Claimed by the Prince of Darkness novel Chapter 63

Chapter 63: At the edge of the room

The little murmur in the dining room flickered out, like the candle flame smothered between fingers. The two Halflings froze, their earlier bravado draining from their faces. Their backs stiffened. Their eyes darting in uncertainty.

"W–We’ll ask one of the servants to clean it up," one of them offered quickly, her voice high and trembling at the edges. "It was only a joke, really..." She glanced at Ruelle with a strained smile. "Right, Ruelle?"

"But I wasn’t." Lucian’s voice didn’t rise. He didn’t need to. Stillness hung on him like a tailored cloak. And yet, his dark red eyes remained narrowed and unblinking. "Wasting food is rude. And wasting my time...is something far less clever."

No one in the dining room dared to move. Their backs bent low over their bowls hoping to stay out of view.

Ruelle felt the tremor of fear ripple through not just the Halflings but also others in the room. The turned vampiresses swallowed, dread pooling in their eyes and their reluctance growing thin with time.

The Halflings sank to their knees, shoulders trembling. The one closest to Lucian pressed her forehead to the cold floor, words quivering,

"Forgive us! Being former humans, we should have been more mindful with food. Next tim—"

"Looks like your ears need to be checked, as you have trouble hearing," Lucian’s words were calm but held a quiet promise of consequence. The Halflings words were caught in terror when they saw him lift a polished silver fork from the table.

If there wasn’t motivation before, there was now as the vampiresses quickly crawled forward with shaking limbs and hands pressed flat against the cold floor. Hesitantly, the talkative vampiress was the first one to brush the sticky floor with her tongue. Each lick was mortifying. Across from her, the other followed suit—her cheeks hollow, as if each lick scraped away what pride she had left.

Ruelle watched them, her heart pounding. She wasn’t sure if it came from the sight before her or the truth of what happened when one crossed an Elite here. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

Yet beneath it all was a strange undercurrent of power—Lucian’s presence had shifted the atmosphere, made everyone around small. His gaze remained steady. He showed no satisfaction. He watched the Halflings lick the floor clean until he placed the fork aside.

"I–It has been cleaned..." the second vampiress murmured, eyes cast downward and carried humiliation.

Lucian said nothing for a long moment, letting the silence stretch. Then, as if dismissing a dull matter from his attention, he remarked, "Now that you’ve had your fill, remove yourselves."

The two Halflings didn’t linger. They scrambled to their feet with skirts brushing their heels, eager to escape the dining hall and from the heavy weight of Lucian’s gaze.

When he turned to Ruelle, she instinctively straightened her spine, though the sudden motion sent a quiet ache through her back. Slowly, she met his gaze.

"Get food and come to my table," Lucian said simply, already turning away. "You missed breakfast. I don’t need you adding more pain to yourself."

Without another word, he strode to the Elite’s table and took his seat, his posture reflecting the same authority with which he had spoken.

Ruelle remained where she was for a beat longer. The food? At his table?

Her eyes flicked toward the Elite table. Until now, she had never seen a Groundling, let alone a Halfling, seated there. It was unspoken, but understood—certain places weren’t meant for lowly beings.

And yet he had told her in front of everyone.

Clutching her plate with unsure fingers, Ruelle walked toward the empty table where Lucian sat, a book opened before him, thick with notations that looked strikingly similar to the books he had given her.

"Sit," he instructed her without looking up.

Ruelle didn’t question it and quietly sat across from him. She didn’t recall him carrying a book earlier when he had entered the room. A red porcelain teacup rested by his elbow, the dark liquid within swirling with a faint, metallic aroma—blood tea. The cup sat oddly elegantly against the rough and old surface of the table.

She took a careful bite from her plate, the food heavy and tasteless on her tongue. Every so often, her gaze drifted toward Lucian, who sat across from her, his eyes intent upon the thick book open before him. The academy’s examinations had ended only two days ago, yet here he was, already submerged in study.

She had just managed another mouthful when his voice, low and firm, broke the silence.

"Eat more than that," Lucian said, the words quiet but firm. He didn’t look up right away, yet she felt the weight of his attention settle on her. "You’re not impressing anyone by starving yourself."

Startled, Ruelle’s fork stilled above her plate. Her cheeks warmed under the unspoken scrutiny. She murmured,

"I’m not..."

Lucian’s wine-red eyes lifted from the pages, his gaze meeting hers across the narrow width of the table. There was a certain gravity that pressed against her skin, as if it could peel away every shield she had ever placed. Soon she found herself blurting words just to fill the space between them, not out of discomfort, but to soften the weight of his attention.

"I thought you had gone home," she uttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"A soiree is being held at my place. It will be noisy," Lucian remarked, almost as an afterthought. "It seemed like a good time to stay behind and catch up on this." His fingers tapped lightly against the thick spine of his book, a gesture more telling than the words themselves.

Ruelle studied him for a moment, curiosity flickering in her brown eyes. She wondered if this was how he always managed to stay ahead—choosing study over spectacle, solitude over noise.

"That’s a thick book to study for the final year," she murmured, unable to hide her quiet admiration or perhaps worried about having to read such a big book in the future. "Will I have it too?"

Lucian’s eyes did not leave the page, but his mouth twitched.

"No Groundling ever makes it to the final year," he replied, lifting the red porcelain teacup with a practiced ease, his voice as even as ever. "They’re usually given assignments—placed in jobs—by the end of their second or third year. Besides, this isn’t a book on the syllabus here," and he took a sip of the blood tea.

Somewhere beyond the thick stone walls, the great tower bell began to ring loudly. The sound was deep and reverberated across the campus, echoing into the quietness of the dining hall.

The same bell, as if softened by distance, didn’t reach the human town where the Belmonts lived. Inside the house, Mr. and Mrs. Belmont stood in the cramped kitchen of their small abode.

"—if you hadn’t insisted on those horses and the fancy carriage for the wedding, with endless soirees, we wouldn’t be lacking coins for next week!" Mr. Belmont’s voice cracked as he paced, hands raking through his thinning hair. His agitation filled the kitchen, bouncing off walls worn thin with years of disappointment.

Mrs. Belmont did not meet his eyes. She carefully smoothed a wrinkle from the tablecloth, her tone soft—almost soothing, as if she might smooth away his temper as easily as the linen.

"You know how people talk, Harold. Caroline’s wedding needed to be respectable. She can’t begin her life with Ezekiel in shame, can she?"

Mr. Belmont’s fists curled at his sides. "Now the debt collectors will be here next week, and we’ve nothing left but debts. It’s always your airs, your little displays." He paused. "We should have paid them first, before spending on dresses and cakes and—"

She looked up at him, eyes wide and almost innocent. "We?" she echoed softly, as if the blame might belong to anyone but her. "I only wanted what was best for our Caroline. And I don’t recall the cards and dice at the wedding." She let the implication of his gambling habits hang, her voice gentle but her eyes sharp with knowledge.

Mr. Belmont’s scowl deepened. He turned away, shoulders hunched, the weight of failure sitting heavy on him. He was once a respectable man with wealth and status! He couldn’t believe how the vampires had pushed him to this state and he despised them for it.

Trying to soften the tension, Mrs. Belmont’s voice turned thoughtful, almost sweet. She suggested, "We could always ask Caroline. Perhaps Ezekiel can spare a little—just until things settle."

He shook his head, jaw tight. He muttered, "I don’t want to ask her. I won’t beg from my son-in-law."

There was a pause, a small silence before Mrs. Belmont let her next thought drop, almost as an afterthought, by saying,

"Well, Ruelle is still at Sexton. She must have found some way to manage by now. I’ve heard people there can make a fair bit of money." Her words carried a faint, calculated curiosity. It was just enough to plant the seed.

Mr. Belmont’s lips thinned. He replied, "You’re right. People who attend there do make plenty. Where is she?"

Mrs. Belmont glanced at the battered clock, then the calendar on the wall.

"It is the weekend. She should have been here by now. But it seems like she likes to stay at Sexton more than return home..." the woman’s voice dropped, soft but pointed. "Well, perhaps she prefers their company to ours, after all we have done for her. I suppose there are finer things and finer people to keep her busy at Sexton these days."

Mr. Belmont’s jaw tightened, his mouth set in a thin, bitter line before saying, "Ungrateful girl."

The familiar creak of carriage wheels grew louder until it finally drew to a stop outside the house.

"Mama! Papa!" came Caroline’s bright voice, ringing like bells outside the house.

Mrs. Belmont’s eyes lit up at the sound. She smoothed the apron around her waist before opening the door. Caroline stepped into the entry, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, her deep blue coat revealing her new life. The embrace between mother and daughter was warm.

"It is so good to see you, Caroline!" Mrs. Belmont said, her smile blooming, her arms holding her daughter as if she could press a little luck into her bones.

"You too, Mama!" Caroline beamed while pulling her gloves off her hands. "You should see the market—they’ve started selling sugary hawthorns again. Ezekiel bought me two, and I ate them both before we got here."

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