Chapter 32: Wildfire at the tables

At the other side of the Elites’ table, Lucian sipped his tea, his expression unreadable, seemingly unaffected by the growing commotion around him. Though the room buzzed with whispered gossip and students began casting furtive glances in his direction, he appeared seemingly uninterested in the growing whispers and speculation.

“Seems like everyone’s heard about your new roommate,” Blake remarked casually, her tone light as she glanced around at the curious students.

Lucian gave no outward sign of acknowledgement, his face as impassive as ever.

Sawyer, seated beside Blake, clicked his tongue in exaggerated disappointment. He complained, “Of course, the one year I decide to have a roommate is the year I shouldn’t have one. So, does this mean… humans are o—Ow!” he yelped as Blake kicked him under the table.

Blake shot him a warning look.

“I was just asking!” Sawyer protested, rubbing his chin, though he quickly leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. “But seriously, a human in Lucian’s room? It’s shocking.”

No one had expected for Lucian to room with a human, and it would be a lie if Blake said she wasn’t shocked. She said, “Poor girl. I heard from my roommate that she worked hard for weeks to finish that scarf, and then it was stolen by Alanna. That’s how she ended up in this mess.”

“Oh, the scarf! I remember it. I didn’t know Alanna was poor. Guess she should be sitting at the Groundlings’ table,” Sawyer said in a thoughtful voice. “I would have thought they were fighting over Lucian’s attention. They always do.”

“I wonder if she’s going to fail by not making it to the library on time,” Blake remarked, before completely switching the subject.

As Blake and Sawyer continued their conversation, Lucian’s expression remained blank. But as he raised his cup to his lips, his eyes slowly flicked towards Alanna, catching the sight of the scarf around her neck.

Meanwhile, Ezekiel, who was sitting at the table with the staff of Sexton, picked up the faint words that continued to fill the dining room with chatter.

Ezekiel’s eyes scanned the hall, and they locked onto Ruelle instantly. His expression darkened, his jaw tightening as a rush of possessive jealousy surged through him. To think she had changed rooms overnight—with a male student—ignited rage inside him.

The corridors of Sexton Academy were unusually quiet for this time of day, as students buried themselves in preparation for the upcoming week of tests. Even the usual chatter that filled the halls seemed to have dwindled, giving the stone walls an almost hollow feel.

Hailey, walking beside Ruelle, was speaking animatedly as usual, her words a welcome distraction in the silence,

“… and then there’s Lady Norah. I know she already has a Groundling, but I heard she might be looking for another one. I can ask Tess if you want,” Hailey offered, her voice lively despite the serious topic of finding work.

Ruelle, however, was only half-listening, glancing down at Hailey’s bandaged hand. She asked in concern, “How’s your hand doing?”

“Can barely feel a thing ha ha,” Hailey laughed. She said, “I mean, it has—”

Her words were cut off abruptly as they nearly collided with someone rounding the corner of the narrow hallway. It was Ezekiel Henley.

“Good morning, Mr. Henley!” Hailey’s voice was bright and courteous as she dipped into a polite bow, Ruelle following her lead.

Ezekiel’s expression, for a moment, remained unreadable as his light red eyes fell upon the two women. There was nothing inherently ’good’ about the morning for him, but as always, he masked his true thoughts behind a well-practiced, charming smile. He greeted back,

“Good morning, Ms. Elliot. Ms. Belmont.” He then said, “It’s fortunate I ran into the two of you. The previous assignment books are in my office, and I need someone to return them to the students. It would save me some time,” his eyes settling on Ruelle.

“We had be more than happy to help you, Mr. Henley,” Hailey responded eagerly.

The women didn’t notice the flicker of irritation that crossed Ezekiel’s face—a brief crack in his perfect demeanor. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same disarming smile. He responded,

“That’s very kind of you, Ms. Elliot,” before gesturing for them to follow him as they made their way toward his office.

As they walked, Ezekiel’s voice lowered to a quieter tone, meant only for Ruelle’s ears, “You need to be more careful, Ruelle. Actions have consequences here.”

Ruelle’s mind instantly jumped to the incident with Alanna, the night she had accidentally stabbed the vampiress in self-defence. She stiffened, guilt tightening in her chest. “It wasn’t meant to happen,” she whispered, her voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Ezekiel’s lips curled slightly, pleased with her response, though he kept his expression concerned. He said almost comfortingly, “It’s not too late to fix things. I’ve been worried about you.”

For a moment, Ruelle blinked in confusion.

“Staying with a male student… it can’t be easy for you,” Ezekiel continued, his voice layered with feigned concern. “I can arrange something more appropriate. There’s a spare room in Sexton you could take in the staff’s quarters. Something that would be more fitting for a young woman like yourself.”

Ruelle paused, her surprise evident and she replied, “That’s kind of you, Mr. Henley, but I can’t change my room for the next two months. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.”

“Trouble?” Ezekiel’s tone shifted slightly, a faint edge of jealousy creeping into his voice, though his smile never faltered. “It’s no trouble at all. In fact, I could speak to Mr. Mortis. It would be better for you, wouldn’t it? To be in a more… proper space?”

Ruelle hesitated. She didn’t truly want to trouble Ezekiel, because she believed if there was a room available, then Dane would have mentioned it. She smiled politely, before answering him, “Thank you for looking out for me, but I think I should be able to handle this on my own.”

Behind his charming smile, Ezekiel’s jaw clenched, a barely-contained frustration gnawing at him. How could she choose to stay with another man—when he was offering her an easy escape? The thought twisted inside him, fuelling his possessive anger. But outwardly, he maintained his calm facade, nodding with practiced understanding.

“If that’s what you want, I will support your decision,” Ezekiel said, his tone smooth as silk.

A short while later, Ezekiel was found standing in Mr. Mortis’s office, the atmosphere heavy with the scent of old parchment and candle wax. His expression was a mask of concern, carefully schooled into one of measured worry.

“Mr. Mortis, there’s something I had like to bring to your attention,” Ezekiel began, his voice solemn. “It’s about a Groundling student. Ruelle Belmont.”

Mr. Mortis, ever the stoic, fixed his hollow-eyed gaze on Ezekiel. He questioned, “What about her?”

“She has become something of a problem,” Ezekiel replied, his tone carefully measured. “I heard she attacked an Elite vampiress, last night. Surely that’s grounds for expulsion?”

He delivered the accusation with a practiced air of concern, masking his true intent—he wanted her gone, removed from the proximity of another male.

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