Chapter 122: The Veiled Subject

The last piece of log of wood in the fireplace collapsed with a soft crack as the birds chirped and stirred Ruelle awake from her sleep. She stretched her hands, her muscles loosening, and when she realised she had slept in the bed, her eyes flew open. She sat upright, her gaze sweeping the couch and then the rest of the room.

Lucian had left early, just as he always did. Once she was dressed, she left her room to meet her friends.

Ruelle had only descended two flights of stairs when she saw Caroline, standing at the next flight with her arms crossed, as though she was waiting. Upon catching sight of her, her sister stopped her. “I need to speak with you.”

“I thought we agreed there was nothing left to talk about,” Ruelle replied, trying to pass but Caroline only stepped into her path. “Move.”

“Do you like Ezekiel?” Caroline demanded. “Are you interested in him?”

Ruelle stared at her. “He is your husband,” she reminded.

“I know. But I am not certain you do,” Caroline said, her lip curling in bitterness. “Getting me to Sexton because you could not marry him yourself. The elder sister forced to watch the younger wed first—”

“Caroline. Mr Henley does not concern me,” Ruelle frowned at the absurdity of her sister’s implication.

“Then you are not jealous?” Caroline pressed, her voice thinning. “There has never been a moment? Not a look… a touch?”

The memory of Ezekiel’s arms around her in the shadow of the bell tower flashed through Ruelle’s mind, and her hands clenched.

Noticing the silence, Caroline whispered in horror, “It happened… didn’t it? Tell me it is not true. Was it during a lesson? After?”

“Nothing improper passed between us.”

“You are lying!” Caroline accused, her eyes beginning to fill themselves with tears. “I see the way he looks at you now.” After a pause, she then demanded, “Then why refuse the prince? If you are not waiting for Ezekiel, then why?”

“I am not required to answer your questions. We are past that point,” Ruelle said.

Caroline’s lips trembled as if she wanted to say more. But at the same time, Hailey called from several steps away from them, “Ruelle, are you coming?”

“Yes,” Ruelle answered her friend before glancing at Caroline. She doubted her sister would understand if she spoke of what had happened the night before the wedding. “You need not fear me,” she said quietly. “I have no wish to stand between you and your husband or your marriage.”

Walking past Caroline, Ruelle joined Hailey, who frowned, looking behind her before they walked down the rest of the stairs.

As they walked through the corridors, Ruelle’s eyebrows furrowed. She could not tell whether Sexton had driven her sister to this state or whether it was Ezekiel himself.

Hailey glanced toward the corridor ahead and thoughtfully murmured, “I wonder if there are rules about instructors spending time with the students out of class. I don’t think I’ve seen them together.”

Was that the reason her sister was spiralling?

Caroline belonged to Sexton now, and places like these did not protect humans. They appraised them before choosing how they might be of use.

Upon entering the dining hall, the voices seemed to fade in Ruelle’s ears. Her gaze moved and came to rest on the instructors’ table. She noticed Ezekiel’s eyes were already on her, his expression composed and gentle. Her sister’s words echoed, ’He’s never looked at me like that.’

Ruelle forced her gaze away and moved toward the serving table. The scent of bread and broth rose in the warm air, but her head felt light. She reached for a plate, her fingers unsteady.

She had told herself that it had been a mistake. A misunderstanding. But what if the note was never meant for Caroline?

No, that couldn’t be it, could it? Her own thoughts began to turn against her and her hand tightened on the edge of the plate. After filling her plate, she blindly followed Hailey and sat down at the Groundlings’ table.

“….can stay during the weekend,” Kevin responded to something Hailey had said.

“You don’t have to worry about us. Our luggage isn’t much. Ruelle and I will be just fine,” Hailey laughed before adding lightly, “Unless you have something planned that day?”

Kevin gave Hailey a quiet glare, which Ruelle missed entirely, as she realised she hadn’t decided on what to do about the new quarters situation. It had been only two days since the ball, and too much had happened in too little time.

“There’s actually a fair that is being set up in a nearby town. Do you both want to visit it?” Kevin asked them, his eyes coming to settle on Ruelle, who looked slightly distracted. “Ruelle?”

“A fair?” Ruelle repeated, giving it a thought and then giving a nod. “We can attend it.”

“Well, I need to let my parents know. Don’t need them thinking I turned into someone’s meal during the ball,” Hailey laughed.

Ruelle then stated, “I thought fairs were usually held during spring. And this is winter…”

“I heard the town hosting the fair belonged to the humans several years ago. But now it is under the vampire’s care and use,” Kevin informed them. “The fair is going to be run by Halflings.”

Hailey decided, “We can go visit it once we finish moving into our new quarters…”

And while her friends continued their conversation, Ruelle’s eyes lazily moved through the room, avoiding the instructors’ table before they halted upon Lucian, who was seated at the Elites’ table. He sat with a cup of blood tea, eyes closed as though enjoying it.

Then his eyes opened and found hers. His expression remained almost indifferent, yet something colder flickered in his gaze, a quiet displeasure that did not need words and she swallowed the food she had just put in her mouth.

He took a slow sip from his cup again before he turned to respond to something Sawyer said.

During the afternoon at the arts class, the students were instructed to choose a landscape and paint it upon their canvases. The room filled itself with the soft sound of brushes and the faint scent of oil. Lanterns had been lit around to brighten the room.

The instructor, Mr. Swan moved between the easels, offering quiet corrections. When he came to stand behind Ruelle, his brows drew together.

“Miss Belmont,” he said at last, his tone carefully neutral, while his hands held together in front of his chest. “May I ask what you intend to paint?”

Ruelle stared at the canvas before her. Her thoughts had wandered far away from the assignment. She had layered blue upon blue until the colour deepened into something almost dark.

Noticing the brush set aside by the student next to her, which was dipped in white, she quickly reached for it and scattered uneven flecks across the surface.

“The night sky,” Ruelle answered with a faint smile.

Mr. Swan regarded the canvas in silence, his expression tightening rather than easing. “How fortunate,” he replied dryly, “that you did not present it untouched and declare that God was yet to create the world.”

A few nearby students stifled their laughter and a sheepish smile appeared on her lips before she tried to fix it.

“She must be sick from the prince’s absence,” one of the Elites remarked with a snicker.

Mr. Swan did not smile and he stated, “Unless His Highness himself appears to petition for your grades for this subject, Miss Belmont, which I find unlikely, given his own deficiencies in the arts. You would do well to amend your work.” He glanced at his pocket watch before adding, “Two minutes.”

“Grade?” Ruelle blinked, the word catching her off guard. “You did not mention—” and the same moment, her sleeve brushed the canvas. A white dot turned into a streak. She cleared her throat and said, “That is a… meteor in the night sky.”

Mr. Swan’s eyes narrowed. He remarked, “If quick thinking were the subject, Miss Belmont, you would have passed. Unfortunately, this is art.”

When the lesson ended two minutes later, chairs scraped and students began to step out. Ruelle hurried to the front and bowed.

“I apologise, Mr. Swan. Grant me fifteen minutes, and I shall present you with better work. My skill isn’t something that deserves a direct fail.”

Before he could answer, Caroline gave an impatient harrumph. “It is good that these things don’t worry me. It is not as though I shall end up at the bottom of the barrel.”

Mr. Swan’s lips thinned. He responded, “Mrs. Henley, you are at the bottom of the barrel. Which is precisely why you ought to pay attention more than anyone present. If we were to rank all prospective students to be sent out, you would be the last name called.”

Colour rose in Caroline’s face at those words.

“Come now, Mr. Swan,” protested a human male from the back, clutching his rolled canvas which had a handprint. “I mean to serve as a royal guard. How is painting going to assist me in that?”

“If you are bought as a painter’s assistant, why not?” Mr. Swan raised a brow. “Sexton is not here for you to idle away the investment made in you.”

“I am married—where are the morals?” Caroline snapped.

“We do not deal in morals at Sexton,” Mr. Swan deadpanned.

Caroline’s teeth ground together. How could one argue with a man who calmly accepted the very accusation meant to shame him?

Ruelle stared at the canvas, her stomach sinking. It was as if in every term she was failing once.

“There is,” the instructor said after a pause, “one way you may yet pass the class. I require subjects for my next class. But you will miss three hours of your next class.”

“Subjects? What kind?” the human male questioned with a suspicious look.

“Come along,” Mr. Swan replied, already turning toward the door. “This room will not serve for what I require next.”

On the way out, Ruelle slowed beside Hailey and Kevin who were waiting for her. “I will find you later,” she whispered, offering a small, reassuring smile that did not quite reach her eyes before following Mr. Swan.

“She does seem more distracted,” Hailey sighed, wondering if Caroline’s words still bothered Ruelle.

Kevin asked, “Do you think it is true?”

“What is?” Hailey turned back to look at him.

“That she’s missing Edward. She’s been like this since he left,” Kevin murmured, watching Ruelle’s retreating figure.

In the art section of the building, a faint scent of damp clay and wet stone lingered in the corridor as Ruelle, Caroline and the male Groundling approached a pair of tall doors.

Seeing Mr. Swan step inside, she followed, and so did the other two.

The hall stretched wider than any classroom she had seen in Sexton. Tall windows lined the wall, their panes rising nearly to the ceiling, allowing the pale winter light to spill across the stone floor. She caught sight of clay, stone, water, and linen. There were tables surrounding the raised dais at the centre.

“My next class is sculpture,” Mr. Swan announced, already moving toward a workbench. “And you will be posing. Get on the dais.”

“You boy—remove your shirt,” the instructor said briskly. “We have no time to waste.” The male human hesitated only a moment before obeying and taking his shirt off and placing it at the side. “Good structure. That will serve today’s class,” the instructor nodded in appreciation.

“And you two,” Mr. Swan began, turning to the young women, “take off excess clothes. Scarf and coat.”

“It is cold,” Ruelle reminded him. At that moment, she noticed a thin white fabric next to her feet.

“You don’t have to worry about it. The room temperature will grow warmer,” Mr. Swan waved his hand.

Ruelle hesitantly pulled her scarf off her neck. The instructor then pointed to Caroline, “Take a seat at the edge and—”

“What about her?” Caroline asked sharply. “Or is modesty only required when it suits the situation?”

“Do not make this about me, Caroline,” Ruelle murmured with a deep frown.

“You wanted equal treatment. So let us do this right,” Caroline decided with her hands on her hips.

Mr Swan ignored their words and he set a stool upon the dais. He instructed Caroline, “Place your elbow here and your chin on top of this. What I require is pose.”

“That’s more like it,” Caroline said with a sharp breath before sitting on the surface and following Mr. Swan’s instructions.

Ruelle lowered herself onto the edge of the dais, the cold of the stone seeping through the thin layers of her skirts. She folded her hands in her lap, while behind her, Mr. Swan circled Caroline, adjusting the angle of her chin with two fingers.

She then heard the footsteps in the corridor along with voices.

“Clay beneath the nails is a nuisance,” Ruelle heard someone complain as the students entered the room and her eyes widened upon catching sight of Sawyer, who was staring at his fingers.

She should have let herself fail!

Catching sight of the white cloth lying on the floor, she grabbed it and drew it over her head and shoulders, veiling herself.

The cloth was neither wholly opaque nor truly sheer. When she glanced down at her hands beneath it, she could still see their pale outline through the thin fabric, which blurred and softened but could still be seen.

It concealed her yet at the same time it did not.

She kept her head slightly lowered beneath the veil as students began to occupy the tables.

And then she saw him enter.

Lucian’s footsteps were languid, as though time itself adjusted to his pace.

But when his head turned toward the dais, something in his stride altered, though his gaze did not waver. Her fingers tightened in her lap. The thin cloth stirred faintly with her breath, lifting a fraction before settling again, the fabric brushing her lips.

Ruelle heard the shuffle of footsteps disperse across the hall, most of them drifting toward the bare-chested young man at the back and a smaller cluster settling near Caroline’s pose. The room began to fill itself with the scrape of stools and voices of students arranging their tools.

At the same time, from beneath the thin veil, Ruelle saw polished boots come to a halt beside the first table nearest the dais on her side.

Lucian spoke something with his peer, which Ruelle couldn’t hear. After a moment, the person laughed softly.

“I look forward to it,” said the person, already gathering his tools. He rose and moved to the seat behind without protest.

Lucian did not thank the person, he simply turned his head towards the dais.

Beneath the veil, Ruelle’s eyes dropped at once. She fixed her gaze upon her folded hands, yet the awareness of him settled along her skin like a change in temperature.

She caught Lucian’s hand come to rest upon the table’s edge. Long fingers which were ungloved.

They stilled for a moment, then began a slow, deliberate tapping against the surface of the table which was rhythmic, as though marking time known only to him.

Tap.

The sound was soft, nearly lost beneath the scrape of clay and murmur of voices.

Tap.

Her breath caught in her chest.

Tap.

The faint vibration travelled through the dais and Ruelle finally knew how a prey felt in the forest.

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