Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 139: Chapter 139

Ragnar glanced back at Circe, but she quickly averted her gaze, pretending as though their almost-kiss had never happened.

She was still seated on the grass, her posture composed yet distant, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the fading horizon. The rays from the waning sunset painted her profile in gold, a soft light that did little to hide the tension that now rested on her shoulders.

Her face was calm, and her expression had turned unreadable.

She turned back to refocus on the distant horizon, as if the shout that had shattered their intimate moment had erased it completely from existence.

It was a feeling he couldn’t ignore, the desperate urge to know what she was thinking. Did she regret what almost happened between them? Did she wish it had never happened?

He could barely glean anything from her closed-off expression.

This was so much more than a lapse in judgment for him. Their almost-kiss was everything to him, it meant that they were making progress, and he wanted to be certain that she felt the same way.

He said nothing, even though the words he desperately wanted to say were caught somewhere between his chest and his throat, heavy and unspoken.

Instead, he rose from the grass in one smooth motion and extended a hand toward her.

For a heartbeat, it seemed like Circe wouldn’t take his offered hand. But soon her fingers brushed his, light and a bit hesitant before she allowed him to pull her up. freewebnovel.cσ๓

His grip was steady and firm, grounding her even as the air between them hummed with the remnants of the lingering tension.

Once she was on her feet, Ragnar released her hand, though the faintest trace of her touch lingered against his palm.

He turned toward the approaching rider, who had now come to a halt a short distance away.

The messenger had already dismounted, his shoes crunching softly against the fallen dried leaves as he approached Ragnar.

He bowed low in deference once he was close enough.

"Your Highness," the man began, slightly breathless from his ride. "The leader of the scouts requests an audience with you."

Ragnar gave a short nod, his tone curt. "Very well."

He was about to retrieve his horse when movement caught his eye. Circe was already walking toward him, leading both their horses by the reins.

She handed him the reins of his stallion, her movements composed, her expression carefully blank.

"Thank you," he said softly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She merely inclined her head, offering no reply.

They all mounted their horses and urged them forward, and soon Circe fell into stride beside him.

The rhythmic clop of hooves and the whisper of the evening wind filled the space between them where words once might have lived.

The last rays from the sun had all but vanished by the time the familiar silhouette of the manor appeared ahead, the sky behind it deepening into a tapestry of violet and indigo.

Ragnar dismounted quickly, handing his reins to a waiting stablehand before heading toward the entrance.

Duty called, and whatever fragile moment had existed between him and Circe had been buried beneath the weight of responsibility once more.

Inside, the grand foyer glowed with the soft light of sconces. The leader of his group of scouts was already waiting, with Casilo standing beside him. Both men straightened the instant Ragnar appeared.

"Your Highness," the scout leader greeted, bowing deeply.

Ragnar acknowledged the gesture with a nod. "Come," he said, his tone even but commanding. "We’ll speak in my study."

They followed him through the quiet corridors of the manor, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished floors. When they reached the study, Ragnar shut the door behind them, sealing off the noise of the world outside.

"Report," Ragnar said, motioning for the scout leader to begin.

The man stepped forward, tension written in the hard lines of his face. "We found the rebels’ base, Your Highness. They are indeed camped in the region you directed us to investigate."

Ragnar’s eyes narrowed. "And their numbers?"

"Significant," the scout replied grimly. "The area is heavily guarded, sentries posted in shifts, but no attempt to relocate has been made from what we gathered. It almost seemed like they were waiting for something. But we couldn’t determine what."

A tense silence followed. Ragnar’s gaze darkened as he considered the words. A faint muscle in his jaw twitched, betraying the thoughts turning in his mind.

So Jayran’s letter had been right after all. But that truth offered him no comfort.

Why would Jayran help him now?

His brother had always been smart and cunning when he wanted to be, clever enough to twist truths into whatever shape served him best. Ragnar knew better than to mistake his help for goodwill or kindness.

There was always a motive when it came to his family, always a deeper game being played.

Ragnar couldn’t help but feel the invisible threads of manipulation pulling somewhere beneath it all.

What game are you playing, Jayran? And what do you stand to gain from this?

If Jayran’s intention was only to deal with the rebels, then why didn’t he just take his findings straight to the king? Why did he go through the trouble of sending them to Ragnar?

He turned back to the men, expression hardening even further.

"Prepare a full written account of your findings," he ordered, his words directed at the scout, before turning to face Casilo. "Casilo, send word to the capital. I will be departing within two days to speak with the king personally."

Casilo inclined his head sharply. "At once, Your Highness."

Ragnar’s voice softened, but only barely. "We cannot afford any delays. The longer we wait, the higher the chances of losing track of them entirely."

The scout leader bowed deeply. "Understood, Your Highness."

When the two men departed, the room fell into silence once more. Ragnar remained where he stood, his thoughts turning in slow, relentless circles, from the rebels to Jayran, and to the quiet sense of foreboding that had taken root in his chest and refused to leave.

His thoughts returned to Circe unbidden. The memory of her hooded eyes as he drifted closer, the softness in her voice.

It took a great effort to push it aside, but he managed.

There would be time to think about her later.