Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 133: Chapter 133

The dungeon was built deep in the lower levels of the manor, far from any light or warmth. The air was damp and stale, filled with the smell of rust, and old blood.

The wall sconces cast light along the path as Ragnar descended the narrow stairway, stretching his shadow long and jagged ahead of him. Each step echoed softly, a measured rhythm.

The guards stationed by the iron door bowed when they saw him approaching, their eyes wary. They had been ordered not to speak or interact with the detained man.

"Open it," Ragnar said quietly.

The guards sprang into action, rushing to obey. The hinges groaned in protest as the door swung open, revealing the cell beyond.

The dignitary was slumped against the wall, wrists bound by chains that clinked faintly when he stirred. His once-fine robes were now streaked with blood and dried sweat.

Ragnar stood by the threshold, hands clasped loosely behind his back, his shadow stretching long and crooked against the stone floor. There was no fury in his eyes now, just icy calm.

The kind of calm that turned grown men into stumbling fools.

He stepped inside quietly and signalled for the guards that were inside the cell to leave.

The door clicked shut, leaving just the two of them alone.

The dignitary raised his head weakly when Ragnar approached. He looked less like a representative of the king and more like a man who’d already met his end and simply hadn’t realized it yet.

"Your Highness," he said, his voice hoarse from disuse. "I trust you’ve come to see reason."

Ragnar’s steps were unhurried as he crossed the floor, the soft scrape of his shoes against the stone louder in the stillness than any shouted order could be.

He stopped a few paces from him. "I came to seek the truth."

"Please," the man tried again, his voice breaking. "I’ve told your guards everything I know. I swear, I had nothing to do with that assassin. I didn’t even know him."

Ragnar said nothing. He simply studied him, his expression unreadable.

There was something far more dangerous in his silence than in his rage.

"Let us not waste time," Ragnar continued. "Your companion tried to kill me. A man who, by all accounts, was ready to die for it. Now, tell me, why would a visiting dignitary risk his life conspiring with an assassin?"

The prisoner’s lips parted. "Conspire? I was just a guest in your home. I had no hand in what that fool did. I swear on the Marzen’s throne."

"You’re very eager to swear on something sacred." His words held no inflection. "You forget that your oaths mean nothing to me."

"Do you know what I find interesting?" Ragnar said finally, his tone almost conversational. "You and your companion demanded an explanation when I brought in the assassin’s corpse. You called what I did an outrage."

He took another slow step closer.

The man swallowed hard, his chains rattling faintly. "Because I am innocent, Your Highness. Any man in my place would have been horrified."

Ragnar crouched before him, the movement controlled and graceful. His eyes met the man’s unfocused gaze.

"Innocent men fear punishment," Ragnar said. "Guilty men fear discovery. Which are you?"

Days spent in captivity had the ability to affect a person’s way of thinking and help in loosening their tongues.

Ragnar could see the change in the man’s eyes. He was already beginning to crack, bit by bit.

The man tried to hold Ragnar’s gaze but faltered almost instantly, looking away. "I—I swear, I was only following orders."

"Orders?" Ragnar’s head tilted slightly. "Whose?"

The man hesitated, his lips parting, then closing again as though he had thought better of it.

Ragnar’s expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Shadows stirred faintly at his feet, drawn to the dignitary’s unease like hounds scenting blood. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

"You misunderstand," Ragnar said evenly. "This isn’t a court, and I’m not a judge. I don’t need your confession to decide your fate. The only reason you are still breathing is because I am patient and because I value information more than I value convenience."

He reached out, and the man flinched violently, expecting a blow. But Ragnar merely rested a hand on one of the chains, tracing its length idly.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice quiet enough that the prisoner had to strain to hear. "How much were you promised?"

The man’s breath quickened. "Promised?"

Ragnar’s gaze lifted to him again. "Coin. Power. Freedom. There’s always a price."

The prisoner’s resolve began to crumble. His eyes darted toward the door, then back to Ragnar, as though searching for mercy in a man who had none to give.

"Th—they said it would only be one," he whispered finally. "Just one life. That it wouldn’t come back to me. That once it was done, we would be free to return to the capital."

Ragnar’s expression remained calm, but his jaw tightened slightly.

"Whose life?"

The man hesitated, trembling. "The Westerian princess, Your Highness. One human woman’s life felt inconsequential to us back then."

The silence that engulfed them stretched for long moments.

"So the assassin was sent for my wife," Ragnar said at last, his tone flat. "And you and your companion helped him sneak into my home."

"I—I didn’t know he would strike so soon," the man stammered. "They said he was supposed to just learn the layout of your manor and that he would wait until we returned to the capital. I was only told to make sure he gained entry."

"By whom?"

The man hesitated again, shaking his head miserably. "If I speak their name, I’ll be dead by morning."

Ragnar rose to his full height, his shadow falling over the trembling man like a shroud. "If you don’t, you’ll be dead before I leave this room."

The prisoner’s composure shattered.

"His name is Narfor, that was what I was told," he cried, voice cracking under the weight of fear. "I don’t even know what he looks like. I never got the chance to meet him; no one around me knows him. He is like a ghost. Please, you have to believe me."

Ragnar’s gaze hardened, but he said nothing.

"Who is this Narfor?"

"He handles assassins for hire, like the one you killed days ago. His envoy said once the task was done, we’d be rewarded."

Ragnar turned away.

"Rewarded," he repeated under his breath, as though testing the word.

For a brief moment, he stood still, the silence heavy and absolute. Then he said, without turning, "You’ve been useful. I’ll decide later if that usefulness means you deserve to live."

He began to walk toward the door, purposefully ignoring the sound of the man’s pleas.

"Keep him alive for now," Ragnar said to the guards outside. "He doesn’t eat unless I say so. He doesn’t sleep unless I permit it. And if he speaks to anyone besides me, cut out his tongue."

"Yes, Your Highness," came the immediate reply.

Ragnar didn’t look back as the door slammed shut behind him. The iron bolts slid into place with a harsh metallic scrape, sealing the prisoner inside.

As he ascended the steps, his whole body burned with silent fury.

But just as he emerged back into the common area of the manor, a staff member ran up to him, face flushed and chest heaving with exertion.

"Your Highness, you’ve received a letter from Prince Jayran."