Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 241: Chapter 241

Nheera did not return to her chambers in any hurry.

The bloodstained gown was shed off hastily, peeled from her body as though the sight of it offended her. She refused to allow the servants to touch it, unfastening each clasp herself before letting the ruined silk fall in a lifeless pool at her feet. With a flick of her fingers, she dismissed the servants entirely. They bowed low as they retreated, eyes fixed firmly on the floor, fear clinging to them like a second skin.

She bathed in absolute silence.

The water steamed as it filled the copper basin, perfumed oils blooming across the surface, yet even that could not immediately mask the metallic tang of blood. She scrubbed until her skin burned faintly, pale flesh reddening beneath her touch, until the scent was truly gone.

When she finally rose from the bath, droplets traced slow paths down immaculate skin, untouched once more, unmarred by evidence of what she had done.

When she dressed again, she chose what would give others the illusion of softness.

Flowing beige fabric draped over her form, cinched delicately at the waist. The jewels she selected were understated—not chosen to dazzle but to remind people of the queen she had once been, rather than the monster the court now whispered about. Pearls nestled at her throat, cool and familiar, like echoes of a gentler past.

By the time she left her chambers, her expression was serene. Her smile was practiced, warm, and pleasant.

Convincing.

King Zeriel’s chambers were guarded as always, though her presence required no announcement. The doors were opened without question, the guards stiffening as she passed between them.

It was rare for the queen to seek the king out for a reason like this.

Rarer still for her to do so uninvited.

Zeriel sat at a table near the tall windows, half-finished reports spread before him in careless disarray, a goblet of dark wine within easy reach. The dying light of evening cast long shadows across the room, gilding his profile in amber. He looked up sharply as the doors closed behind her.

For a brief moment, something flickered across his face—surprise, swiftly masked by a scowl.

"Nheera," he said guardedly. "This is unexpected."

She inclined her head slightly, the picture of gracious composure. "So I’ve been told."

Her gaze drifted to the untouched dishes arranged neatly on the side. "You haven’t eaten."

"I wasn’t planning to," Zeriel replied. His eyes narrowed just a fraction. "To what do I owe this visit?"

She crossed the room gracefully, the soft swish of fabric marking each measured step. "Must there always be a reason?" she asked lightly. "I thought it might be nice to share a meal with my husband."

That earned her a long, unreadable look.

They did not dine together. They did not linger in one another’s presence when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Years ago, an unspoken agreement had been forged between them: distance preserved peace. Distance kept their tempers, and their resentments in check.

Zeriel leaned back in his chair. "This isn’t something we do."

"No," Nheera agreed softly. "But we did. Once."

The words landed exactly as she planned.

She gestured to the table. "Sit with me. Please."

He hesitated, suspicion etched into every line of his face. Yet curiosity eventually won out. With a quiet exhale, he waved a hand.

Servants were summoned into the room and the food was brought forward and the the plates were arranged. Wine was poured.

Nheera took her seat across from him, posture elegant, movements restrained. She smiled when he spoke, laughed softly at remarks that were scarcely amusing. Every gesture was planned. Every glance was calculated.

And all the while, beneath the pleasant mask, her hatred simmered, hot and venomous.

She watched him as he ate, noting the faint silver threading his temples, the lines carved at the corners of his eyes from years of ruling a kingdom.

There had been a time when sitting across from him had filled her with warmth rather than revulsion.

They were happy then, at least she had been.

Newly crowned. Newly married. The kingdom theirs to command. Zeriel had touched her as though she mattered to him, as though he couldn’t get enough of her. He had listened to her counsel and valued her contribution. He trusted her. Desired her.

Bliss, she thought bitterly.

A fragile illusion, one that shattered the moment he realized how many others would willingly warm his bed.

Slowly, she lifted her hand and let her fingers brush against his where it rested on the table.

The contact was light. Almost innocent.

Zeriel stiffened but did not pull away.

"I’ve been thinking," she said quietly, her voice softened with something that sounded dangerously like sincerity. "About us. About how far apart we’ve grown."

His gaze flicked to her hand, then returned to her face. "Have you?"

"Yes." Her thumb traced a slow, idle circle against his skin. "I miss what we had. Don’t you?"

For a heartbeat, the air between them tightened, charged with something old and unresolved.

"I miss peace," Zeriel replied at last.

She smiled at that, unoffended. "Then perhaps we want the same thing." fгeewebnovёl.com

A knock sounded at the door.

Nheera withdrew her hand at once and rose smoothly to her feet. "Excuse me."

She moved toward the door, already knowing who waited on the other side. When she returned moments later, she carried a small box wrapped in dark velvet, cradled delicately in her hands.

She stopped beside Zeriel and extended it toward him. "A gift."

His brows drew together. "What is this?"

"A token," she said simply. "From me to you."

"I don’t trust gifts given without cause," he replied, making no move to take it.

She tilted her head, feigning mild hurt. "Must everything between us be a battle?"

Silence stretched between them, thick and uneasy. At last, with visible reluctance, Zeriel reached out and took the box. He opened it slowly.

Inside lay a golden thumb ring. It was exquisitely crafted, set with deep crimson jewels that caught the fading light like fresh blood.