Free Web NovelChapter 201: Chapter 201
It had been over a week since the prince last came to his cell, and the prisoner wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified by that fact. During their previous encounter, he had felt fear, true visceral fear as he stared up into the prince’s rage-filled expression, blood still pouring warm and thick down his face from his broken nose.
Prince Ragnar rarely lost his temper, but people still feared him regardless. They feared the shadows he could summon, command, and mold to his will. They feared him because they were taught to. They feared him because they believed they should.
But that day, he looked less like a vampire and more like a creature from innermost. His shadows had swirled around him menacingly, coiling and twisting with a life of their own. His eyes had darkened to that terrifying pitch-black shade, the inhuman void that sent grown men scrambling away from him.
Most of them didn’t know what it was like to stare into the furious eyes of a demon. If they even did, they would know that there was far more to fear about Prince Ragnar than his shadows.
His eyes had burned with such potent hatred that looking into them had felt like staring into death’s open maw. The prisoner had expected Ragnar to kill him then and there. He had even hoped for it. He was marked for death regardless and dying in that moment would have been far more merciful than this constant state of limbo the prince seemed intent on keeping him in, a perpetual uncertainty where every day might be his last.
Still, whatever Ragnar could do to him would pale in comparison to what Narfor was capable of. Everyone that knew about Narfor, knew of his cruelty. No one crossed him and survived unscarred. The man hunted down traitors like prey, tracking them with unyielding determination and cruelty. There was nowhere to hide. No one to bargain with. Once Narfor set his sights on someone, they inevitably broke, mind, body, or spirit, long before death finally came.
It had been over a week since Ragnar returned to the cell, and a cold pit of dread had lodged itself deep in the prisoner’s gut since dawn, refusing to loosen its grip. Something was coming. He could feel it in his bones.
As always, the guards assigned to watch him said nothing. They never did. They stood in silence like carved statues, unmoving, not even speaking among themselves.
When the cell door finally creaked open, the prisoner looked up, expecting either the guard who delivered his meals or the prince himself. But it was neither. Two other guards stepped inside, their expressions blank and unreadable. Without a word of warning, each man seized one of the prisoner’s arms and yanked him upright. Their grips were harsh, fingers biting into the tender skin beneath his elbows.
The prisoner did not yell or protest. It would do nothing to help, and it would not spare him from pain. Protesting would only irritate the guards, prompting them to be rougher. Better to conserve his strength for whatever came next.
They dragged him from the dank cell, the chains at his ankles scraping the ground as they hauled him through a series of unfamiliar corridors. The further they went, the more unease pooled in his stomach. He didn’t recognize these hallways, brightly lit, well-kept, clean. He had no reason to be brought to this part of the manor.
The guards stopped before a closed door. One of them pushed it open, and they forced him inside.
The room beyond was sparsely furnished, just a desk, a simple settee, and an empty side table. Yet compared to the darkness of his cell, this space felt foreign. The two wide windows were thrown open, warm sunlight spilling into the room and brushing across the walls in soft, golden strokes.
But none of that mattered. None of it held the prisoner’s attention.
It was the man behind the desk who did.
Prince Ragnar sat in a high-backed chair, posture relaxed, expression eerily neutral. As the prisoner was dragged inside, Ragnar’s gaze tracked him with a cold, detached calm that was somehow more unnerving than his fury. When the guards shut the door behind them, sealing all four inside, only then did Ragnar speak.
"Now that you’re here," he said, voice flat and devoid of warmth, "we can begin."
He rose from his seat in one fluid motion and circled the desk until he stood directly in front of the prisoner. Up close, the prince’s presence was suffocating, lethal in its restraint. He looked down at the filthy dignitary without a flicker of emotion.
There was something cold and calculating in Ragnar’s eyes, something that put every nerve in the prisoner’s body on high alert. Fear spiked violently through him. Instinct urged him to step back, not to run, but simply to put distance between himself and this dangerous man. But the guards flanking him held him fast, their hands clamping down like shackles.
"Why did you bring me here?" the prisoner rasped, jaw clenched. The guards’ grips only tightened, sending sharp jolts of pain up his arms. His nose, which had healed poorly during Ragnar’s absence, crooked and swollen from the inadequate attempt to set the bone, throbbed with each breath. It would never look the same again, but that hardly mattered. He would be dead soon, one way or another.
Ragnar didn’t answer immediately. When he did, his tone remained maddeningly calm.
"I want you to write a few letters for me."
There was no rage this time. No swirl of shadows. Only a cold, dispassionate tone, and somehow, that was infinitely more terrifying.
"But before that," Ragnar continued, tilting his head slightly, "remind me of the name of the envoy you told me about before. The one Narfor always sent in his place." ƒreewebηoveℓ.com
The prisoner swallowed hard, eyeing the prince with a type of wary dread one reserved for a feral predator, one that could strike at any moment without warning.
Fear seeped from his pores like cold sweat.
And Ragnar simply waited.
The prisoner swallowed the thick lump forming in his throat.
"Jorrit," the man stammered. "His name is Jorrit, Your Highness."
"No last name?" Ragnar asked, his voice calm but laced with scrutiny.
The prisoner shook his head quickly. "He never offered a last name when I asked, so no. And I doubt ’Jorrit’ was even his real name, but it was the only one he was willing to give."
A flicker, subtle yet unmistakable, passed through Ragnar’s eyes. The first true sign of emotion the prisoner had seen.
"And how do you usually meet this Jorrit?" Ragnar pressed.
"He would send notes with directions on where and when he wanted us to convene," the prisoner answered truthfully, because lying now felt pointless. "It was always a different location each time. He picked the place, always. I never knew where he came from because whenever I arrived, he was already there. Every single time."
He hesitated, shame creeping into his expression.
"There was a time I sent two men to follow him. Discreetly, or so I thought. I shouldn’t have tried. A day later, their bodies were found. He must have noticed."
Ragnar hummed thoughtfully, his gaze dropping to the stone floor for a moment. Silence stretched, heavy and unnerving, until he finally spoke again.
"You will write two letters," he said, his tone shifting into something resolute and unmovable. "One addressed to whoever manages your residence in your absence, and the other to the envoy."
The prisoner’s entire body went rigid at that.
"But Your Highness, I told you already, I know nothing about him apart from his name and the fact that he works for Narfor," he protested, struggling against the guards’ iron hold as panic edged into his voice.
Ragnar lifted his head, his expression darkening in a way that chilled the room.
"I do not believe there is anyone under the sun who cannot be tracked down," he said. Then he levelled the prisoner with a look so cold and merciless that it made the man’s blood turn to ice. "And if I discover that you lied to me today, a broken nose will be the least of your concerns." freeweɓnovel.cѳm
He gestured toward the desk. The prisoner followed the motion and spotted the neatly stacked sheets of paper and the quill arranged beside them.
"The sooner you start, the sooner you may return to your cell," Ragnar added, as though returning to the damp, miserable pit where he was watched every hour of the day were any kind of mercy.
"Why don’t you just forge the letters like you did the last time?" the man blurted, still tense, calculating every possible escape even though none existed.
Ragnar nodded to the guards, and they began pulling the prisoner toward the desk.
"Because the last one did not matter half as much as this," Ragnar replied. "If you and the envoy are accustomed to exchanging notes, it would be far more difficult to fool him with a forgery. And as for the first letter, the one to your residence, you will include instructions that someone will be coming to retrieve your late father’s old ledgers and private correspondence, as you are unable to do it yourself."
