Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 257: Chapter 257

She could feel the sincerity of his words, hear it in the way his voice dipped on the words ’my beautiful wife’.

Then his eyes dropped slowly to her lips.

She wet them without thinking.

A heartbeat later, he was kissing her again, the taste of him so familiar and intoxicating, and she returned the kiss with equal fervor, fingers curling loosely into his hair like she intended to meld her body to his.

"But I have to confess something to you," he said against her lips when they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, breath mingling. "I looked through your journal while you were still unconscious."

She pulled back just enough to narrow her eyes at him, though she was surprised to realize there was no real anger behind the gesture.

"When did you learn to snoop through other people’s things?" she asked, a faintly chastising note lacing her voice.

"You still do it more, so you don’t have much to worry about." He replied easily, chuckling when she smacked his chest in mock reprimand.

Her heart skipped despite herself.

If he had looked through her journal, then he had seen—

"You have a lot of sketches of your mother," Ragnar continued. "Or at least, that’s who I assumed it was."

The comment sounded casual, almost offhanded, but she caught the thread of curiosity woven beneath it. Slowly, she rested her head against his firm chest and released a quiet sigh, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her ear.

"My mother has been dead for quite a while," she said softly. "Almost nine years now." She rested her fingers on him. "One of my biggest fears is that I’ll forget what she looked like... That one day I won’t be able to draw her from memory anymore."

She paused, swallowing around the sudden ache in her throat.

"Back home, that wasn’t really a concern. The castle was filled with portraits of her. I only had to look at one of them to remember. But there are no portraits of her here." Her voice wavered. "And that makes the fear feel more real."

She lifted her head just enough to glance up at him.

"I’m afraid I’ll wake up one day and her face will be gone from my mind. So I draw her as much as I can, while I still can. So Rowen won’t forget her either."

That, too, was why a small part of her had begun to look forward to her meetings with the woman in her dreams. After the initial shock when she believed the being in the cave had stolen her mother’s face, Circe found she no longer minded it as much. It meant she could still look upon Thalora’s features, even if they belonged to someone else now.

She nestled deeper into Ragnar’s embrace, allowing his warmth to surround her.

"I had one of those dreams last night," she began gently. "I have another aunt, Ragnar. One I never even knew existed. My mother placed her in an unending slumber."

There was a tone in her voice then, so raw and vulnerable, that it made Ragnar’s arms instinctively tighten around her.

"I don’t know what to think anymore," she admitted. "It’s hard to believe that my mother—kind as she was—could do something like that to her own sister. But I also never thought she’d keep secrets like this from me either and yet she did." She exhaled shakily. "I should be angry. About the lies and the secrets. But I’m not. I’m just confused. And now I don’t know how to live with the idea that I might have to right my mother’s wrongs."

Ragnar stiffened, his gaze sharpening as he looked down at her.

"You don’t have to do anything, not unless you truly want to." he said firmly. "Don’t let anyone or anything pressure you into taking a path you didn’t choose for yourself."

His tone was stern and unyielding, the same voice she had heard him use with his guards. It reminded her, as it often did, of how fiercely he guarded her safety, how deeply he took his role in her life to heart.

She knew it troubled him, not being able to do anything about the woman who haunted her dreams.

"I have to try," Circe said at last. "It’s the only way I stand a chance of learning more about my abilities."

Ragnar studied her for a long moment, thoughts churning behind his unreadable expression. He likely had a thousand objections, and a thousand warnings he wanted to voice about all the dangers she was willingly stepping toward. In the end, he said none of them.

Instead, he bent and pressed another gentle kiss to her forehead.

"If that is what you wish," he murmured, his chest rumbling as he spoke, "then you have my unwavering support. You never have to question where I stand."

Emotion swelled in her chest, sudden and overwhelming.

How had she ever despised this man?

The very thought felt ludicrous to her now.

Back in Westeria, there had always been endless speculation about who she would marry, along with whispers of calculated alliances.

But the people only had their speculations, since her father had never agreed to any of the countless marriage proposals that had been laid at her feet. Suitors had come and gone over the years, sons and grandsons of noble houses, ambitious men with polished smiles and carefully rehearsed promises but all had been turned away. freeweɓnovel.cøm

Circe had long imagined that when she finally married, it would be to someone from Westeria. Perhaps a son or grandson of one of the king’s council members, someone predictable, and safely within her father’s reach. She had known, even then, that he would never have allowed her to marry a foreigner.

It was far easier to exploit someone who lived close by, bound by shared borders, and obligations. Marrying a man from a distant kingdom would mean she had to leave Westeria and it would have further weakened the tenuous hold her father had on her.

Never in her life had she imagined herself bound to someone like Ragnar, caring to a fault, fiercely attentive, and almost obsessive when it came to her well-being.

His concern was a constant, and unwavering thing, because her safety and comfort were important to him.

And somewhere along the way, without her permission, something had begun to bloom in her chest. It was warm and tender and terrifying all at once. An emotion she wasn’t quite ready to name aloud yet—but one she could no longer pretend wasn’t there.