Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 129: Chapter 129

He laughed then. It was a sound that never failed to catch her off guard. For all his severity around others, Ragnar’s laughter was deep and rich, the kind that easily filled the space between them without feeling heavy.

"Come," he said finally, gesturing for her to follow him. "Let’s find something worthy of the great Circe Valdris. I’d rather you not injure half the household before breakfast."

She shot him a look but followed nonetheless, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips as she did. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

"You know," she said as they walked, "if you keep acting this agreeable, I might start to think you actually enjoy my company."

Ragnar glanced sideways at her. "Who says I don’t?"

That made her pause mid-step.

He kept walking, the faintest smirk playing on his lips, knowing that he had successfully left her stunned.

And for the first time that morning, Circe found herself at a loss for words.

Snapping out of it, she finally caught up to him, and they walked inside together.

The air in the armory smelled of oiled leather, metal, and aged wood. Rows upon rows of weapons lined the walls—swords, halberds, daggers—each meticulously arranged. The faint glint of polished steel caught the light as she glanced around.

Circe stepped inside first, her fingers brushing lightly against the bow racks as she passed. A small smile tugged at her lips despite herself.

She’d missed this.

The smell of varnished yew, the smooth curve of the wood beneath her palm, it stirred something deep in her chest, a feeling that had lain dormant for far too long. It was happiness and excitement, wrapped up in a layer of grief.

Ragnar lingered near the doorway, watching her with folded arms. "You look like you’ve just stepped into a temple," he remarked, voice low and amused.

"Maybe I have," she said, not looking back at him. "This place holds more meaning than most temples I’ve seen."

He hummed thoughtfully, taking a few slow steps closer. "I didn’t realize archery meant that much to you."

She ran her fingers along a bowstring, testing its tautness before replying. "It was the first thing I ever loved."

That made him pause. "The first?"

Circe nodded, her gaze still fixed on the rack before her.

"Before the sword, before the politics, before all the rest of it. My mother taught me herself," Circe said, the words flowing freely out of her. "She used to say that archery isn’t about strength, but about control."

Circe’s voice softened even more as she briefly recalled moments from her childhood. "She was right."

She was usually so guarded when it came to showing any other intense emotion that wasn’t rage. But right then, she didn’t care that he was there with her.

Ragnar didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he spoke, he did so gently. "I would have liked to meet her."

Circe’s fingers stilled on the wood. The space seemed to hold its breath.

"She would have frightened you," she said finally, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly.

He smiled faintly. "I doubt that."

"Oh, she would," she replied, glancing at him now. "She had a way of making men twice her size forget how to speak."

"A family trait, then." He teased.

Circe blinked. "Excuse me?"

Ragnar’s grin widened just enough to be infuriating. "You have the same effect on people when you want to. Though I suspect your mother didn’t use quite as many threats."

He walked past her to inspect a bow hanging on the wall. He lifted it carefully, testing its weight. "This one’s well-balanced. Try it."

Circe accepted the bow, her fingers curling around the grip with practiced familiarity. The string was tight and responsive. It felt good, almost too good.

She drew it back halfway, testing the resistance, and smiled faintly.

Ragnar chuckled at the excitement she could barely restrain.

"You are very knowledgeable about archery," he said after a while of quietly observing her. "You’ve been causing trouble since the day you could hold a weapon, haven’t you?"

With her mind so occupied by everything in front of her, she almost forgot why she had been angry at him to begin with. Almost.

"Only when provoked," she said lightly as she picked up an arrow, turning toward the small practice target on the wall at the far end of the large armory. "Would you like me to demonstrate?"

He gestured toward the target. "By all means."

Circe took her stance. The motion came back to her like muscle memory. The way her feet found balance, the way her shoulders squared. The way her breath slowed just before she nocked the arrow.

For a moment, the world narrowed to the steady pull of the bowstring and the quiet thrum of her heartbeat.

Then she released the shot.

The arrow struck dangerously close to the center, a sharp thud splitting the air.

Ragnar gave a low whistle. "Not bad."

She turned to him, scrunching her nose in disbelief. "Not bad?"

He shrugged, teasing. "It could have been luck."

"Luck," she repeated dryly, huffing like he had just insulted her. She was already nocking another arrow. "Watch closely, then."

The next arrow landed directly beside the first. A third followed suit, just as perfectly aimed as the first two.

Ragnar blinked, momentarily speechless.

Circe lowered the bow, a satisfied smirk curving her lips. "Do you still think it’s luck?"

He exhaled slowly. "I think I’ll be assigning you to teach my guards."

"A tempting offer," she said, "but I doubt your men would appreciate being outperformed by a woman."

"They’d survive," he said. "They could stand to learn a thing or two."

Their eyes met then, and for the briefest moment, the air between them felt different. More charged.

Circe looked away first, setting the bow back onto its rack. "Well," she said briskly, clearing her throat, "I’ll tell Rowen to meet me here tomorrow. You will make sure we have space to practice?" she asked to confirm.

"Of course," Ragnar assured her. "Though if he takes after you, I should probably reinforce the targets."

She turned away. "He will do just fine with anything you have."

He nodded, watching her as she brushed her hands off and turned toward the door.

"Circe," he called.

She paused, glancing back.

"You have a very good aim," he said. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

It was a good thing she hadn’t been aiming at him earlier, he thought.

"I worked hard for it." Circe held his gaze for a moment longer before turning away, her heartbeat louder than it should have been.

As she stepped back into the sunlight, she realized she was still smiling and for once, she didn’t try to stop herself.