he shouldn't have noticed—the way her ribbon had loosened.

Her dress clung differently now compared to when she had first arrived, which was looser around the shoulders. It was evident she wore hand-me-downs.

Almost every Groundling at Sexton did, but he had expected her family to be better off than most. Sexton paid a gold coin to every Groundling's family each year—a quiet compensation for the lives offered up inside these walls. Yet it seemed the coin never reached her.

"Ah, he gave me a high score…" Ruelle said under her breath after tracking her name back and stopping at Mr. Jinxy's subject. "I guess I was worried for nothing."

"Don't let comfort become a crutch. You're still ninth in your class," Lucian reminded her with his hands resting in his trouser pockets.

His words stung more than Ruelle had expected. "I only ranked that low because I got a zero in Seduction Techniques," she retorted defensively and turned to look at him.

It was then that she realised how close they stood. He wasn't looming but he stood there with his height casting her in shadow. She could see those deep red wine-like eyes that stared at her.

"Why does it feel like you are blaming me, Belmont?" His words were smooth with a slight smile, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She felt it. That quiet pressure, like gravity weighing against her shoulders.

Instinctively, Ruelle took a step behind, and her spine hit the board.

"Did I?" she asked before looking away, unable to hold his eyes any longer.

"Let me do some quick math for you. If you had scored perfectly in Seduction Techniques, you would have ranked third," he paused, his gaze unmoving. He added, "It's rude to place blame where it doesn't belong."

With that, Lucian turned and began to walk.

Was he mocking her or did he hold high expectations from her? She asked herself. No, why would Lucian even bother about how she did when he had gone so far as to fail her in one subject?

Having looked at her results, there was no reason for her to stand here any longer. She turned to leave, but not without first casting a discreet glance over her waist—trying to catch sight of the back of her skirt.

Ruelle followed quickly, her footsteps soft against the floor, trailing four paces behind Lucian. Ahead, he did not slow, but his voice carried back to her, which was low and composed when he spoke.

"You should be careful from now on," he said, without turning. "Your blood has changed."

"Because of the smell?" she asked, blinking.

"The scent," he corrected. A breath of silence passed between them before he added, "It's different now. Faint, unless you know what to notice. Before, it might have been... below grade. Not anymore."

"Is it for the better?" Ruelle asked, hopeful. Without meaning to, she quickened her footsteps, unconsciously closing the distance between them.

Lucian's head tilted faintly, but he still did not look back. His answer came with the same detached clarity.

"That depends. Some would call it an improvement. Others...a complication. It's all a matter of perspective."

Ruelle followed quietly, her footsteps echoing a second behind his sharp ones in the quiet path. The corridor curved ahead.

"Do you have a sister?" she asked, the question slipping out almost absentmindedly.

Lucian didn't glance at her, and for a moment, she wondered if she should've held her tongue, as he wasn't someone who liked to make idle talk. But then he replied,

"No. One sibling is plenty. Having a little girl would have been intolerable."

This had her turn to look at his side profile. She asked, "You don't like little girls?"

"They are a handful," he said shortly, though his tone remained nonchalant.

As they walked around the corner, Ruelle realised this wasn't in the direction of where their room was. A moment passed before he casually said,

"If you need to send a letter home, you can use the office. My seal will see it delivered."

Ruelle blinked at him, surprised by the offer. She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "That's alright, it can wait another week. My sister will be happy regardless… She got—" She stopped herself from rambling about things he wouldn't be interested in.

Lucian's eyes turned toward her—not sharp, not soft, but direct. "How old is this sister?"

"She's only ten months younger," Ruelle answered, warmth brushing her voice. "Almost as if we are of the same age. We grew up inseparable."

He said nothing, but the flicker in his eyes suggested he was listening in a way that went beyond her words. As though he were weighing them. Silence stretched briefly, before he remarked,

"Strange. That your family chose to marry your sister first."

The smile that had lingered on her lips wavered, if only for a second. She explained,

"That's because she found love. Or more rightly… love found her. Mr. Henley proposed marriage." She added quickly, "My parents didn't choose one of us over the other. They just… did what came first."

Lucian's head tilted slightly, as though aligning one piece of information with another. "Ezkiel Henley?"

Ruelle nodded, but worry slipped into her face like a shadow. She asked softly, "But… please don't mention it to anyone. I don't want the others thinking he's giving me special treatment."

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer before he looked away. He responded, "His marriage isn't worth gossiping about."

When Lucian's footsteps slowed down, so did hers in realisation. Idiot, she scolded herself—standing now before the library doors she wasn't even allowed to enter. Of course he was here to return the book.

But why had she followed him like some lost duckling?

She watched Lucian head toward the door. Her eyes then shifted to the woman seated behind the desk just beside the door, stationed like a gatekeeper. The woman's presence alone made it clear: people who couldn't pay the fee wouldn't pass through.

"Are you planning to just stand there?"

Ruelle blinked, her gaze snapping up. Lucian had turned, one foot already past the threshold, his eyes cool as they met hers over his shoulder.

But didn't she have to pay a fee for it?

"Get in."

She took a hesitant step forward, then another. And just as she crossed the threshold, her eyes drifted to the woman. The woman didn't bother to look up, her fingers still skimming a ledger. As if Ruelle's entry had been decided the moment Lucian invited her in.

The library took up the whole floor, wide and quiet. Tall shelves stretched from one end to the other. The scent of old parchment lingered thick in the air, earthy and familiar, like time itself had infused into the pages.

Truthfully, she hadn't worried about getting in here thanks to Lucian, who had given his old books to her. But there was no harm looking around, was there? After all, her roommate had disappeared behind a pair of glass doors, which looked further restricted.

Ruelle's fingers trailed along the spines of the books. Books lined every shelf, grouped by subject and matter, offering open access to anyone allowed through these doors.

When her fingers curled around the spine of a thick book and began to pull, a voice spoke behind her.

"That one won't help you." She turned as Lucian stepped beside her, his eyes scanning the shelf. "What you need is this," he said, reaching effortlessly to the opposite side. He pulled out a slimmer volume and handed it to her. "The basics."

Before she could respond, he stretched for another from the shelf above, placing it neatly on top of the first. Then, a third.

"You seem to know these shelves well," Ruelle remarked, looking at how he knew where the books were. "Have you read them all?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"Every book in this column?" she asked, brows lifting.

Lucian didn't look at her as he placed a fourth book. "Every book in this library."

Ruelle blinked. The entire library? She had been too busy with house chores to have time for books. She asked him,

"Then… is there a book you don't like?"

Lucian glanced at her, his expression unreadable for a moment before he replied,

"A few." There was a short pause before he added, "Off the top of my head—Human Lives Matter: An Ethical Approach to Coexistence. It was tragically optimistic."

She gave an awkward laugh, the kind that died halfway out. Perhaps she should have asked for his favourites instead.

The rest of the weekend passed in silence. Ruelle spent it with the books Lucian had picked out for her, sprawled by the window with her back against the wall and pages in her lap. She didn't see much of Lucian in the evenings, nor did the Halflings cross her path at meals.

When Monday arrived, the halls of Sexton filled again with boots clattering and voices echoing in the corridors. News of the test results had already reached the students.

In the first class of the morning, which Ruelle sat with her friends, the door creaked open, and several guards stepped inside.

"These students are to come with us," one of them announced, his tone flat, his face unreadable. He unrolled a parchment and began to read aloud. "Lewis. Murphy. Watts. Cooper. Young. Walsh. Stewart. Step out of the room."

Ruelle noticed how those students began to tremble at the mention of their names. While some of them left the room, a few remained in shock. One of the female students began to gather her things, but a guard blocked her path.

"Leave it all," he said.

The failed student's voice cracked, "Why? I need them for the next class—"

"You won't be needing them anymore," the guard's words sounded final.

The words hit Ruelle in the chest. It could have been her. One mistake in the subject in which she had barely passed, and she would have been gone, swept out like dust. Her knuckles tightened around the quill in her hand.

"No. No, I—I need to finish. I need the money—I'll do better—!" the student's voice rose with tears streaking the face.

The guard didn't flinch. He reached for her, iron fingers clamping down on her arm and dragging her from the room.

"NO! Please, let me go!" The voice echoed down the hallway before tapering into silence. No one moved, and the instructor continued the class unaffected by the earlier protests.

When the class ended, both Kevin and Hailey were called by two different instructors to review their test margins. Ruelle walked in one of the nearly empty corridors when two second-year vampires passed in front of her, their conversation a little too loud to be unintentional.

"Looks like she passed this time," one of them remarked with a grin, sharp and glinting. "Maybe next time is the charm."

Ruelle didn't react. Not outwardly. But something flickered in her chest, a thin coil tightening. She hadn't realised others had been watching her.

"Ruelle?"

She turned. Her classmate, Leslie, stood a few paces away, hesitant as her fingers brushed the strap of her own satchel. Her voice came gentler this time. "Do you have a moment?"

Ruelle nodded, eyebrows lifting in quiet question.

"I just… wanted to ask if you could help me with Potions. I didn't do too well last term and—well—you seemed to understand everything." There was a faint falter in her tone, a trace of unease.

"Of course," Ruelle said softly. "We can meet after classes, if that works for you."

Leslie's face lit with quiet relief. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

And while Ruelle stood there talking to her classmate, above the corridor, Lucian stood there with his elbows resting against the railing. The upper floor was set back from the edge, so anyone standing there could look clearly at the corridor below.

And soon he was joined by Sawyer and one of their classmates named Philip Cain, who waved a parchment between his fingers.

"Checked the reject list," said Philip. He was more acquaintance than friend, a familiar face at parties and gatherings. "Not a single one caught my eye."

"I'm shocked," Sawyer drawled as he stepped in next to Philip. "You're usually scraping the bottom faster than anyone."

Philip gave a slow grin and said, "Even I have standards. Though…" He tapped the parchment. "If there was Belmont on that list—maybe I'd reconsider."

Sawyer laughed, "Careful there. She's already on roommate duties."

Philip's eyebrows rose in mock interest. "Belmont? Oh, that's right. She's your roommate," his gaze flicked toward Lucian.

Lucian didn't respond to it, his expression like still water.

Philip, of course, didn't read it. He leaned in slightly, his tone lower now, less playful.

"You know, you could bring her to the gathering this weekend. Let her mingle. I've always wondered what a Groundling like her tastes like." A smile curved at the edge of his mouth. "Could be fun."

Sawyer's hand landed on Philip's shoulder with an easy, warning weight. "There are other ways to get your kicks, Cain. Don't test the waters unless you know how deep they run."

Philip shrugged him off. "What? It's not like he's drinking from her, is he?"

Lucian pushed off from the railing, rising to his full height. He didn't glance at Philip, but his stance now quietly towered over him.

"You want something to toy with," he said, voice calm. "Buy a dog. Or jump."

Philip blinked, caught off guard. "Jump?"

"Off the cliff," Lucian finished.

Philip stared for a second, then gave a half-smirk. "Didn't know you cared about humans."

"I promised Dane I'd keep her alive," Lucian remarked, his gaze finally meeting Philip's. "So should I ever see your teeth near her… I'll have yours pulled. One by one."

Philip raised both hands, palms lifted in mock surrender.

While Sawyer and Philip continued to talk, Lucian's attention shifted to the soft voice he heard from the floor below.

"…here in Sexton."

Lucian turned his head slightly, the motion barely noticeable, and his gaze dropped past the railing. There, in the corridor below, stood Ruelle and next to her was Ezekiel Henley. Entirely unaware of the eyes now watching from above.

Ruelle had just offered Leslie a reassuring smile as her classmate left when new footsteps had arrived. Turning, she found Ezekiel walking towards her, his posture relaxed but his eyes carrying shadows under them.

"Where were you during the weekend?" he questioned, the words courteous but edged with unspoken reproach.

"I was right here in Sexton," she answered. Ezekiel inclined his head, lips curving into an all-too-measured smile.

"In Sexton? Was there something you needed to catch up with?" His gaze lingered on her tied ribbon and then the faint flush of her cheeks, as if they hid a secret she dared not admit.

"No," she said, forcing a casual tone as her fingers curled around the strap of her satchel. "Why? Did something happen at home?"

"We had a family gathering. You missed lunch. Everyone was waiting for you." His voice stayed gentle, but the disappointment was visible in his eyes, softened behind his practised smile.

Then, without warning, his hand reached forward, fingers brushing the bare edge of her shoulder—where her dress had slipped slightly from the weight of her satchel. She flinched back instinctively, and he held up a small leaf.

"A stray," he murmured, letting it fall between them.

He didn't step away. "Weren't you bored, though? Alone here?" A note of concern slipped into his voice. "You know how thin the staff runs over the weekend. It's not exactly safe—for someone like you. You should have told me."

Ruelle replied with a polite smile, "You needn't fret for me, Mr. Henley. I wouldn't have asked you to stay. Besides,"—her eyes brightened—"it really wasn't so lonely. Thankfully, Lucian was here."

The moment she uttered Lucian's name, Ezekiel's expression shadowed with a flicker of jealousy. He swallowed it back, nodding his head in polite agreement.

"I see," he said smoothly. "You had company."

"How is everyone at home?" she asked, steering the conversation away. "Did they ask about me?"

"Yes," he replied with a small nod. "They did. Caroline especially. She's been asking when you'll visit."

Their conversation broke off as Ruelle's friends returned, having finished their reviews with the instructors. A few polite greetings were exchanged and then the three humans took their leave together.

But Ezekiel didn't follow right away. He lingered a second longer, his stance still courteous but too still. Shoulders taut. A flicker of something sour in his gaze.

Above, Lucian remained unmoved where he leaned, elbows resting on the railing once again, one hand loosely curled around the iron bar. Beneath his lashes, his dark red eyes followed every subtle shift in Ezekiel's features before the instructor left.

Then, with the faintest lift at one corner of his mouth, he murmured so soft it didn't reach anyone,

"Just like the buzzing bee."

The thought edged into his mind without invitation, dragging with it a memory he had long buried.

"What happened to your hand, Lucian?" His mother's voice echoed across the years.

"Nothing," the young Lucian responded, glancing away, the corner of his lips tilting in indifference.

But she settled beside him anyway, her silken gown whispering against the floor.

"You forget I'm your mother," she murmured, amusement curled into her tone. "Nothing escapes me. Especially when it comes to my boys." She lifted her hand in quiet insistence. "Come. Let me see."

A moment's pause, then the boy turned his palm up. There, swelling like a dark rosebud, was the angry crimson welt of a bee's sting on his palm.

"Oh, my sweet Lucian." Her voice dropped, the smile slipping from her mouth. "When did this happen? We should have tended to it at once."

"I removed the sting," Lucian said evenly.

"Of course you did," she whispered, brushing her fingers lightly over his knuckles, careful not to press. "You always try to handle everything alone. But you know you can come to me, yes? No matter what it is."

He gave her a nod. She smiled then, soft and radiant, and rose to fetch something to soothe the pain.

Lucian's fingers curled around the iron railing in a silent grip, his expression unchanging. Below, the corridor had emptied—only the echo of footsteps lingered, fading into the distance. When he released the railing, the iron bore the faint imprint of his grip.