Claimed by the Prince of Darkness-Chapter 53: Thief among us

Ruelle stood at the front of the room, her back straight, hands loose at her sides, while the guard turned her bag inside out. She had nothing to fear. And yet—her chest felt tight.

The guard’s hands rifled through Ruelle’s belongings, flipping through her parchment and quills thoroughly.

"I have done nothing wrong," she reminded herself, though her fingers curled slightly. A whisper cut through the silence—

"Watch, they will find it in her bag."

She ignored those words and instead, her gaze flickered to the back of the room, where she caught a figure at the doorway.

It was Ezekiel. His arms were crossed, his face composed—but the look in his eyes was different. The guard tugged at a stubborn zipper. The old fabric of Ruelle’s bag groaned under the force before it tore clean.

A few students snickered. Ruelle’s face burned in embarrassment, heat radiating from her flushed cheeks.

The guard’s hand reached inside, feeling along the frayed seams. He then paused, as if finding something, and then stated, "Clear."

It was a single word. And yet, the weight that lifted from Ruelle’s chest felt like an entire mountain crumbling away.

From the doorway, Ezekiel’s stance remained unchanged—but his fingers twitched. A minuscule movement. A reaction so small, it would have been unnoticeable—if not for the tightening of his jaw and the flicker of disbelief in his darkening gaze. That wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought to himself.

Ruelle accepted her bag, going out of the room to keep her bag and then returning to her seat.

"Margot Anderson," the guard called the next Groundling in the room.

Unlike the rest of the students who were interested in seeing who the culprit was, Ruelle began to focus on answering the questions.

Across the room, a chair scraped against the floor. It was Alanna, who rose smoothly to her feet and announced, "I have completed my test."

"Already? Even though she came in last?" one of the students remarked in awe.

A smug smile played on Alanna’s lips as she left her seat. But Mr. Mortis’s voice cut through the room, and he instructed, "Remain seated until dismissed."

Alanna stopped mid-step. She protested, "But I finished—"

"And I said no one leaves until every student is searched," Mr. Mortis snapped curtly.

For the first time, a flicker of unease crossed Alanna’s face. Her fingers curled around the edge of her desk. Slowly, she lowered herself back down.

Ruelle finished answering her paper after going through it twice. Once she laid the quill down on her desk, she sensed someone’s eyes on her and looked at the front, but everyone was busy. It was then that she caught Alanna staring at her.

The search continued. One by one, bags were checked. One by one, students were cleared. But Alanna’s nails dug into her desk. She wasn’t worried about the search. She was worried about what she had done earlier this morning.

Alanna walked toward the examination hall, Gwendolyn at her side.

As she placed her bag down, her gaze flickered—pausing on the pile of discarded bags outside the hall. One stood out among the rest which was tattered and she knew it belonged to the pathetic Groundling.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Are you coming?" Gwendolyn asked.

"You go ahead," Alanna replied, feigning a warm smile. "I need to find my quills."

As soon as Gwendolyn stepped inside, Alanna moved with no one else in the corridor. She plucked up Ruelle’s bag, her fingers quick as she unfastened the bag. She was about to tear the bottom such that the bag could be of no use.

But then something cool and delicate touched her finger. She pulled out the silver chain, around which hung a pendant. Deep blue, the gemstone shimmered under the morning light, expensive, elegant. This... belonged to the lowly Groundling? Alanna’s grip tightened.

"How did it come under her possession?"

A gift? A favour? Some Elite fool taking pity on her? The Groundling didn’t deserve this, and it belonged to someone more worthy, someone of class... someone like herself. With a quiet, calcuative move, she placed the pendant in her handkerchief, before slipping it in her pocket.

Alanna couldn’t sit still. Her fingers were tapping impatiently against her thigh. She needed to get out of here.

"Alanna!"

Her head snapped up.

Forcing a calm, composed smile, she rose and made her way to the front, her every movement controlled. She and her bag were checked. Nothing.

"Now that I’ve been searched, I assume I’m free to go?" Alanna declared, a smirk returning to her lips.

Mr. Mortis barely looked up. "Alright."

The vampiress picked up her answer sheets to hand it over, her mind already drifting to how to place the pendant back to that stupid Groundling.

"Wait," the guard stopped her before she could leave the room.

Alanna’s fingers twitched. She turned, arching her eyebrows. "Do you have a death wish?"

The guard didn’t flinch and requested, "Your handkerchief, Miss."

Alanna’s pulse spiked. She tried to smother the rising panic, but her throat tightened. "What?" the vampiress stuttered.

"Your handkerchief, please," the guard repeated. "It needs to be checked."

Slowly, she fluttered the silk fabric. Something heavy slipped free. The sapphire pendant hit the ground with a soft clink. Silence stretched through the room for a second before gasps and whispers rose from everyone in the room.

The guard in the room picked up the chain from the ground, where the pendant sparkled. The whispers continued to be hushed with curiosity, amusement, and disbelief.

Ruelle who was seated, couldn’t help but wonder why Alanna had to steal it. She had everything—money, power, reputation. What did she gain from stealing a pendant?

Mr. Mortis stepped forward, his sharp gaze locking onto the vampiress.

"Miss Alanna," Mr. Mortis stated, his voice calm but laced with disappointment. "I must say, I expected better from you."

Alanna turned stiff, before she blurted suddenly, "It wasn’t me!" She then turned to Ruelle, pointing her finger and exclaiming, "It was her! That filthy Groundling stole it and must have placed it in my handkerchief when I wasn’t looking!"

A murmur rippled through the room.

Ruelle’s eyes widened at the accusation. She had expected Alanna to deny her thievery, but turning it on her? Her fingers curled into her palms, but she kept her voice steady and said to Mr. Mortis, "I swear I never stole it."

"Liar!" Alanna hissed. "You must have known the guards would search you and—"

"I have never known or touched that pendant," Ruelle replied firmly.

"You are the one who took it! You set me up!" Alanna exclaimed with gritted teeth.

"Alanna, you should quit pointing fingers at Belmont without any evidence," one of the first year Elite interjected, standing up for Ruelle. "I mean, let’s be honest—it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve taken something that wasn’t yours, would it?"

Alanna spun around, her face darkening. "Y–You are taking her side??"

"You stole my scarf," Ruelle replied in the moment. A wave of whispers spread through the students.

"That’s true—"

"Actually, yeah, I remember. Didn’t she also take—"

Alanna’s face burned with humiliation. She spat, anger creeping into her voice, "But this is ridiculous! Why would I need to steal wh—?"

"So, let me get this straight," Mr. Mortis raised an eyebrow. The room stilled, students hanging onto his next words. "Are you saying that you, an Elite, allowed a Groundling to not only steal an expensive pendant... but also plant it on you without you even realising?"

The students snickered. Someone whispered, "That’s rich."

Alanna’s mouth opened, but no words came out.

Mr. Mortis’s glared at Alanna, any trace of patience gone. He ordered, "Follow me to my office, Miss Alanna." The vampiress froze. He didn’t wait for her to move. His voice was final, "And don’t bother making excuses. Your parents will hear about your behaviour."

A visible shudder passed through the vampiress at the mention of her parents hearing about it. The colour drained from her face, her usual arrogance crumbling into something close to fear.

Alanna clenched her jaw and walked stiffly, trying to maintain some dignity as she walked towards the door. But that was not before glaring at the Groundling which was filled with unspoken promises of revenge.

Instead of looking away, Ruelle held her gaze long enough before the vampiress stepped out of the room. Her fingers clenched around the edge of her desk, her heartbeat a slow, uneven rhythm in her chest.

Alanna had nearly succeeded in dragging her name through the dirt. If Mr. Mortis had been the slightest bit more skeptical, if there had been any one mistake—

She released her breath slowly.

And then, as if drawn by an unseen force, her gaze moved across the room—Lucian’s eyes were on her.

Her breath caught for a second.

He wasn’t looking at her like the others. There was no curiosity, no amusement, no ridicule. Just that same unreadable, detached stare. Like he had been watching the entire thing unfold. Like he had been waiting to see what she would do.

’Always getting into trouble, Belmont,’ she could hear his voice in the back of her head. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Ruelle swallowed, forcing herself to break the eye contact first. But the weight of his gaze lingered, even when she looked away.

Outside the exam hall in the corridor, Ezekiel stood stifly while gritting his teeth. He watched Mr. Mortis leave with the Elite student. The whispers of the students blurred into white noise.

Ruelle should have been humiliated and she should have left Sexton. Instead, Alanna had been the one to fall. How? His plan had been flawless. He had placed the pendant in Ruelle’s bag himself!

And yet... when the guard searched her bag, it hadn’t been there. A bitter taste coated Ezekiel’s tongue as he walked away from there.

When night came, the Sexton’s halls had returned to their usual stillness. Ruelle sat at her desk, trying to focus on her studies. But instead, she looked at Lucian’s side of the room which was empty.

He hadn’t returned to the room.

The following day, Ruelle found him missing.

At first, she hadn’t noticed his absence. But while finishing the test, her mind and eyes wandered in the room to notice him missing. It had been an entire day since she’d last seen him. He hadn’t attended the test that morning, nor had he returned to their dorm afterward.

The rain that had started around dusk, slow at first, had turned relentless now. The numbing sound of it against the window filled the silence of her room, its rhythmic patter pressing against her thoughts. The storm outside felt endless, the kind that made the academy halls feel twice as empty.

Right now, Ruelle’s quill hovered over the parchment, her notes scattered across the desk. She tried to focus, to drown out the gnawing worry creeping into her mind. But her gaze flickered toward his desk. The books on his shelf sat in perfect, undisturbed order. His chair, always pulled out slightly, was pushed in.

Where was he?

She turned her head towards the window. The storm had swallowed the world outside in a curtain of water, the wind howling and the academy grounds barely visible beyond the distorted glass. A shiver ran through her.

And then she heard footsteps.

The dormitory door creaked open.

Ruelle turned sharply in her seat, her breath catching as a tall, drenched figure stepped inside.

Lucian.

Water dripped from his dark, disheveled hair, his clothes clinging to his well built frame, soaked through from the storm. He shut the door behind him without a word, the low click of the latch cutting through the thick silence.

The dim candlelight cast sharp shadows on his face, accentuating the sharp line of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes.

He looked like he had walked straight through hell with his shoes leaving footprint on the ground.

Ruelle’s fingers clenched. "Lucian," she started, her voice softer than she intended, "where were—"

But then, his gaze lifted. His deep, unreadable dark red eyes met hers.

And for the first time, she felt something off.

His stare wasn’t distant or cold. It was heavy. Something unspoken lingered behind it, something fractured. A drop of water slipped from his jawline, trailing down his throat. This night, there was something raw about his demeanour.

"Are you...alright?" Ruelle asked him in worry.

Silence. The rain roared outside.

And then the look in Lucian’s eyes changed, his lips parting with a crooked smile, "Why? What will you do if I say no?"

Ruelle sat frozen in her seat, noticing the hollowness of the smile. She saw him drag his hand through his damp hair, pushing it back. He then reached for a towel from his cupboard, rubbing it over his face once before draping it around his shoulders. His back continued to face her.

Ruelle hesitated for a moment, before replying softly,

"I can listen... if you want to talk." When Lucian didn’t respond, she apologised, "I am sorry. I didn’t mean to pry."

He simply stood there, unmoving, the towel draped loosely around his shoulders. Then he replied,

"I wasn’t expecting you to."

Ruelle frowned slightly and repeated, "Expecting me to?"

"To ask. People don’t, usually," Lucian responded in an even tone, which felt slightly tired. "Especially when boundaries are placed."

Her fingers clenched against her skirt. The words slipped out of her lips, "I was just worried."

Lucian finally turned, his gaze settling on hers.

"People only care when they think they should. When it’s convenient. Also, caring too much, too often, isn’t a good thing." He let out a quiet, sharp breath. "Don’t you know that’s how people get hurt."

His words sat heavy in the air.

Ruelle looked at him for a long moment. She then murmured, "I don’t think it works like that."

"Hm," Lucian hummed in response.

He shifted slightly, lowering himself onto the edge of his bed. She half-expected him to end the conversation there, to pull away like he always did. But instead, he finally remarked,

"I went to visit my mother."

Ruelle blinked. In the middle of test week? Was it something important? For a brief second, she forgot tests weren’t too important to an Elite, and she responded,

"You could have waited for the weekend to go meet her back home."

Lucian let out a quiet breath—something close to amusement, something not quite a laugh. He rested his forearms on his knees as he exhaled.

"She isn’t at home." Ruelle’s lips parted slightly, confusion flickering through her. Lucian’s gaze shifted towards her, his voice lowering, "She’s resting in the grave."

Ruelle’s eyes widened, horror anchoring her to the spot. Her breath hitched, and she instinctively gripped the fabric of her skirt, a wave of regret washing over her for her earlier words.

"I... I didn’t know," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry for your loss."

Ruelle felt like she had pried into something so intimate she shouldn’t have. But just as quickly as the heaviness settled between them, she heard Lucian exhale. That nonchalance she had come to know so well reappeared around him.

"It was just a visit," he replied, though the words felt hollow. "Same as every year."

Ruelle could see the tension in his jaw; he was holding something back.

The weight of his words lingered, but he made no effort to acknowledge it. Like he had already locked it away, burying it where she couldn’t reach. And yet for the briefest second, his fingers curled slightly against his knee. A flicker of movement. But Ruelle saw it.

He was hurting.

Grief was a ghost that never left. It simply learned to whisper in one’s ear. For a moment, she considered saying something else—maybe offering comfort, maybe telling him she understood him. But the look on his face made her hesitate.

Lucian leaned back slightly, one arm resting on the surface of the bed. It was as if he was listening to something only he could hear.

A sound just beyond the rain. A sound that didn’t belong in this quiet room, in this moment and his fingers gripped the sheet underneath his hand. He could still smell the metallic scent thick in the air, while his mother’s screams echoed in his ears. His hand tightened, feeling his mother pull his hand.

Ruelle saw Lucian turn his head to look at her.

His gaze lingered on her with something shifting in his darkened eyes. His jaw tightened—not with sorrow, but with something colder. Hatred.

It was brief, but she saw it. And in that brief moment, she felt as if the hatred was for her. He then looked away, his voice void of emotion,

"It’s in the past," as if it wasn’t worth dwelling on.

Ruelle swallowed, unsure what to say. The rain pounded harder against the window. The candlelight flickered, casting restless shadows across the walls. She hesitated, then said,

"If you ever want to talk about it... I’m here. I can listen."

Lucian turned back to look at her. His brooding gaze locked onto hers, and Ruelle felt the weight of it.

"You really want to listen?" His voice was quiet. But there was something in it—something sharp, something dangerous.

Ruelle nodded, her heart skipping a beat. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then—he leaned in slightly. And when he spoke again, his voice was like a knife.

"My mother was murdered by Groundlings. Humans."

Ruelle felt her breath hitch. His words settled like ice in her veins. The rain hammered against the window, filling the silence he left behind. His mother had been murdered? Why? Her throat had closed up. She expected anger—expected his voice to rise, to crack. But there was none. That was what terrified her the most.

Lucian wasn’t just angry.

He was calm. Too calm. As if the hate had settled deep into his bones, as if it had been there for so long that it had become a part of him.