Claimed by the Prince of Darkness-Chapter 86: Twenty days

Heat crept up Ruelle’s neck and she shook her head too quickly.

"No. That is not—I do not..." Her words tangled between her tongue and worry. "I am not saving anything for him."

Did Lucian think she spoke with the prince to climb the social ladder? Someone desperate enough to cling to royalty?

"I wasn’t trying to do anything like that," she went on despite him never asking. "Things just happened this morning. His hair was stuck in glue, he couldn’t see, and I used oil—"

"Belmont."

The single word was enough to bring her words to a halt. His lips pressed into a thin line. Not in displeasure. He stated, "I wasn’t accusing you. You don’t have to explain yourself to me."

Ruelle’s cheeks looked flushed as his intense gaze fixed itself on her. Yet, something quiet sat in her chest, tight and unspoken. The fear that had crawled in last night refused to disappear.

Against the music and the chatter, her lips moved, and though she didn’t say it aloud, Lucian caught it. For a moment, something unreadable flickered across his expression.

’Are you... angry at me?’ She didn’t want him to resent her.

"Why is it that the first place your mind goes is self-blame?" Lucian’s voice dropped a fraction, steady and unbearably calm. He raised his hand slightly between them. "Don’t see yourself so poorly."

On the other side of the room, Prince Edward craned his neck and spotted Ruelle standing before Lord Slater’s younger son. From his view, Lucian wore a severe expression as ever, while Ruelle had turned red. Edward’s brows drew together.

"Instructor," he called out in earnest concern, gesturing dramatically for the vampiress to come to him quickly. "I think my partner is being scolded. She looks like she’s about to cry."

"Prince Edward," the instructor replied flatly, giving him an exasperated look, "there are already several students crying. Perhaps Your Highness would like to arrange handkerchiefs for the entire class next time?"

"Of course, I can. Wait—are you being sarcastic?" Edward asked narrowing his eyes, but the instructor had already begun to walk towards a pair of students in the back, where one was limping. He turned to his attendant, "Hermes!"

"Yes, Prince?" The attendant bowed his head.

Edward raised his hand, drawing a line on his neck. He ordered, "See it be done."

The attendant reminded him, "Your Highness, the King has pardoned instructors and students, unless it is—"

"Do you want to die?"

"...me included." The attendant cleared his throat.

With the music filling the ballroom, Ruelle realised she had been standing quietly.

Before the ballroom instructor would notice them standing still, Ruelle lifted her hand and placed it into Lucian’s. His palm was warm against hers, his fingers naturally folding around her hand.

The music that floated was older and refined, like silk draping around them. Since she had no prior experience in this dance, she became self-conscious. She was worried about failing because she had glanced at the others before, and the groundlings mostly looked stressed.

"You’re tense," his voice murmured, low enough it was meant for her alone.

"I’m trying not to step on you," she whispered back. "I have short legs..."

Lucian simply stared at her before he asked, "So?"

"...so I might slow you down," Ruelle informed him before he could point it out to her.

"You won’t. Follow me," he said at last, his hand adjusting on her back.

The tempo of the music increased, becoming rich and achy. Ruelle’s fingers tightened around Lucian’s shoulder slightly without her realising it.

Lucian guided her forward first. His presence wasn’t loud or overwhelming. It was steady, drawing her into a rhythm she didn’t know she had the ability to follow. She stepped back as he advanced, then forward when he retreated. Her skirt swept like water when she moved with him.

Despite the hall filling with chatter, laughter and tension, she found herself breathing easier. Trusting him.

"Thank you for last evening. For defending," Ruelle’s words were soft.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He then replied, "You shouldn’t be thanking me for that. It should never have happened to you in the first place."

"Still," she said gently, "thank you."

Then a faint, almost sheepish smile tugged at her lips. She murmured, "Maybe if people knew the Crown Prince and I were somewhat acquainted, they might behave better."

"People don’t behave better," Lucian said quietly. "They just get better at pretending."

Ruelle nodded faintly, as though she already knew and she sighed. She murmured more to herself, "Sometimes I wonder if things will ever change."

"What do you want to change?" Lucian’s tone turned serious.

"Just like all the Groundlings here. To have a better life," Ruelle replied. She then smiled and added, "Hailey said I finally have a shot in it after what she heard in the dining room," and she shook her head.

Lucian’s hand tightened faintly at her back, which went unnoticed by her. He said nothing, but his silence carried a weight to it.

Ruelle had never thought of Lucian moving with music. Lucian Slater belonged to the quiet shadows, to a world where warmth didn’t dare exist unless he allowed it. And yet right now, every step he took seemed to breathe life into the air around them.

He twirled her again, quicker this time. The world rushed in a blur of light, velvet walls and sweeping dresses before she spun back to face him. The distance between them closed.

His hand slid higher along her back in guidance, her heartbeat stumbling as her body moved instinctively to his lead. And when he leaned forward and she bent back beneath his hold, the movement drew him into her world and stole the air from it. Her eyes subtly widened at the action.

Lucian’s thick, dark hair framed his face with effortless style. The strands of hair that fell freely on his forehead were a perfect blend of untamed and carefully styled, suggesting both wildness and refinement. With his face hovering above hers, she traced his jawline with her eyes before being drawn back to his gaze.

Ruelle then felt him pull her and she rested her hand against his shoulder once again.

Lucian’s movements were fluid and confident, each step carrying a sense of grace and latent power. Despite the rough edges that his appearance suggested, there was a certain elegance in the way he carried himself, making him irresistibly attractive and enigmatic.

"It doesn’t matter how short or long your stride is," he remarked in a nonchalant voice. "The right partner will know how to lead."

And for the first time since morning, the restlessness in her head had quietened. Something inside her felt anchored. She smiled.

"I will keep that in mind," she murmured.

The music carried them into the next sequence. Somewhere nearby, two pairs stumbled and someone yelped.

Before the collision could spiral their way, Lucian’s hand tightened at Ruelle’s waist and he drew her aside smoothly. The sudden movement had Ruelle’s breath hitch, her fingers tightening around his sleeve before she could stop herself.

The instructor’s voice came through and she exclaimed, "What in heavens—!"

The music quietly softened. One of the humans hissed, leaning forward with a wince and clutching his ankle. He grimaced, "Ow—I think I broke something—!"

"Nothing looks broken," the instructor snapped, already marching toward the mess. "You"—she pointed her finger toward two final-year vampires—"take him to the infirmary," her gaze then moved to the culprits who were the cause of the collision.

"Ms. Beckett," the instructor called the name, "do your feet contain marbles? Or do you enjoy mowing through people like a runaway carriage?"

Alanna stood perfectly straight with her cheeks burning. After being unable to pair with Lucian, she had positioned herself where she could hear what he and the lowly human were talking about.

And she had leaned too far, only to end up dragging the poor human partner with her. And like stacked cards, the human was the start of the domino and people next to them fell.

"It wasn’t me," she snapped too quickly, quick to place the blame elsewhere. "He tripped. I tried to correct it," she pointed at her dance partner.

"I–I didn’t mean to," the human stuttered.

The instructor exhaled and ordered the Groundling curtly, "Go sit on the bench. You look like you are going to wobble."

"I have no partner now," Alanna announced, chin tilting high. "We should reshuffle. It isn’t as though we’ll be dancing with the same people during the ball."

"There is no need to rearrange anything. Today is for first years to learn," the instructor said flatly. Then she turned and called, "Your Highness. It is time for you to join."

Prince Edward blinked. He had been staring rather intently across the floor—at Ruelle and Lucian, at something he did not particularly like the look of. He tore his gaze away and smiled stiffly.

"How very kind of you," he began pleasantly. "However, my partner is already there." His hand lifted and pointed at Ruelle.

"Miss Belmont is learning," the instructor replied coolly. "I hope you aren’t planning to orchestrate something completely on your own, are you?"

"I do not see why that would be an issue," Edward said honestly and a faint vein appeared at the instructor’s temple.

"This is my class. You will follow my instruction. If that is beneath you, the bench will happily host you for the next few sessions," the instructor stood firm.

Edward glared at the insolent older vampiress. He turned his head toward Hermes. But the attendant had deliberately turned to face the wall, studying it as if he would find gold there.

The instructor continued, "And Your Highness, exercise caution with Ms. Beckett as she has demonstrated her lack of coordination," and she walked away from there.

Edward turned his head, his eyes landing on Alanna. The smile on his lips faded and he warned, "Do not test me. If you trip or fail to dance, I will have your feet removed before you wake up tomorrow."

Alanna swallowed.

Why were things getting this way?! The vampiress asked herself.

And while the prince glared at her like she was an insect, Lucian hadn’t spared her a single glance.

When class ended, Alanna did not stay behind and quickly left. Her heels moved across the corridor in a furious action. By the time she shut her room door behind her, silence filled the room.

She crossed the room and opened her cupboard. Not to change her dress but for the small hidden compartment built into the back panel. Inside, sat a glass vial of dark green liquid.

Getting a hold of it, her fingers curled around it. Her lips curled, as she had finally prepared it and it was just a matter of a few days.

And then—suddenly the door opened, and Alanna’s hand instantly shoved the vial back in its place before snapping the compartment shut. She snapped,

"What did I tell you about knocking before entering my room?"

The Halfling, who was her roommate, froze. "Forgive me," she apologised quickly, voice trembling. Her eyes flickered just once to the cupboard where Alanna’s hand now rested possessively.

Alanna’s gaze sharpened.

"You know–" the pureblooded vampiress said slowly, her voice lowering into something far colder, "–it didn’t take long for June Clifford to disappear. You don’t want to be next."

The Halfling’s eyes widened in fear.

She dropped to her knees and pleaded, "I apologise for my insolence. Please forgive me, Lady Beckett!"

Alanna watched the fool for a heartbeat, the corner of her lips lifting ever so slightly. She then ordered, "Get out."

The Halfling scrambled to her feet and fled from there instantly. Alanna’s hand remained on the cupboard a moment longer before she locked it with care. Her jaw tightened.

"Just twenty more days," she whispered to herself, voice soft and venom-sweet. "It is just in time for the Winter Ball."