Claimed by the Prince of Darkness-Chapter 51: Climbing without threads

The weight of the borrowed boots on Ruelle’s feet tugged at her steps, the oversized leather strange as she focused on walking steadily. It wasn’t until a gentle pressure on her arm that she noticed Ezekiel’s hand resting there lightly.

"Mr. Henley," Ruelle said softly, while pulling the mask from her face. She glanced down at the faint outline of his hand against her sleeve, her tone edged with polite warmth. "I think it’s alright now. There’s no one around to notice."

Ezekiel turned his gaze to her, pausing briefly before murmuring, "Of course."

He withdrew his hand slowly, his fingertips brushing her sleeve as though reluctant to part, lingering just a fraction too long. As they continued to walk, Ezekiel couldn’t help but stare at her. Something about her appearance reminded him of her scent that night he had hugged her, the hesitant warmth of her presence. The memory burned like a brand.

"They don’t suit you, you know," Ezekiel said casually, his voice breaking the quiet.

"What doesn’t?" Ruelle asked, her voice soft but curious.

"The boots," he said, his lips curving into an almost-smile. "You should leave them here. No one will fault you."

Ruelle glanced down at the oversized boots. They were awkward and heavy, a stark contrast to her delicate frame. Still, she shook her head lightly, her tone thoughtful. "I can’t. Leaving them behind would be rude when I need to return them to Lucian."

Ezekiel’s expression didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened, the shift so subtle it could have been imagined. "How selfless of him," he murmured, his tone low.

As they rounded a corner, and Ruelle’s gaze caught movement ahead. Kevin and Hailey stood at the far end of the corridor, their faces pale but relieved upon seeing her. Kevin met Ruelle’s eyes, his glance flicking briefly to Ezekiel before returning to her, a silent question lingering in his gaze. She gave him the faintest nod. Without a word, the pair disappeared from sight.

Ezekiel’s gaze followed hers. "Is everything alright?" he asked.

"No," Ruelle said quickly, her smile returning, soft and reassuring. "It’s nothing."

"Ruelle, as your guardian here, I feel it’s my responsibility to ask... Did someone force you to attend the soiree? Was it Lucian?"

Ruelle blinked at the question, her brows drawing together. "No," she replied, her tone firm but confused. "It wasn’t like that. My friends and I wanted to go. It was our idea."

Ezekiel exhaled softly, his disappointment evident despite the faint smile on his lips. "Your parents wouldn’t approve of such things," he said, his voice steady but tinged with reproach. "If they knew..."

"My parents sent me here knowing I’d be surrounded by vampires," Ruelle interrupted gently, her polite tone holding an edge of weariness. "A small soiree shouldn’t be a surprise to them. They would probably be glad that I’m making connections."

Ezekiel’s expression softened as they walked, though his tone carried a calculated weight. "You know, Ruelle," he began, glancing ahead as if speaking carefully, "it’s admirable how you’ve managed so far because I was truly worried. But it’s easy to forget just how dangerous things can get here."

"Are you talking about... tonight’s incident?" Ruelle asked, with her footsteps faltering for a moment.

"In part," Ezekiel replied, a faint sigh escaping his lips. "But I was thinking more broadly. The Elite students. For instance your roommate." He let the words hang in the air, watching for her reaction out of the corner of his eye.

Ruelle tilted her head, unsure where he was going with this. "Lucian?"

Ezekiel’s smile thinned, and he said, "Lucian, and others like him. They’re powerful, Ruelle. Too powerful. When I was a student here, the Elites didn’t think twice about putting people like me in our place. Humiliation was their currency. Even now, as a faculty member, their sense of superiority hasn’t wavered."

"Did something happen when you were here?" Ruelled frowned.

Ezekiel gave a short, humorless laugh. "Let’s just say I learned quickly that no matter how hard I worked, how much I tried to blend in, I was always... beneath them. You can’t trust people who believe they’re inherently better than you."

"Lucian hasn’t—" Ruelle stopped herself, unsure how to finish. Lucian hadn’t done anything to make her feel unwelcome, but Ezekiel’s words planted a small thorn of doubt. Lucian Slater was, after all, an Elite.

"Perhaps not yet," Ezekiel said smoothly, catching her hesitation.

"I don’t think he’s like that," Ruelle replied, though her voice lacked the certainty she wanted to convey.

Ezekiel’s gaze lingered on her, his tone soft but deliberate. "Someone like Lucian walking barefoot through the cold for a Groundling? It’s not in his nature, Ruelle. Elites act for their own reasons, never for charity."

Ruelle frowned, her steps faltering. "I think he did it because we’re roommates."

Ezekiel’s lips quirked in a knowing smile. "Perhaps. But consider this—he never wanted a roommate, especially not a human one. Did something happen to change?"

"My patience has worn thin, Belmont. Don’t test it," Lucian’s voice echoed in her ears.

"You’re fortunate that your foolishness hasn’t cost you your life yet. Just because my brother left you to share my room, I have no intention of rescuing you every time you decide to stumble into danger."

There was no denying Ezekiel’s concern sounded genuine, and his words echoed the warnings when she’d first come to Sexton. Still, moving rooms felt like an overreaction for what happened tonight. She shook her head lightly and said,

"Thank you, but I think for now I would like to stay here." There were people like Alanna, who were still after her.

Ezekiel’s smile returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes and he said, "Of course. It’s your decision."

When they reached her dormitory door, Ruelle turned to thank him, but Ezekiel began, "Your parents," his faint smile softening the sharp intensity of his gaze, "they’ve returned from their vacation. They mentioned wanting to have dinner together this weekend. I could arrange a carriage and accompany you—after all, I’m heading that way myself."

Ruelle hesitated, her hand brushing the doorframe. "Maybe next weekend," she said finally. "I have tests to prepare for."

"Ah, yes. The tests." His gaze dropped to her ears. "You’ve not completed the piercing requirement yet. I could help—it’d only take a moment. I have something that numbs the pain."

Ruelle shook her head quickly. "I’ll manage, thank you."

His smile softened, but his words carried a strange weight. "Fairness aside, you’re important to me, Ruelle. Your safety is my priority."

She nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. "Thank you, Mr. Henley."

"Ezekiel," he corrected gently. "We’re past formalities, don’t you think?"

Ruelle hesitated before nodding again. "Ezekiel."

Ezekiel’s hand reached briefly for her when she turned, but he let it fall to his side, his smile fading into something unreadable. "As you wish," he said softly, his voice carrying a strange weight. "Good night, Ruelle. Rest well."

"Good night, Mr. Henley," she replied, slipping inside and closing the door behind her.

Far away from the dormitories, the air in the faculty hall was heavy with unspoken tension. The sharp, clipped tones of the instructors reverberated through the dimly lit space. Outside, leaning against the cold stone wall, Lucian Slater listened in silence, his arms crossed and wearing a blank expression.

"Twelve humans," an instructor muttered grimly. "A waste of investment and resources. They were part of the new recruitment batch."

"Not to mention two Elites—one dead, the other barely clinging to life," another added, his tone sharp with frustration. "This will reflect poorly on Sexton."

Lucian’s gaze flicked toward the slightly ajar door. The voices inside continued.

"Edmond," Mr. Oak’s voice cut through the murmurs. Though his face held a disarming smile, the air seemed to grow colder in his presence. "I want the new recruitment efforts in motion immediately. Offer the families terms they simply cannot refuse.."

"Yes, Headmaster," Mr. Mortis replied with a small bow. "I’ll start at first light."

Mr. Oak’s tone softened, but the weight of authority remained. "We cannot afford to let the academy falter now. King Septimus has expressed his intent to send the prince to study here for a short time. When he arrives next month, I expect him to find everything in perfect order. No disruptions. No delays."

When the instructors began to leave one by one, the headmaster finally stepped out. Mr. Oak’s presence seemed to command the hallway itself, his sharp gaze landing on Lucian like a hawk surveying its prey.

"Lucian," he began, his tone smooth but layered with authority. "Your father must be very proud. It is not every day one sees a son of Lord Azriel demonstrating such exceptional composure and skill under pressure."

"I only did what was necessary," Lucian replied evenly, meeting the headmaster’s piercing grey eyes without faltering.

"And you did it well," Oak replied, his smile curving just enough to expose the faintest glint of his fangs. "It is rare for someone so young to carry themselves with such... poise. Lord Azriel’s blood runs stronger in you."

Lucian inclined his head slightly, accepting the compliment without offering much in return. The then said,

"Headmaster, there’s a matter that requires oversight. Some resources—potions, for example—are being accessed too freely. Without supervision, they risk being misused."

Oak regarded him, a faint smile curving his lips. "An interesting observation. I’ll ensure Edmond tightens access."

As Oak departed, his shadow seemed to stretch unnaturally long, lingering even after he disappeared down the corridor. Dane, who had stepped out of the room, broke the silence with a low chuckle.

"What’s this, little brother? Concern for resources, or is someone special weighing on your mind?"

Lucian’s red eyes narrowed. "Drop it."

Dane chuckled, a low, amused sound. "Ah, always so cold, yet so warm when no one’s looking."

The next three days, Ruelle sat on the couch in her room with her notes sprawled out before her, though her focus wavered. She sighed softly, her fingers gripping the edge of her notes. She scanned the same sentence for the third time, but the words refused to sink in. The quiet of the evening was punctuated only by the occasional scratch of a quill that belonged to Lucian.

Her eyes flicked toward him, just briefly. He was seated at his own desk with rays of sunlight passing through the windows and falling on him.

He hadn’t spoken to her since that night, keeping a distance as though their interactions had been nothing more than a passing obligation. Yet here he was, engrossed in a thick book, his dark red eyes scanning the pages with a focus that made the world around him seem irrelevant.

For a person like him, it was obvious that he had it all, thought Ruelle to herself. Yet he worked hard.

It was strange to see him like this—so intent, so human in his diligence. She had always imagined vampires as creatures who thrived on privilege and power, floating effortlessly through life. Yet Lucian shattered that image. His determination was etched into every deliberate movement, his penmanship sharp and precise, his posture rigid but natural.

He didn’t just excel. He demanded perfection.

When Lucian’s quill paused for a fraction of a second, she quickly returned to her own work, her cheeks warming with embarrassment. He wasn’t just different—he was disciplined in a way that made her painfully aware of her own shortcomings.

The quiet between them stretched, except for the faint rustle of pages and the scratch of his quill somehow grounded her.

She realised something she hadn’t allowed herself to admit. Vampires like Lucian weren’t just predators—they were also competitors. And right now, she couldn’t afford to fall behind.

Finally the week began with the ring of the bell, signaling the start of the tests. They filled into the hall, and took their seats. Hours later, as the students spilled out of the hall, Ruelle joined her friends outside. She overheard Kevin’s voice nearby.

"Wait, there was a back page?" he asked Hailey, his voice rising in alarm.

Hailey nodded, her brow furrowed. "Yes, the essay question. Didn’t you see it?"

Ruelle reflexively pulled out her question sheet, her fingers brushing against its edges. Something felt off. Her heart sank as she noticed the faint resistance between the pages. Gritting her teeth, she carefully pried them apart. Two pages—stuck together. Her breath hitched as the missed questions stared back at her.

How had she not noticed?! A few scattered voices among the students caught her attention.

"I missed looking at it! My pages were stuck together too," one of her fellow classmate muttered.

"Same here," another whispered, his voice tinged with frustration.

Was it another test—one not of intellect but of resilience under unfair conditions? Before Ruelle could dwell further, a cruel laugh sliced through the tension. Alanna sauntered by, with a satisfied smirk. She moved with the grace of someone who had never known failure.

"Ah, poor Belmont," Alanna purred, her tone a mockery of concern. "It seems you’ve drawn the short straw this time. Or was it the system’s little way of weeding out the weak?"

Ruelle stiffened, her grip tightening on the now-separated question sheets. Alanna tilted her head, her red lips curving into a mocking smile. The vampiress continued to say,

"It’s almost admirable, really. Sexton always finds a way to test the ones it deems... dispensable." She feigned a thoughtful expression, tapping her chin. "Don’t take it too personally. The academy likes to play games, and someone always has to lose. Seems like you’re down to your last chance, Belmont. One more slip, and it’s game over, isn’t it?"

"I suppose if Sexton is testing resilience, maybe they’re saving the real challenges for people who don’t coast through life on their bloodlines," Ruelle replied, who was exhausted and frustrated now.

Alanna’s smile faltered, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Excuse me?" The honeyed mockery in her voice hardened to an icy edge.

"I said," Ruelle continued, her voice steady despite the exhaustion creeping into her tone, "it must be nice, gliding through challenges when the only test you have to pass is being born into the right family."

"You are skating on thin ice, Groundling," she said, her voice losing its feigned sweetness, replaced by something colder, sharper.

"I had imagine you would know all about skating by," Ruelle replied lightly, her tone just skimming the edge of insolence.

A few students nearby froze mid-step, their gazes flicking between Ruelle and Alanna as though expecting sparks to fly. Alanna stepped forward, her imposing figure casting a shadow over Ruelle, but the human girl didn’t waver. If anything, her weariness lent her a certain boldness—a defiance born of having little left to lose.

"Careful," Alanna hissed, her voice dropping low enough that only Ruelle could hear. "Your place here is precarious enough without tempting someone to snap the thread."

"That’s the difference between you and me," Ruelle said quietly. "You worry about threads. I’ve already learned how to climb without them." frёewebnoѵēl.com

"It seems getting locked up in the cupboard once wasn’t enough," Alanna remarked, her voice deceptively soft.

Ruelle froze. The words struck like a whip, and for a moment, the courtyard seemed to shrink around her. The distant murmur of students blurred into nothing. Her chest tightened, the memory clawing its way to the surface—the suffocating darkness, the cold press of the wooden walls, her frantic breaths.

With a sharp turn, Alanna left, her cloak swirling behind her as she strode away. The crowd began to disperse, the tension slowly dissolving, though Ruelle’s heart still pounded in her chest.

She was about to turn back to Hailey and Kevin when her gaze caught on a familiar figure not far away. Lucian stood near the edge of the courtyard, his arms crossed and his eyes fixed on the scene with a piercing intensity. There was something in his expression—an irritation that made Ruelle’s stomach twist. He didn’t linger around and walked away.

Ruelle hesitated. Then, with a quick glance at her friends, she said, "I’ll be back," before hurrying after him. On catching up with him, she called out softly, "Lucian!"

Lucian paused and glanced over his shoulder with a raised brow.

"I wasn’t causing trouble," Ruelle said hurriedly, her voice defensive. "If you’re annoyed because I was arguing with Alanna—"

Lucian turned fully, his gaze cool and unreadable. "When," he interrupted smoothly, "did I say anything about you causing trouble?"

Ruelle blinked, caught off guard. "I just thought—"

"You assumed," Lucian corrected her, his tone clipped. "Not everything revolves around you. Don’t waste your energy worrying about what I think."

Ruelle looked at his face, which was like a mask—detached and distant.

"How was your test?" she asked finally, her tone polite, a gentle warmth in her voice.

Lucian’s response came without a moment’s pause. "Fine," he said nonchalantly, his tone flat and disinterested, as if the topic wasn’t worth discussing.

"What subject was it?" Ruelle pressed on undeterred.

Lucian stopped walking, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned to face her. "What’s with all these questions?" he asked, his voice edged with irritation. "Don’t you have more important things to focus on? Like making sure you answer all the questions in the test next time."

"That... happened," Ruelle admitted, her voice soft but steady before squaring her shoulders. "I was just asking because we are friends."

"You have an even shorter memory than I thought," Lucian murmured in annoyance. "Didn’t I make it clear before that we will never be friends, Belmont. Or is that concept out of your brain’s comprehension?"

Her jaw tightened at the slight jab, but she refused to let him go unchallenged. "You gave me your shoes," she said firmly, her tone light but firm. "That counts as friendship in my books."

Lucian’s expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he muttered, "You make me regret it now."