Claimed by the Prince of Darkness-Chapter 52: The Accusation

The Henley house was still, the silence broken only by the steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the drawing room. Caroline stood before the clock’s glass, tilting her head to admire the ruby necklace around her neck. She murmured, "How fortunate I am..."

Upon hearing footsteps, she turned swiftly, her face lighting up with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. "Ezekiel, you’re finally home!" she exclaimed.

Ezekiel leaned forward to brush a superficial kiss against her cheek, his lips barely grazing her skin. "Caroline," he greeted smoothly, slipping off his coat and draping it neatly over a chair. "It’s rather late. Shouldn’t you be resting?"

"I couldn’t sleep," Caroline replied, her tone wistful, a small pout forming on her lips. "You’re always working... always away. I wanted to wait for you. Maybe we could have dinner together?"

Ezekiel’s eyes flicked briefly to the untouched dining table before settling on her face, his smile practiced and faint. "Of course."

Caroline brightened. Together, they moved to the dining room. A maid appeared silently, pouring a stream of dark, crimson liquid into Ezekiel’s crystal glass. The deep red hue caught the faint candlelight, glinting like liquid garnets as Ezekiel raised it to his lips. He took a slow sip, the silence between them stretching.

Caroline fidgeted, her fingers twisting together in her lap, before she began, "Ezekiel, I have been wondering... when will you turn me into a Halfling?"

The question hung in the air, and for a fraction of a second, the faintest twitch of amusement ghosted across Ezekiel’s lips. He lowered his glass and replied, "Your parents would never forgive me. And the process... it’s unpredictable. Dangerous. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you."

Her breath caught, the rehearsed care in his tone momentarily melting her doubts. "You truly care for me, don’t you?" she whispered, her insecurities bubbling beneath her words.

"Of course," he replied, leaning forward to place his hand on hers. The touch was gentle, his fingertips cool against her skin. "You’re my wife. My responsibility. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you."

Caroline’s cheeks flushed, a shy, hopeful smile lighting up her face. "You’re so good to me, Ezekiel. I don’t know what I’d do without you."

Ezekiel’s answering smile was faint, detached. His gaze shifted, sliding past her to the flickering candlelight.

Ruelle.

Her name slipped into his thoughts, threading through his mind. Knowing that Ruelle was sharing a room with Lucian Slater—gnawed at him. She didn’t belong under the roof of another man. She belonged with him. Protected. Watched over. Claimed. The idea of her, night after night, in that room... it made his blood simmer.

As Caroline chattered on about her day, Ezekiel’s mind churned. He needed a plan—something clean and irrefutable to remove her from Lucian’s proximity. His gaze flicked briefly to the necklace around Caroline’s neck, and a glint of cunningness sparking in his eyes.

A theft. His mind sharpened with the idea. If Ruelle were implicated in something significant enough, she would be forced out of an Elite’s room. Out of Lucian’s reach.

Caroline tilted her head, her voice cutting through his reverie. "Ezekiel? You’ve gone so quiet. What are you thinking about?"

Ezekiel turned to her, his smile slow and calculated.

"Just admiring how lovely you look tonight," he replied, his voice rich with practiced warmth. He raised his glass once more. His eyes glinted over the rim as he took another sip. He then continued, his voice slipping into a low murmur, the words trailing like a spider’s silk,

"Your sister seems to be adjusting in Sexton."

"That is my sister for you. She is a very agreeable person," Caroline replied, before taking a bite from her food.

"That she is," Ezekiel responded back and then said, "Though, I wonder how she’s managing with the new room arrangement."

Caroline’s fork paused mid-air, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" she pressed, tilting her head. "Is June troubling her?"

"Actually, she’s not with June..." Ezekiel answered.

"What?" Caroline’s brows furrowed, confusion lacing her voice. "Who is she with, then?"

The next morning light filtered through the high arched windows of the Sexton dining hall, casting golden streaks across the long wooden tables. The students sat scattered in clusters, the clink of utensils and quiet murmurs creating a lively yet muted atmosphere. Ruelle sat at her usual spot near the end of one table, sitting with Hailey and Kevin.

"I swear it wasn’t the soup. It’s those damned berry tarts. They’ve betrayed me," Hailey groaned, her forehead pressed against the table. When she raised her head, she looked pale.

"Maybe it is time for you to stop eating dessert for every meal, Hailey," Kevin replied wryly, which had Hailey send him a glare.

"Kevin, don’t tease her," Ruelle said with a soft smile, placing a comforting hand on Hailey’s arm. "It’s probably just nerves. These tests are enough to make anyone’s stomach flip."

"I don’t know what it is, but I think I need the powder room before I disgrace myself here," Hailey muttered, getting up from her seat and swaying slightly.

"I’ll go with you," Ruelle offered immediately, concern flickering in her eyes. She stood and said to Kevin, "We’ll be quick." Helping her friend, she said, "Come on, let’s get you sorted."

Ruelle and Hailey left the dining hall, their footsteps fading into the corridor. Ezekiel, who had been seated at a far corner of the room, rose gracefully from his chair. His sharp eyes flicked towards the table where Ruelle’s bag rested, surrounded by the remnants of breakfast plates and a few distracted students. The room was gradually emptying as students finished their meals, providing him with the opportunity he needed.

Ezekiel approached the table casually. He stopped beside Kevin, his expression warm and disarming. He greeted,

"Morning, Mr. Reynolds. How’s the studying going?"

Kevin looked up, surprised but pleased by the attention. "Oh, Mr. Henley! Good morning. It’s going, I guess. These tests are brutal."

Ezekiel chuckled softly. "They’re meant to be. Builds character." He rested his hand briefly on the edge of the table, his eyes sweeping across the surface as though idly scanning for something.

"The worst is yet to come, right?" Kevin laughed nervously.

Ezekiel’s brow arched faintly. "Ah, the blood vial. Two days remain, yet I sense many of your peers will scramble at the eleventh hour. Tell me, have you prepared yours yet?"

Kevin scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Not yet. I thought I would draw it day after tomorrow—fresh blood’s better, right?"

Ezekiel nodded slowly, as though considering Kevin’s words. "A wise choice, assuming you can execute it properly. Remember, this task isn’t just about submission—it’s about control and precision. A clumsy attempt won’t earn you any favour."

Kevin’s nervous chuckle escaped before he could stop it. "I will keep that in mind."

"See that you do," Ezekiel said, his tone light but commanding. His hand moved with fluid precision as Kevin’s attention was diverted. While the young man fiddled with his cup, Ezekiel’s fingers brushed against the strap of Ruelle’s bag, slipping something into one of its compartments. The movement was seamless, unnoticed even by the students at nearby tables.

Ezekiel straightened, his expression composed. "There’s more to my subject than meets the eye, Kevin. I trust you’ll approach it with the seriousness it deserves."

Kevin nodded fervently. "Yes, Mr. Henley."

Ezekiel nodded and turned to leave, his pace unhurried. The object was in place. Now, all he had to do was wait.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he stepped out of the room. I am sorry, Ruelle, but this is something you will have to bear for a little while.

The Elites would make short work of Ruelle’s reputation. A thief in their midst? It would be unforgivable. Even Lucian Slater, her roommate would kick her out of the room.

And when the accusations began, when the cold stares and whispered insults broke her fragile resolve of staying at Sexton, where else would she turn?

It would be him who would extended the hand of compassion. Ezekiel would remind her that she wasn’t alone. He could already imagine her soft, teary eyes looking up at him, grateful and vulnerable. And in that moment, she would see the truth: he was the only one who cared. The only one who could protect her.

His lips curled into a faint smile as he descended the staircase, his steps echoing in the empty corridor. She would belong to him—mind, body, and soul. It was only a matter of time.

When Ruelle returned to the dining table with Hailey, the latter looked slightly less pale, though her steps were still unsteady.

"Everything alright?" Kevin asked raising his eyebrows.

"Mm," Ruelle replied, before handing a glass of water to Hailey.

"Henley stopped by to check on my progress. On the blood vial," Kevin added with a sigh. "Apparently, it’s not just about turning it in—it’s about making it a masterpiece or something. No pressure."

Ruelle chuckled softly, and replied, "I am not sure if it is an easy task or a difficult one compared to the written ones."

Approaching the hall where the test was commencing today, she dropped her bag similar to others who had let their bags lean against the wall and some laid on the ground.

She entered the vast room with high ceilings adorned with gothic arches that seemed to loom over the rows of desks. The seating was already causing a stir—first-year and final-year students were sharing the space today.

Ruelle’s eyes scanned the room instinctively, and then she saw Lucian.

He sat near the middle, his posture regal and composed. His dark hair framed his pale face, and his eyes flickered over the room as though assessing everyone with cool detachment. The sight of him sent a small jolt through her, a mixture of nervousness and something she couldn’t quite name. His seat wasn’t far from hers, just a few rows ahead.

As if sensing her gaze, Lucian’s eyes locked onto hers. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his stare made her cheeks flush. She quickly looked away and found her designated desk.

Finally when everyone were seated, when the bell rang, the quills began to scribble on the sheets.

The exam was nearing its midpoint when the heavy wooden doors at the back of the hall creaked open. The sound broke the focus of many, having heads turn. It was Mr. Mortis who looked grimmer than usual.

Mr. Mortis arrived at the front of the room, whispering with the instructor before he turned to the students.

"One of Sexton’s prized possession has gone missing this morning. The sapphire pendant and all students will have their belongings searched," declared Mr. Mortis, his voice stern and unyielding. "Until the pendant is recovered, no one is above suspicion. No one is to leave this room until the search is complete and trust this much, that you will be punished."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the room, hushed but unmistakable.

"It must be one of the Groundlings," a sharp voice from the Elite section sneered. "Desperation breeds dishonesty, doesn’t it?"

"How does the pendant even look? Have we seen it?" another student asked in curiosty.

Ruelle couldn’t help but wonder about this pendant. When she turned to look at Lucian, she noticed him continuing to scribble on his papers with an air of nonchalance.

"Students in the mean time can continue with their tests unless their names are called," said the instructor in the room.

Soon, the bags were brought inside the room and were checked meticulously one by one. One guard carried a clipboard, calling out names as the students’ bags were identified and returned.

"Belmont," the voice rang out. "You are up next."

The room was silent save for the soft scratching of quills against parchment. Ruelle’s name hung in the air. She pushed back her chair, the screech of wood against stone echoing unnaturally loud.

As she approached the front, she neared Lucian’s desk. Her gaze almost unconsciously landed on him.

He sat in his seat, motionless. The rhythmic movement of his quill had stilled, hovering just above the parchment as though caught mid-thought. His eyes, dark as embers smoldering in shadow, were lowered, fixed somewhere unfocused.

Reaching the front, Ruelle bent down to retrieve her bag, her fingers brushing the strap with a trembling hesitance. Straightening, she then handed it to the examiner, her voice a soft murmur,

"Here."