Claimed by the Prince of Darkness-Chapter 37: Queen removing the Bishop

The carriage rolled to a gentle stop in front of the Belmont residence, the soft rumble of the wheels fading into the quiet of the afternoon. The horses snorted, their breaths misting in the cool air as Caroline and Ezekiel stepped down.

Caroline smiled brightly. The weight of her arm hooked through Ezekiel’s felt like a prize, as though she had captured something rare and precious.

"Hello, Caroline!" Mrs. Finch, the Belmonts’ neighbour, waved from her garden across the street.

Caroline’s smile widened, her chest swelling with pride. "That’s Mrs. Henley now, Mrs. Finch," she corrected, casting a smug glance at her husband.

"My apologies, Mrs. Henley!" Mrs. Finch chuckled. "I thought you two would be off on your honeymoon! What brings you back so soon?"

Caroline’s smile faltered for only a second before she regained her composure. "Zeke thought it’d be nice to check on the family first," she explained, squeezing his arm. "Make sure they’re doing well."

She had imagined something entirely different for their first days as husband and wife—something more romantic, more intimate. But Ezekiel had remained distant since their wedding, and she still hadn’t shared a bed with him. The thought tugged at her, and though she kept up appearances, disappointment gnawed at the edges of her mind.

Caroline was happy to show off her new dress she wore, though it was tighter than she had expected it to be. What she didn’t know was that all those beautiful clothes in her mansion had been made for her older sister, not her.

Ezekiel’s mind was far from their newlywed life. His eyes were fixed on the Belmont house, scanning the windows and door, looking for any sign of her—Ruelle. His heartbeat quickened at the thought of her, his obsession pulling him back to that night, the feel of her in his arms. She had denied it was her, but he was sure it was her.

"A shame, though," Mrs. Finch interrupted, "Mr. and Mrs. Belmont aren’t home. They left to visit some relatives right after the wedding, and the house has been locked up since. Even Ruelle hasn’t been back."

Caroline waved it off, barely listening. She replied carelessly, "Oh, that’s right. Ruelle did say she wouldn’t be visiting this weekend."

Ezekiel’s jaw tightened, a flash of irritation cutting through his calm facade. If only this simpleton had mentioned that earlier, he thought, I wouldn’t have wasted my time here. His fingers twitched at his side as frustration simmered beneath the surface, but he masked it with a smooth smile. He replied with ease,

"That’s unfortunate. I would have liked to greet them."

Mrs. Finch smiled and retreated into her house, leaving them alone. Caroline let out a light laugh, tugging playfully at Ezekiel’s sleeve. "We can always catch up with them later. Besides," she added with a teasing voice, "now you’ve got me all to yourself."

Her words pricked at Ezekiel’s patience. She was in the way. He had tolerated this marriage out of necessity, but Caroline was nothing more than an obstacle to be dealt with when the time was right. Removing her outright would raise too many questions, especially with Lorenzo watching his every move. Patience, for now.

"You seem so distracted since you returned," Caroline pouted, her voice edging towards petulance. "You’ve barely spent any time with me since we got married."

Ezekiel forced a smile. With practiced ease, he brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger just long enough to make her blush. He replied, "I’ve been busy, my dear. But I’m here now. I’ll make it up to you, I promise."

Her face lit up instantly, the pout vanishing. "Good," she said, leading him towards the house. "I can’t wait to show you the room I’ve redecorated!"

Inside, the house was quiet, save for the creak of floorboards as Caroline eagerly led him to her room. "What do you think?" she asked, gesturing towards the pastel lace curtains and delicate furnishings she had carefully selected.

"It’s lovely," Ezekiel remarked, though his eyes skimmed through the room with little interest. Feminine, fragile. His gaze caught something across the room, pulling him from his thoughts.

"You shared this room with Ruelle, didn’t you?" he asked, his voice casual, though his pulse quickened.

Caroline nodded, oblivious to his shifting attention. "I did. But now that she’s at Sexton and I’m married, Mother thought it was best to renovate. Ruelle won’t be needing it anymore."

Her voice then shifted to a more irritable tone. "It was my wedding, but she spent more time knitting some scarf than helping me. Can you believe she didn’t even watch me walk down the aisle? My own sister!" she huffed, her self-centredness bubbling to the surface. "She’s always so absorbed in her own world, like she’s forgotten how to be part of the family."

Ezekiel’s attention fixed on a small, crumpled handkerchief on the vanity. He moved closer, noticing the faint lipstick stain on the fabric. It was Ruelle’s. With quiet precision, he slipped the handkerchief into his pocket, his fingers curling possessively around it.

Caroline, still absorbed in her own complaints, didn’t notice. She continued talking, her voice a mixture of irritation and self-importance. "Honestly, I think Sexton has made her worse. It’s as if she’s stopped caring about being part of the family. I mean, look at me! Married, moving on with life, and she can’t even bother to be there for her own sister."

Ezekiel turned back to face her, his mask of charm slipping easily into place. "She’ll come around," he said smoothly. "And if not, I’ll help her."

Caroline beamed, clearly pleased with his answer, and nestled into him with a contented sigh. She said, "I’m so lucky to have you, Ezekiel."

Ezekiel’s smile never wavered, though his thoughts remained cold and distant. Lucky? Caroline was only another hurdle in his way. A charade he would soon end. But for now, he played the role of the devoted husband, as his fingers brushed over the handkerchief in his pocket.

"Me too," he replied, his mind already plotting how to get Ruelle out of Lucian Slater’s room. It had only been a week, but he was growing impatient.

Before the conversation could continue, a sharp knock sounded at the door. He said, "I’ll see who it is," already making his way toward the door. Caroline, ever curious, trailed after him.

When the door swung open, Ezekiel found himself staring into the startled face of June Clifford. Her wide eyes flickered with surprise as she registered the unexpected sight of her instructor standing before her.

Caroline was the one to speak, questioning sharply, "What are you doing here, June?"

June blinked before replying haughtily, "I was sent by my mother. She wanted to enquire about the tablecloth she requested for next week."

Caroline’s gaze narrowed, her distaste for June thinly veiled. "Mother is still working on it. Is that all?" she asked in a clipped tone. "I hope you’re treating my sister nicely, seeing as you two share a room at Sexton."

June’s lips curled into a mocking smile. She let out a dry laugh, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "We don’t. Your shameless sister is rooming with a man," she said, her words dripping with a satisfied harrumph, as she turned on her heel and began walking away.

Caroline’s face paled for a moment, her disbelief clear. "Rooming with a man?!" Her voice was sharp, almost a screech. "She must be lying—what a witch! I’ll prepare some tea," she muttered.

Ezekiel watched June retreat down the road, her figure growing smaller in the distance. He had always seen himself as an important piece in this life of chess, and he had to protect Ruelle from this bishop. A lesser piece, yet still a threat. One that had moved unexpectedly. He turned to Caroline and said,

"I have a small errand to run. I’ll be back soon."

It was because of June Clifford that Ruelle was rooming with Lucian Slater. June, the one who had forced that arrangement with her presence. All he had to do was restore the proper order—bring Ruelle back to where she belonged. Make the room... available again.

With that, he climbed into his carriage, his eyes tracking the figure moving briskly along the road ahead. His thoughts had already begun to calculate his next move.

As the carriage drew closer, he slowed the horses to a gentle trot. "Ms. Clifford," he called out, his voice warm, almost friendly. "Allow me to offer you a ride. It seems we’re heading in the same direction."