Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 265: Chapter 265

"And I assume that you are not among those who took this oath. Otherwise, you would not still be breathing." Ragnar said at last, folding his arms across his chest.

"Only the assassins are forced into it," Jorrit replied. "They are the ones most at risk of capture and most likely to be interrogated. Not everyone Narfor takes in becomes an assassin, but we all serve him regardless. He has eyes everywhere. He controls everything we do."

It was a pitiful way to live, bound endlessly to another man’s will, never free, never safe. And yet, for many of them, a lifetime spent under Narfor’s thumb was preferable to whatever misery awaited them in the streets. Hunger, disease, abandonment—those were far crueler masters.

"Where is his stronghold?" Ragnar demanded.

Jorrit jerked his head back, eyes widening just slightly. "Do you intend to attack it?"

Ragnar’s lips curled into something sharp and humorless. "What I intend to do is none of your concern. Where does he keep his assassins?"

"He has two major strongholds," Jorrit said after a pause. "One in the capital, and another near the eastern border. Destroy those two and you cripple his entire operation but only for a time." He exhaled slowly. "Others have tried before. The guild always rises again. Narfor has an endless supply of loyal soldiers. There will always be a child on the streets. A child with no shelter, no future. And Narfor will always be there to snatch them up. Destroy this version of his empire, and he will simply rebuild it in a few years. It cannot be helped."

From his tone, it was clear Jorrit believed this to be the undeniable truth, that Narfor and the guild were an unstoppable force.

Ragnar did not share that belief.

Even as Jorrit spoke, Ragnar’s thoughts churned relentlessly, examining the situation from every possible angle. Yet it felt like staring down at a poorly drawn map. There were too many unanswered questions.

But only one question pressed hard against his mind.

"Who is Narfor?" Ragnar asked.

His voice dropped, the timbre so cold and controlled that it sent a shiver through Jorrit.

"You already guessed it," Jorrit said. For just a fraction of a second, a strange emotion flickered in his eyes. "He is a powerful noble."

Ragnar almost laughed. Jorrit’s loyalty was almost admirable but it would be his undoing.

"His name," Ragnar said, his tone sharpening.

Jorrit hesitated. The silence stretched.

"Many of us were never permitted to know him," Jorrit confessed quietly. "Not beyond the side of him he chose to show us."

"That is not what I asked," Ragnar said. "And you know exactly who he is."

It was not a question.

"I do," Jorrit replied after a tense second.

Ragnar narrowed his eyes. The look he gave the man had unsettled countless men before him. It had its intended effect.

Jorrit sniffed.

"Do not make me ask again," Ragnar said. "Remember that I still have you and your son at my mercy. One word from me, and he will be brought back into this cell."

Jorrit’s lips peeled back, flashing his fangs in a final, futile act of defiance but Ragnar unfazed by it.

When he finally spoke, the name that fell from his mouth was that of someone Ragnar had not seen in years.

"Aeron," Jorrit said. "Aeron Tavish." fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

***

"My lord, you have a guest." The maid’s voice cut through the conversation she had inadvertently walked in on.

Slowly, the man lifted his head to look at her. The cold, assessing gaze he fixed upon her sent a chill racing down her spine. She clasped her hands behind her back, hiding the way her fingers trembled.

He did not answer with words. He rarely did, unless it was necessary. Instead, he lifted one hand and made a small, dismissive motion.

The maid dipped into a low bow, as was proper, and retreated from his presence as quickly as her feet would carry her.

Moments later, the guest was ushered inside.

The instant the man saw who it was, the frigid demeanor that always clung to him melted a fraction.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze traveling over Laheir, who stood near the door. Then his eyes shifted to the man already seated before him.

"Let us reschedule this for another time." he said coolly.

It was a clear dismissal.

As with the maid, the man did not protest. He stood, lowered his head, and exited the room.

"To what do I owe this visit?" the man who remained seated asked once the other guest had taken his leave.

"Do I need a reason to visit my own brother?" Laheir replied lightly.

"You usually do." Aeron’s response came out flat. His entire demeanor was unwelcoming.

Laheir scoffed and moved deeper into the chamber, boots echoing faintly against the stone floor until he reached the chair the other guest had just vacated. He lowered himself into it with ease.

"You wound me, Aeron," he said dryly. "I come seeking the company of my sibling, and this is how I am received."

Aeron merely watched him, fingers steepled in front of him, his expression passive. "Why are you here?" he asked again, clearly uninterested in pleasantries.

Laheir’s mouth tightened for the briefest moment before he spoke. "Prince Hairan is betrothed to Halric’s eldest daughter. I assume this is not news to you, given the number of eyes and ears you keep scattered throughout the kingdom." There was a dark undercurrent to his voice now, something dangerous.

Aeron tilted his head slightly. "Your tone suggests you are not pleased by this development."

"I’m not," Laheir said bluntly. "Nheera fixed the match." His jaw clenched. "She has begun to overstep where she should not—far too often in recent years."

One of Aeron’s brows lifted in lazy amusement. "And what, exactly, do you want me to do about it?" he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. He despised roundabout conversations. Time, to him, was a resource to be spent only where it yielded profit.

"No one necessarily has to die," Laheir said coolly. "I merely wish to remind her of who she is opposing." His gaze hardened, eyes dark. "Can you do that for me?"

Had Nheera not been as clever and as useful as she was, Laheir would have had her killed years ago. The fact that she still lived was a decision he questioned daily, particularly when she took actions that so openly defied him, as she had done now.

For a moment, Aeron said nothing. freёwebnovel.com

Then a small smile curved his lips, slow and terrifying.

"Gladly."