Claimed by the Prince of Darkness novel Chapter 123

Chapter 123: What cannot be bought

When Lucian’s long, elegant finger ceased its tapping, Ruelle’s traitorous eyes slowly rose to meet his. The veil was a foolish shield, yet without it she felt she might dissolve entirely beneath his gaze.

"How badly did you paint in the class to end up here?" Lucian asked, his eyes deceptively calm like a still sea.

Ruelle began to turn her head. "It was your—"

"Stay as you are." Lucian’s voice was low. His instruction was soft and her body obeyed before thought could intervene.

"My what?" he asked mildly as he removed his coat, folding it once before setting it aside.

As he rolled his sleeves, the fabric drew slowly over his forearms, revealing pale skin and the faint line of veins beneath. When his fingers flexed, she looked away as if she had seen too much.

"It was nothing," Ruelle whispered, her fingers tightening in her lap.

Across the hall, Mr. Swan’s voice came with brisk cheer as he spoke, "Choose your subject. This will be your final assessment. You may begin," while ignoring the veil Ruelle had pulled over her.

At the instructor’s words, the Elite students began to lift clay and press it between their palms.

Out of the four vampires who had chosen her as their subject, three rose from their tables and approached the dais. And during that time, Ruelle’s spine stiffened under their attention, her hands folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles almost turned white.

"Ugh, this one looks like it is going to take more time. I will take the other one," said one of the vampires, before moving to where the human male was.

Another vampire stood long enough for her shoulders to begin to ache before the person quit and moved with a mutter, "The fabric is going to be annoying."

When the third vampire lingered longer than necessary, a soft tap sounded from the front table as if the view were being blocked. The vampire shifted at once and returned to his place.

At Lucian’s table, Ruelle noticed how he appeared unbothered. Under his hands, the clay already bore the outline of her form.

The minutes stretched into hours, and weariness settled into Ruelle’s bones.

"My neck hurts," Caroline complained from the other side with a strained voice. "I cannot hold it like this any longer. I need to sit straight."

"Endure a little longer. You should feel fortunate to be of use today," Mr. Swan hummed in amusement, while Caroline glared at him quietly. "The other two are doing just fine. I have been considering a paired subject. A man and woman. Proportions are easier to assess when placed together."

"I am a married woman," Caroline snapped through gritted teeth at the old man’s audacity.

"Not you, Mrs. Henley," the instructor dismissed her. "I was thinking of Miss Belmont."

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Swan, but I would prefer to decline," Ruelle replied with a frown.

"You will be paid well," the instructor added. "Look there at the far end," he pointed at a statue of a woman made out of marble with a veil that barely covered her.

But before Ruelle could follow what Mr. Swan was pointing to, her gaze caught Lucian’s which was narrowed as he looked at the instructor, the way a predator might upon noticing a movement it did not like.

Unaware of it, Mr. Swan continued, "The drapery over the body is compelling. It is a marvellous piece. Imagine such an art with a living subject—"

A stool scraped loudly against the ground, faltering Mr. Swan’s words mid-sentence as he turned with his face still bright towards the source. The instructor asked Lucian,

"Do you require more clay?" and he gestured toward the servants who stood along the wall.

"No."

Lucian’s unblinking gaze remained on the instructor until the brightness in Mr. Swan’s face began to dim. Lucian then remarked,

"Mr. Swan, did you know that Mr. Mortis had the artist, Winslow, called to Sexton last month? I imagine he would find reason to be displeased if the assessment time were disturbed."

Silence followed.

Mr. Swan blinked before his eyes widened at the possibility of being replaced by another artist. After a minute he cleared his throat and said, "Continue your work, everyone. I will return shortly!" and he stormed out of the room.

At the same time, Ruelle’s attention was drawn to the sharp sound of shoes approaching towards the dais. She turned just as the footsteps stopped before her.

"How was your sleep?" Lucian asked while his eyes moved down the veil that was settled over her shoulders.

"Good," Ruelle replied, her words soft. "And you?"

Lucian regarded her for a moment before responding, "It was good." He then questioned her, "Are you waiting for an auspicious hour, Ruelle?"

Ruelle blinked beneath the veil. "I don’t understand."

Lucian tilted his head slightly. He enquired, "Is there a reason your friend believes you are moving into the new quarters with her?"

"Oh, that—" Ruelle let out a nervous smile. "I—I haven’t told her yet... She was so happy about it—"

Her words faltered when his fingers lifted, not to touch her but to graze the veil where it softened the line of her cheek. Her breath shuddered.

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