Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Though the room gleamed with chandeliers and carried the weight of people with higher status, Ruelle felt like a lizard on the wall. People talked and laughed while her gaze moved over dark hair and straight shoulders. But never the one she was searching for.

Across the floor, Dane stood at the centre like a burning lantern inviting moths. He moved with easy grace through greetings and stories, a laugh given here, a lowered voice there, letting each woman feel chosen without promising himself to anyone.

"Why is a young and beautiful lady standing alone?"

Ruelle turned and found a man in his mid-fifties standing next to her. He wore a dark maroon coat with badges on his shoulders. When he raised his hand, she caught an old signet ring on his finger.

"I don't believe we have met," the man observed, his voice warm but his eyes assessing her. "Minister Maverick Griswold."

Nervous at the mention of a minister, Ruelle blurted the first name that came to her mind, "Alanna Beckett," she offered, bowing quickly.

"Hm, a Beckett. I can't quite place the name," Minister Griswold hummed, his eyes scanning her features before they briefly paused at her neck.

He snapped his fingers. Suddenly a servant came with a tray. With a gentle flick of his wrist, he dismissed the servant after taking two glasses and giving her one.

"So how do you know Mr. Dane Slater? Through your father's business? Or your own?" he questioned with curious eyes.

Ruelle had already told a lie. Would another hurt? However, what if this man sought out for her father?

"I am his student. At Sexton," she answered.

"Ah—Sexton." Something like approval sharpened in the minister's eyes as if he were pleased listening to her position and his eyes moved to her ears. "Mr. Dane is generous with invitations."

Ruelle lifted the glass, letting the wine touch her lips, then lowered it. When the minister's gaze slid to Dane, she quickly tilted the glass so that a little wine spilled into the plant next to her.

The minister lifted his glass and his gaze returned to her. Taking a sip, he mused,

"I ought to pay Headmaster Oak a visit to speak about the promising students." The smile Minister Griswold offered made Ruelle uncomfortable and she wanted to leave. "Would you be free to… show a corner or two when I visit?"

"I will be busy with my classes," Ruelle politely replied. "It is the faculty who greet visitors. I am sure the headmaster will see that your tour is enjoyable. Pardon me," she bowed, beginning to walk away.

Behind her, Minister Griswold called after her, "I'll see you soon."

Ruelle set the glass down and hurried out of there. She didn't look back. She slipped into the cooler corridor, a shiver running down her spine from what the minister's words meant.

She had once believed that the rumours from Sexton had only come from bored mouths. Sexton lent students to those with higher status that opened doors where humans could earn easily. Her position could be levelled up if she were willing to pay the price.

The corridor was long and deserted. She finally caught a figure that stood ahead. She called softly,

"Excuse me? Could you tell me the way—"

When the person turned, she recognised the young man she had seen in the Sexton corridors with Lady Angelina Ravencroft. He carried a tray with a single drink.

"I—do you know how to get to the garden?" Ruelle questioned him.

"You're far from it, milady. This side is the kitchen," he answered her, before continuing, "I am on my way there. I am Oliver Torres."

"Ruelle—"

"Belmont," he finished with a polite smile. "Sexton has a way of making names travel. Shall we?"

Once they began walking away from there, Ruelle glanced at the young man. There was a faint limp with the way he walked, and she wondered if his shoes bothered him. Her eyes then fell on the dark leather collar with a small ring set at the front as if waiting for a chain. Not wanting to be impolite, she looked away.

"How are you enjoying the celebration so far?" he asked.

"It's lovely. I am learning walls aren't as safe as they look," Ruelle muttered the last words before asking him, "How about you? It's a comfort to see a fellow human." She hadn't expected to run into him here.

"The comfort's mutual," he agreed. "Lady Angelina Ravencroft is Lord Azriel's niece. Slater and Ravencroft are kin to each other. Lady Angelina prefers her drink a certain way, so—" he tipped the tray a fraction "—errand in hand."

They continued to walk through the corridors, turning left and right through empty passages. Ruelle then asked, "May I ask something?"

"What is it?"

"Is it true you came to work for the lady because you failed two subjects?"

Oliver stared ahead of them, and he took a moment before he answered, "Yes." Then he continued, "Though it wasn't because I was terrible at studying. I failed to appear. My ankles were broken. An Elite took offense in something I said."

Ruelle's eyes widened and she looked at his legs, "I am sorry that happened…"

"They've healed now. It has been two years since then," he explained, looking at her worried expression. "We humans have very little choice."

She had never imagined such a thing could happen to stop a human from passing—yet with each day at Sexton, the whispers of danger only increased.

She hadn't forgotten the earrings that vanished during the test and reappeared after she failed. If Lucian wanted to truly ruin her, there were simpler ways. All he had to do was turn the key from outside the room door. She truly could not read him and she sighed, letting the thought go.

At the corridor's end, Oliver paused. "Take the next left. The doors to the garden will be on your right."

"Thank you." Ruelle dipped a small bow. He returned it and continued towards the place where the guests had gathered, while balancing the tray in one hand.

Ruelle finally stepped into a deserted garden. The lanterns hanging burned with the same intensity as earlier, spilling golden light around the place. The soft sound of water filled the area near the fountain. When a breeze moved in her direction, it loosened the strands near her temple. She tucked them behind her ear.

As peaceful as this place was, the minister's smile crawled into her mind and she shook her head to get rid of it. Without thinking, her fingers reached for her mother's chain resting above her bosom.

Perhaps it would be best to wait until the guests left, she thought. Better that than cross paths with the minister again. Earlier, she wanted to ask Dane to leave, but he seemed busy with everyone surrounding him.

Leaning forward, she placed her palms on the edge of the fountain and saw her reflection staring back at her.

"They must be cleaning this often," she murmured, staring beyond her reflection. The light from the lanterns made the surface appear like liquid gold. When she leaned further, the pendant beneath her chemisette slipped free.

While Ruelle stood at the fountain, from one of the long balconies of the mansion, Lucian stood with his coat resting on his shoulders rather than worn. The coat sleeves hung empty. He leaned with his forearms resting on the railing, while his fingers balanced a glass filled with whisky in it.

His eyes appeared to be bored on the surface. But underneath, they were focused on the young woman who stood next to the water fountain. He raised his glass to his lips, while his gaze didn't waver.

At the fountain, Ruelle was busy admiring the statues at the centre of the fountain when she felt something slide from her collarbone. Plink! The surface of the water turned fuzzy after swallowing her chain with the pendant.

"No…!" Her eyes widened.

Ruelle looked left and right. "It shouldn't be that deep," she whispered, before dipping her fingers into the water. The chill climbed up her wrist, moving to her elbow and then her arm as she tried to reach for the chain. Though her entire sleeve soaked, her fingers didn't find the bottom.

Did she misread the depth? All the movement from her and the water falling from the statues had pushed the chain away from her—moving towards the darker rim of the basin.

On the balcony, Lucian's expression stayed still. When he noticed her lean further, a quiet breath left his lips, which was more amused than concerned.

"Two more inches, and you will be sitting inside it."

In the meantime, Ruelle continued to comb the water through her fingers until she heard voices come from the other side of the garden.

"—pray, sire, you make a cruel habit of vanishing," the woman laughed, her voice coy. "A lady is left to chase your shadow."

"A minister is chased only by duty. But I found a very interesting piece this evening that seemed to have disappeared."

Ruelle's breathing quickened, which was swallowed by the fountain. Her hand paused when she heard the man's voice. It belonged to the minister she met before and she didn't want to see him for the second time of the evening.

"An interesting piece? Let me help you retrieve it, or just take your mind away from it," the woman responded.

Worry tightened Ruelle's lips, and she pulled her wet arm back.

Above in the balcony, the glass hung loose from Lucian's fingers, the liquid steady. He watched the small shift in Ruelle's shoulders. His dark red eyes then shifted to the voices that seemed to have caught her attention. He noticed Minister Griswold walking with a woman on his arm.

When Ruelle took a step away from the fountain, Lucian's head slightly tilted in question.

His other hand lifted—lazy, almost bored—and turned in the air. The very next moment, the flames inside the lanterns that were hanging in the garden went out, leaving smoke to curl inside the glass.

"...!" Ruelle blinked as the sudden absence of light caused her vision to go completely black.

The minister's companion gasped, "What happened? It seems like a bad omen!"

The minister looked around and said, "It is strange indeed," Before he could sharpen his vision, the woman on his arm pulled him.

"Let's go somewhere else," the woman urged. "How about your house in Mander?"

Ruelle stood still listening to the voices fade. Once her vision adjusted, she turned back to the basin. She should get her chain before someone else would come, she thought. She leaned back, this time moving an inch further with her heels raising off the ground.

At the balcony, now an empty glass balanced on the surface of the railing without its owner in sight.

"Hah…" Ruelle breathed as she tried to reach farther, while her sleeve had begun to soak in the water.

But then she heard another splash next to her and turned startled.

Another hand had entered the fountain beside hers. The sleeve was rolled up, revealing veins beneath pale skin. She looked up and found Lucian next to her, his eyes on the water. She caught a few dark strands at his brow lifting with the breeze and falling back into place.

He pulled his hand out with her chain and at the same time she retrieved her hand by her side. She wanted to tell him that he didn't have to do it—

"Planned to get into the basin, didn't you?" His eyes met her brown ones, and she gave him a nod.

He let the chain fall into her open palm. A bead of water slid from his knuckle and struck the flat pendant. She whispered, "Thank you."

She turned the pendant in her palm and saw the catch had splayed. She set the thin hook between her teeth and pressed. When she glanced up, her cheeks turned warm from Lucian watching her little mend. She slipped the chain back over the pearls, letting the pendant vanish beneath her chemisette.

He stood up. "Are you not meant to be inside, celebrating Dane's birthday?" he asked.

Her lips pursed and she answered, "I thought I would get some air and admire the garden. And to spare the vases any further acquaintance with me."

"How considerate," he drawled, meaning none of it.

At a distance, Ruelle could hear the voices of two servants discussing relighting the lanterns. Lucian walked to one of the benches and sat down.

With a quarter of her dress soaked in water, she wanted to dry it before joining the celebration again. She asked him,

"May I look at the glasshouse?"

"I haven't chained your feet," Lucian remarked—then, after a pause he said, "Suit yourself."

Ruelle walked towards the glasshouse which sat at the garden's edge. It looked like a big lantern with the iron bars holding the glass panes. Vines had grown and travelled up over the roof. Inside, a handful of lamps burned low, spilling their golden warmth.

The glass door was already open. The moment she stepped inside, she picked up the scent of flowers. She stood still, a little dazed at the world created inside the glass walls.

She took her time, drifting from one plant to the next one, before she stopped at an inky-blue flower with petals outlined in red.

"I feel like I have come across this one," she mused but she couldn't grasp where. Was it in one of the books? She tried remembering the name and breathed, "Ghost's Umbrella… was it?"

When her finger brushed the petal, it flinched at her touch. If not for Dane's invitation, she wouldn't be here at all. The thought made her question on why he had offered to give her a ride. Because someone like her… she didn't belong to this world. She wondered if her parents were worried, considering they hadn't heard from her for more than two weeks now.

Ruelle left the glasshouse after she had had her fill. On her way, she noticed a few of the dark lanterns in the garden had been relit, while the others were still being lit to life.

As she retraced her steps back, she found Lucian sitting on the same bench. His eyes were closed and his head tilted back. The relit lanterns threw a faint light across his cheekbone.

"Done with the tour?" she heard Lucian ask. He opened his eyes as he levelled his head, his gaze meeting hers.

"Yes," Ruelle breathed. "I—have never come across anything like the glasshouse until now. It is beautiful."

"My father built it for my mother. Before their marriage," he stated, his gaze shifting to the glasshouse.

Lucian's words took her by surprise, because she couldn't have guessed Lord Azriel to be a romantic. The lord's intimidating image softened in her mind.

She wondered if days like these made the Slaters miss the lady more than usual, and she couldn't help but watch Lucian, who looked calm and gathered.

"She must have been a lovely person for the lord to build it," Ruelle ventured softly, and a faint smile appeared on his lips.

"She was," he hummed in response. Then, almost idly, he added, "Most humans who come from Sexton spend their evenings clinging to sleeves and skirts, chasing favours. Yet here you are…"

His eyes drew back to where she stood, his head tilting. He was correct that individuals in her situation would have seized the opportunity.

"It is a night of celebration," Ruelle answered thoughtfully. "I don't want to trouble people when they are enjoying themselves." Seeing him continue to stare at her, she asked, "What is it?"

"Rare," Lucian murmured, his voice calm and controlled. He crossed one knee over the other, fingertips idly tapping the edge of the bench. "For a human at Sexton to show restraint."

"There must be a few—"

"None," he cut in gently, which didn't feel like an interruption. "Most of your kind arrive hungry for a rung up the ladder. People come from poor conditions, and they seek to improve their lives. Especially with every test where students are removed, they would rather prefer that they find a better place than fall at the bottom of the stock."

"Turning humans to cattle," Ruelle muttered with a frown. Lucian, who heard this, had one corner of his lips tugged.

"That's what happens when a person enters an establishment that provides payment upfront before disclosing the repayment terms, including interest. It is how one gets taken advantage of by someone's situation," Lucian recited the obvious truth that was known.

Though Ruelle hadn't chosen this road, she had to walk through it. And with how Lucian phrased it, it made her hands clench in worry.

"Scared?" Lucian asked, his cool red eyes watching her.

Ruelle held the sleeve that had dampened. "No…" but her voice wasn't convincing. She lifted her chin. "I'll find a post I want."

"Ambition is good," came Lucian's unbothered words. "But one should know their limitations. Otherwise, those ambitions are meaningless."

She didn't answer.

Ruelle was aware that the highest-ranking job a human could gain was being an Elite lady's companion. There was the job of governess, but humans were rarely hired for it. Then there was the princess's maid-in-waiting.

"What happens if a human marries?" she asked at last. "Sexton only takes the unmarried ones. If one… isn't later?"

Lucian's finger tapped the bench, similar to the tick of a metronome and then paused. He lounged back and asked,

"Are you asking if Sexton releases investments for sentiment? The release is not sentimental, it is contractual. A spouse may redeem what Sexton believes it owns."

Ruelle's eyebrows knit together and she commented, "That sounds like slavery."

"You think so?" Lucian remarked, his tone dry. "But Groundlings of Sexton can release themself too, if they can return the money. But you must already have an inkling that it is impossible."

Ruelle could only imagine the price Sexton placed on a human's life. She couldn't help but wonder if the price had been placed on her too. Maybe she should go back in now, choose a decent patron, and secure a post—any post—before the price closed over her.

She was wondering how to safeguard herself when she remembered Ezekiel. Since he worked in Sexton, she hoped he would have some connections.

"He could help me," Ruelle muttered under her breath.

"Your father has connections?" Lucian enquired nonchalantly.

Ruelle shook her head. "No, he doesn't. I doubt he would. My parents despise vampires," her voice softened at the end.

"Since you got into Sexton?" Lucian's questions didn't stop.

"Since forever," Ruelle replied. A ghost of a smile appeared on Lucian's mouth and it was gone as soon as it formed. She wondered what he found to be amusing.

He then stated, "Odd stance for a household that married off one daughter to a Halfling and sent the other to an academy run by the creatures they hate. What are such people called?… hm, what's the word?"

"They aren't hypocrites." Ruelle's brows knitted, the protest rising before she could calm it.

"You were the one who said it, not I, Belmont," saying this, Lucian's head tipped slightly, mirth in his eyes.

"Because you said it that way," she returned, her voice quieter. "My parents—they have done what they could. Mother always says that things weren't always like this, at least not before the war took place. It was difficult for everyone, and my family also faced hardships."

Lucian listened to her without interruption. When she drew breath to continue, he counted the beats—one, two—and on the third, her voice found itself.

"They are just looking out for us," Ruelle stated.

"How dutiful." His tone was light as the wind. "Though why does it seem like you are the one taking responsibility, while your sister went ahead and got married?"

"Caroline did want to attend Sexton. But Mr. Henley was in love with her and proposed marriage," she reasoned.

"I remember," Lucian murmured, studying her for a heartbeat too long and then remarked, "Intriguing that the one who 'fell in love' also happened to hold the rope strong enough to haul a drowning family from the water. He isn't pureblood-rich, but he isn't poor."

"Mr. Henley has helped where he could," Ruelle defended her brother-in-law, who had appeared during her family's dire time of need. "He can't be expected to carry every burden on his back."

When a frown touched her mouth, she asked, "Must everyone be a schemer in your book?"

"Not every person…" Lucian looked right in Ruelle's eyes. "People are always up to something. Like where you might have had a strong reason to step out of the mansion, where shadows of danger lurk."

Ruelle's heart skipped a beat at his words. Her eyes darted away from him and she replied, "I said I wanted air."

"Mm." Because an unchaperoned and unmarried woman never invited trouble, he thought dryly.

At the same time, from the gravelled drive came the voice that belonged to Minister Griswold and the woman earlier. Ruelle could hear the neighing of the horses and the carriage door being closed. She felt relieved knowing the man was leaving the Slater estate. And while she was busy focusing on the leaving carriage, Lucian watched her pale cheeks. He caught her throat bobbing up and down against the pearl choker, her breathing quickening.

Soon a servant appeared at the garden near them and offered a deep bow before informing,

"Master Lucian, dinner will be served soon."

"Very well," he replied.

Ruelle followed Lucian back inside the mansion. As they walked through the corridors, music drifted. The more she walked, the louder she heard chatter and laughter coming from ahead of them. Soon they arrived at the double doors belonging to the dining room.

As she entered the room, she noticed the carved wood and smooth curtains draped over the long windows. A long table was dressed in off-white linen. Two chandeliers hung from the ceiling right above the table.

"Oh, good! I kept a seat for you," Dane called from the chair that was next to the head of the table, his voice bright as he caught sight of Ruelle at the entrance of the room. He waved his hand for her to come.

Ruelle wished he hadn't, because soon half of the table turned to look at her and she felt her feet freeze. Murmurs began to move around the table.

"Who is that?" whispered one of the guests. Another guest was ready to hurl a distasteful remark, but when her eyes fell on the dress and the pearls around Ruelle's neck, the vampiress schooled her mouth into politeness.

"I cannot believe you kept a place for your pastime, Dane," drawled a vampiress with half her hair pinned and the rest spilling over one shoulder. The smile she offered him was sour. "You might have spared us tonight."

"Cruel of you to suggest it, cousin. And she's not my pastime," Dane clarified with mock hurt. By then, Lucian had already walked to the far side and taken the chair opposite his brother.

"Ruelle?" Sawyer leaned forward, surprise brightening his face. "When did you arrive?"

"She has been here since the beginning…" came Angelina's bored contribution.

Ruelle would have preferred the other end of the table. Instead, she walked carefully around the place to where Dane sat, her legs stiff under the room's attention. A servant eased her chair back and, as she lowered herself, slid the chair forward.

Simultaneously, Lord Azriel entered with a guest. The guest took the nearest empty chair, while the lord walked to the head of the table and sat. A servant soon came and poured the blood wine into his glass.

Ruelle fixed her spoon's alignment to distract herself. She shouldn't be here! She thought to herself before feeling the gaze of the woman who sat next to her.

"Since Dane insists on making you the evening's talk, we shouldn't remain strangers," the vampiress's dark red eyes peered into Ruelle's brown ones, while her eyes were warm. "Lady Maxine Valentin."

Ruelle offered a polite bow to the woman and was about to introduce herself but Sawyer excitedly said,

"Ruelle studies in Sexton with the rest of us! She's a first year."

"A student?" Lord Azriel's voice cut the room. His eyes met Ruelle's briefly as he remarked, "I was under the impression we had hired a gardener."