Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Finally, the wedding day arrived, and the air inside the Belmont house buzzed with anticipation. Ruelle, her hands steady despite the quiet strain she felt in her chest, carefully fastened the last button on Caroline's wedding gown. The fabric was soft under her fingers.

Caroline stood before the mirror, her reflection glowing purely from excitement and the gown she wore. But beneath the poised exterior, she was fidgeting, her hands constantly reaching for her veil as if adjusting it.

"Is the veil sitting properly?" Caroline fretted, her fingers tracing the fabric cascading over her shoulders, which wasn't as sheer as she had wanted. "I feel like it's too far back," she said, followed by a slight cough. It seemed she had caught a little cold. 

Ruelle, who had spent the entire morning attending to every minute detail of her sister's appearance, smiled softly. She had become accustomed to Caroline's perfectionism, the need for every detail to be flawless. Yet, in her sister's fussing, there was something familiar and endearing, something that made her feel needed. She reassured her with a gentle tone, 

"It's exactly where it's supposed to be. Once the veil comes down, you'll see. It's perfect, Caroline. Just like everything else."

"I hope so," Caroline murmured. She stood a little straighter and let out a breath. "I've been counting down the days and hours. And now… soon I'll be married! Can you believe it?" Her voice suddenly brightened with excitement, a rush of joy replacing her earlier tension.

"I can," Ruelle replied, her smile widening as she knelt down to adjust the hem of Caroline's gown one last time, smoothing out invisible creases. "In less than an hour, you'll be standing at the altar, and everything will be exactly as you dreamed."

As Ruelle rose to her feet, Caroline turned to her, placing a soft hand over Ruelle's. Her younger sister said, "Thank you for being here today, Ruelle. You're the best sister. I'll miss you so much, but I promise, I'll visit Papa, Mama, and you on weekends."

Ruelle forced a smile, though her heart felt heavy, weighed down by the words she could never say. She replied quietly, "Of course."

Her gaze drifted to the mirror again, but this time it wasn't Caroline's reflection she saw—it was the memory of Ezekiel's arms around her, having mistaken her for Caroline. The guilt pressed down on her, heavy because in their world—where propriety meant everything—what had happened was wrong, even if unintended.

That fleeting, mistaken embrace felt like an invisible mark that no one else knew about—but she did. In a society where a woman's reputation could be ruined by a mere misunderstanding, the weight of what had happened gnawed at her conscience.

It was a mistake, a terrible one, she reminded herself, and pushed the thought away. 

"There was something I needed to tell you," Caroline's voice broke through Ruelle's thoughts. Yet, as her younger sister spoke, her gaze wandered, not meeting Ruelle's eyes. "You know how Priscilla has been desperate to get married? She's been practically standing on her toes in anticipation."

Ruelle frowned slightly, sensing Caroline's hesitation. "Is she alright?"

"Yes, yes, she's fine," Caroline said quickly, her words rushed. "It's just... when the time comes to hand out the bouquet, I'll be giving it to her. I thought... since you're at Sexton and you're not really looking to marry right now, I told her I will hand it to her..." Her voice trailed off.

Ruelle's chest tightened, feeling a subtle sting. Of course, it made sense, and yet... hadn't she, too, dreamed of marriage? A tiny flicker of hope had lived within her, that it might happen one day, even though her prospects were slim. But now, that hope seemed childish, foolish.

Swallowing the hurt that threatened to well within her, Ruelle forced herself to laugh, though it sounded thin even to her own ears. She replied, 

"That was it? I thought something terrible had happened. You worried me for nothing," she said in a light voice, as though the decision hadn't affected her at all.

Before Caroline could reply, the door swung open, and Mrs. Belmont entered the room. The older woman's eyes gleamed with tears of pride as they fell upon Caroline, standing in her bridal gown. "Oh, Caroline," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she hugged her daughter warmly. "You are the most beautiful bride! Your husband will be speechless when he sees you."

Turning to Ruelle, Mrs. Belmont's eyes softened slightly. "You did a fine job, Ruelle," she said with a brief, approving nod. "Now, it's time to leave for the church. The carriage is waiting, and Mr. Henley must already be there."

"It's happening!" Caroline exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over again as she gathered her skirts and followed her mother out of the room.

Mrs. Belmont paused at the doorway, her gaze briefly flicking over Ruelle's attire. "You haven't gotten ready yet. We'll be going ahead. Don't be late."

"I'll be there," Ruelle promised quietly, watching the two women disappear down the hallway, Caroline's veil trailing behind her.

The house, once bustling with the chaos of wedding preparations, was now eerily quiet. Ruelle turned towards the mirror, her own reflection staring back at her, pale and tired. Her own dress lay neatly on the bed—a modest brown gown. 

Once dressed, she stepped outside. It was only then that she noticed the absence of any remaining carriages. The last of the guests had already left, and her family had gone ahead. She would have to walk to the church, and quickly, if she wanted to make it in time.

At the wedding venue, the heavy wooden doors of the church stood wide open, inviting a stream of guests to fill the pews, their chatter a lively hum that echoed through the space. Some marvelled at the grandiosity of the occasion, while others whispered, eyes narrowing as they wondered how the Belmonts—a once-struggling human family—had managed to secure such an advantageous match.

At the back of the church, Ezekiel Henley stood poised at the altar. His black coat, tailored to perfection, clung to his form and polished shoes gleamed beneath the neatly pressed hems of his dark trousers. His hands were clasped loosely in front of him, fingers interlaced in what appeared to be a gesture of ease, yet the slight tension in his knuckles betrayed the calm facade. 

His gaze flickered restlessly towards the entrance. He had been waiting—anticipating that moment when the doors would open and Ruelle would step forward. But instead, his gaze flickered to Lorenzo Helsing and Count Westerling, who stood near the entrance with two other men. He knew that every second of this ceremony was being scrutinised—not by the guests, but by the men who held his future in their hands.

Count Westerling wore an expression of detached boredom. He was only here on Helsing's invitation, a brief stop during his business in town, but his judgement carried weight far beyond mere curiosity.

"Quite the gathering for a human family," Westerling murmured, his voice low. His gaze swept across the room, taking in the throngs of guests. "It seems the entire village has turned up for this spectacle. Not an empty seat in sight."

Helsing nodded, a thin smile playing on his lips. "Ezekiel is a well-known figure around these parts. A popular man, it seems. He will be a perfect addition to the High Court."

Westerling tilted his head, his expression one of faint amusement. "Or perhaps it's merely that humans enjoy gathering, as naturally as they breathe. Regardless, it will be a while before a position opens up in the Court. Plenty of time to assess whether this groom is as promising as you say."

Lorenzo replied, "Of course. Ezekiel is an excellent candidate for the High Court. The Belmonts were in quite the financial bind, and he offered them not just aid, but stability. They have two daughters. I overheard murmurs suggesting it's the one he isn't marrying who's considered the prettier one."

Westerling softly hummed at this but made no further comment. 

At the same time, Lorenzo tried to recall the names of the bride's family. Noticing someone making their way inside the church, he asked, "What's the Belmont elder daughter's name?" 

"Ruelle. The other one is Caroline."

Helsing nodded watching as a newly-arrived guest walked inside. He said to Westerling, "Ruelle, yes. The one he's marrying." 

Westerling's lips twitched in a small, calculated smile. "I'll give him credit there. Tradition must be observed, and securing the elder daughter ensures that no eyebrows are raised. But still," his tone grew thoughtful, "Between now and when a seat opens up in the High Court, we'll see if he lives up to your praise."

Before Helsing could respond, the bride and her father walked through the arched wooden doors. 

Westerling's eyes flickered towards the bride, his lips curling faintly in amusement. "It seems the bride is either shy or wants to build suspense," he remarked. 

Her veil was far more opaque than expected. But then again, it wasn't unusual for brides to be modestly veiled until the moment they reached the altar. 

The murmurs among the guests quieted as all eyes fixed on the bride's entrance.

Ezekiel, who stood at the altar, turned his gaze to the doors. Finally, the faintest silhouette appeared, framed by the soft light spilling in from the outside. His breath caught slightly as he strained to make out the figure—his bride, Ruelle, walking towards him with Mr. Belmont at her side.

He had waited for this day—waited for Ruelle—and now it was finally happening. She stepped inside the church, her movements slow and deliberate, as if weighed down by the fabric of her dress. 

At last, the bride reached the altar, her veil still covering her face. Ezekiel offered her a soft smile, extending his hand. His fingers brushed lightly against hers as they stood together before the priest.

The priest's voice filled the church, soft and steady as he began the vows of matrimony. Ezekiel's thoughts momentarily drifted to the future that awaited him. This marriage was the final piece of the puzzle. Ruelle—his wife—would be the key to cementing his reputation and securing his position in the High Court. Soon, all his ambitions would come to fruition.

But beneath the thick veil, Caroline's heart raced as she smiled in eagerness. The opaque veil had obscured her vision earlier while walking, making the journey to the altar more difficult than she had anticipated. She hoped no one had noticed her slight stumble along the way!

Ezekiel, oblivious to the switch, continued the ceremony in blissful ignorance, convinced that the woman beside him was Ruelle.