Claimed by the Prince of Darkness novel Chapter 11

Chapter 11: Fire in the mountain—Run!

Ruelle clutched the quill in her hand while she sat in class. Despite the passing hour, her mind was shackled to Mr. Mortis's words. She couldn't leave Sexton? The establishment owned them? Was her family aware of this?

After the Antiquity class, which was the study of vampire and human history, the Elites stayed behind while the Groundlings moved on to their next lesson.

"What does S.T stand for?" Ruelle asked as she tightened the ribbon in her hair.

"Maybe Sexton and something staring with T? Or maybe survival tactics," Hailey joked.

When they stepped into the room with the other students, Ruelle noticed that instead of the usual desks and blackboards, the room had benches lining the walls and...a single bed.

Her eyes were drawn to a striking vampiress standing at the centre of the room. She wore a red dress with a white cravat adorning her neck, fastened with a green pin that glinted in the candlelight. Despite the long velvet curtains, there were no windows. Similarly, though hooks adorned the ceiling, no chandeliers hung from them.

"Settle in everyone," the instructor ordered as the rest of the students filed into the room.

One boy, crossing to the front, stumbled, only to be caught by the instructor's swift and steady grip.

"Pardon me!" The boy apologised, who appeared to be fifteen years old.

As the room fell silent, all eyes fixed on the instructor. She leaned in close to the boy's face, creating evident tension in the air. Was she going to kiss a student? The question rippled silently through the room. The boy's lips parted ever so slightly, a mix of anticipation and uncertainty clear on his face.

"It seems we'll be refining some manners in this class, won't we?" The instructor murmured, her voice smooth and assured.

The boy, clearly from a higher social standing despite his human status, flushed and hurriedly moved to the side, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. A soft chuckle escaped the instructor's lips—a playful melody that broke the tension.

"I am Gemma Gilbert, your instructor for Seduction Techniques this year. You may call me Gemma," she announced, her tone professional yet inviting.

Did she hear that correctly? Ruelle asked herself with a frown.

"Se—Seduction?!" stammered one of the Groundlings, their voice thick with shock. The word was nothing less than a taboo, rarely uttered in public.

"This is not supposed to be a subject. Any such activities before marriage are immoral!" One girl exclaimed, her face flushed with exasperation.

Ruelle stood rooted to the spot with a dumbfounded expression. Her gaze drifted to the bed at the back of the room, and her cheeks burnt with embarrassment, mirroring the rest of her classmates' faces.

"Firstly, you Groundlings won't be expected to 'do the deed.' As first years, you'll only be learning to understand the concept," Gemma continued, her tone both authoritative and alluring. "You must be prepared. Our world revolves around three pillars." She raised a hand and began counting them off with deliberate precision. "Power. Wealth. And lastly, sex. Seduction is a delicate dance of restraint and release. When does it truly begin? With a touch, or long before that?"

"What use will this be for someone training to be a guard?" a young man asked sceptically.

Gemma's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Imagine your master or mistress entertains a guest—perhaps even an enemy," she replied, her tone persuasive and smooth. "The skills you will learn here could prove vital for their protection. Should your master or mistress require your... attention, you must be prepared. Moreover, if you aspire to become the spouse of a prince, an earl, or any high-ranking vampire, wouldn't you want their attention focused solely on you?" Her sly smile widened, capturing the interest of the students, especially the girls.

"Remember," she added sternly, "what we practice here remains within these walls. Any misuse or inappropriate actions outside this classroom will have severe consequences for you, Groundlings." Her gaze hardened, emphasising the gravity of her warning.

"That's reassuring, isn't it?" someone in front of Ruelle asked in relief.

"She only mentioned Groundlings and didn't say anything about the Elites," another classmate murmured.

"To ease you into this class, let's begin with an activity. Close your eyes," Gemma ordered, clapping her hands with enthusiasm.

Ruelle apprehensively complied, closing her eyes until Gemma said, "Now, girls, think of the man who first comes to your mind. Boys, picture a girl. Write down their characteristics—"

"Like my father?" A confused voice interrupted.

Before Gemma could respond, another student interjected, "My sister?"

Gemma's eyes widened, a flicker of alarm crossing her face, and she muttered, "No! You have misjudged the intention of this class and we clearly need to establish some boundaries. Very well, let's adjust our approach," she said, recovering her composure and continuing smoothly.

Ruelle's mind raced. She was going to fail this subject—she was certain of it. It was because of the person who had materialised in her mind. Her thoughts swirled in anxious spirals. She had never interacted much with young men her age, let alone thought of them in any romantic way. This was uncharted territory.

When the opportunity of attending Sexton arose, she had known it was a sketchy place. Yet it offered something no other place did: a chance to make money, to earn enough to free herself from the burdens of her family's crushing debt. But never, in all her planning, had she expected to face something like this. The concept of seduction—of using her body to please someone she didn't even know—felt overwhelming, a step too far.

"Do you mind?"

A soft murmur pulled Ruelle abruptly from her swirling thoughts. Standing before her was a young man. He stood a couple of inches taller than her, his demeanour surprisingly calm. "What?" she responded, taken aback by the unexpected intrusion.

"Has everyone found a partner for the class?" Gemma's authoritative voice resonated through the room, commanding attention and momentarily quieting the ambient hum of conversation. "You'll need to pair with someone of the opposite sex," she continued, her instructions as firm as they were clear.

Ruelle glanced around, her gaze settling on Hailey, who was already beside another male student, laughing softly under the dim glow of the classroom candles.

"Unfortunately, my assistant is on leave, so the real classes start in two weeks," Gemma announced as she scanned the room. "Until then, we'll be working on assignments. Your first one is to observe your partner, document their characteristics, and submit your findings to me."

"You weren't moving, so I thought I should ask you. I'm Kevin Reynolds," the young man with black eyes introduced himself with a friendly nod. "I'm—" she began.

"Ruelle Belmont. I know," Kevin blurted before offering a sheepish smile. "I mean, I heard it when they were sorting us into our dorm rooms. If I may ask... how old are you?"

"Eighteen," Ruelle replied, and asking the same, "You?"

"Eighteen myself, though not for much longer. Two months, actually," Kevin confessed, his voice carrying a hint of pride. "I barely made the cut. My goal is to become a high-ranking minister in the royal court." He leaned in conspiratorially, shadows dancing across his face. "But, between you and me, seeing how things are here, I worry I'll end up just another guard." He paused. "What about you?"

Ruelle shrugged, offering an uneasy smile. "I suppose it depends on whether I pass my classes. That'll determine where I end up."

"You will pass just fine! I watched you jotting down notes," Kevin remarked with genuine admiration. "I'm still getting there myself, struggling a bit with spelling."

"If you'd like, I'd be happy to help," Ruelle offered warmly, noticing how Kevin's eyes lit up with her suggestion. She was already helping Hailey, so assisting another human seemed only natural.

"Really? You'd do that?" Ruelle nodded, seeing Kevin's initial anxiousness ease as they continued talking. "That would mean the world to me. I could even pay you with some of the money I will earn here!"

Ruelle shook her head gently, a soft smile playing on her lips. "No need for that."

"Have you gathered enough for library access yet?" Kevin inquired, his curiosity genuine.

"Not yet, but I hope to in time," Ruelle replied with an optimistic smile, a glint of determination in her eyes. Seeing her, Kevin couldn't help but be captivated by her resolve.

When lunch break arrived, Ruelle and Hailey were approaching the dining room, when June bumped her shoulder against Ruelle before walking past her. Ruelle's lips pursed at her childish roommate, watching her smugly flip her hair.

"You should probably try switching rooms," Hailey suggested. "She's like a little gargoyle."

A smile broke across Ruelle's lips and she replied, "Don't let her hear that, else she will be after you too." She then asked, "You think there are still people without roommates?"

"If I have heard it right, plenty of the vampires are," Hailey replied.

Ruelle whispered, "I am not so sure about that." The last thing she needed was to jump from the pan into the fire.

As they entered the room and made their way to their usual table, Ruelle's eyes scanned the room warily. She noticed masks disappearing from the Elites faces, with one such mask dissolving into a faint vapour, revealing Lucian's face beneath it.

Ruelle's heartbeat quickened at the memory of what happened after her bath, and she quickly used Hailey as her shield.

"What? Is it the vampiress??" Hailey asked, ducking her head. "No?" she asked upon seeing Ruelle shake her head.

"It's just that an Elite vampire was in your room earlier today. The one we met last night in the maze," she whispered, her voice barely audible. She glanced cautiously toward the other side of the room, where Lucian sat, his posture rigid as he spoke with his friends.

Hailey's eyes lit up in recognition. "Oh, Lucian Slater! He is Blake's best friend. He was probably there to see her. I mentioned the whole name change thing, and she just laughed and said he was probably joking."

It didn't seem like he was joking, though, Ruelle thought as she took her seat at the table.

Across the vast dining room, Lucian's gaze was sharp and unwavering. His expression was unreadable, his eyes holding an air of disinterest as he sipped the blood from his glass. Beside him, Sawyer leaned back in his chair, arms draped lazily across the backrest, while Blake sat in front of them with her legs crossed.

"Do you think this year's games will offer any true excitement?" Blake mused, tilting her head slightly, the question hanging lightly between them like an unsolved riddle.

Sawyer considered her words, a sly twist to his lips before responding, "If you ask me, the competition seems lacklustre at best. It's all about which team draws the shortest straw with the least capable player, isn't it?"

"True, but we can't overlook potential surprises," Blake countered, her tone effortlessly smooth. "Remember that Groundling from four years back? The one who turned the tide and rose to become the princess's guard?"

Sawyer nodded, grinning. "Ah, indeed. The teams won't take shape for a few more weeks. Until then, it's all trial runs as names get tossed about. That's part of the charm—the surprise element. Jinxy mentioned we'll be working with the first-year Groundlings. Should be quite the spectacle, right, Lucian?"

"Spectacle? It's nothing more than an exercise in futility," Lucian replied, his words tinged with subtle haughtiness. Sexton thrived on mixing not just classes but students of varied experience. "Perhaps it's amusing watching Sexton peddle the illusion of sociability—a glimmer of hope that never reaches the surface."

Lucian, along with others among the Elites, understood Sexton's true nature and the motives underlying its activities. The humans came seeking equality, yet by the end of the year, they found only harsh truths beneath the academy's shimmering veneer. As for the Groundlings, their efforts were little more than threads of insignificance in the larger weave—one that held little of his concern.