Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 278: Chapter 278

Just as panic threatened to take hold, and she was on the verge of pulling away, she felt it.

The hare’s soul flared into her perception like a living flame, bright and pulsing with fierce vitality, astonishingly strong for such a small creature. The moment she touched it, glowing lines ignited beneath her skin, spreading from her shoulders and running down her arms in intricate, luminous patterns that throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

"Do you feel its soul?" Dena asked lightly.

Circe could not form words. Her throat felt tight, her mouth dry. She only nodded, her gaze fixed unblinkingly on the hare.

Dena hummed in quiet approval behind her, and for one foolish, fleeting moment, Circe allowed herself to believe that this was the end of it. That hope shattered with Dena’s next words.

"Good. Now, yank it free."

Circe’s fingers trembled violently, but she obeyed.

The power within her flared in response, rolling through her veins like an unstoppable tide. It answered her hesitation with ruthless certainty as she focused on the invisible threads binding the soul to the body, delicate, glowing filaments that anchored life in flesh. Where her magic touched them, it was cold and numbing, yet it burned all the same, searing through her chest and leaving behind a hollow ache as it poured outward.

It felt instinctive as though she had done this countless times before.

She imagined snapping each thread slowly, one by one, until none remained, until the soul was left adrift, untethered, with nowhere to return.

Her magic surged without further prompting, flooding the hare’s small body. It coiled tightly around the soul, and just as Dena commanded, Circe yanked.

The air sharpened instantly, biting at her lungs as the low hum of the cave deepened into a resonant thrum that vibrated through her teeth and bones.

The hare went still.

The pulsing rhythm that had burned so brightly only seconds ago faltered, sputtered, and collapsed inward on itself like a candle flame that had been snuffed out.

The hare did not make a sound nor did it struggle.

One moment it was alive and the next, it lay collapsed on its side, utterly still.

Circe gasped and staggered backward, her legs nearly buckling beneath her. A wave of nausea crashed through her, swift and merciless, forcing her to brace herself against the cold stone platform. Her hand burned as though her skin remembered what it had done and recoiled from the memory.

The hare lay perfectly motionless. No blood stained its fur. No wound marred its body. And yet Circe felt the unmistakable absence of what had once been there, the void she had carved into it with her own hands.

She squeezed her eyes shut, chest heaving as she struggled to steady her breathing.

"You did well," Dena said calmly, stepping closer. "A true prodigy. Just like your mother. A shame, really, that she almost let such raw talent go to waste to fulfill her silly fantasies."

At that, Circe stiffened. She spun around, eyes blazing with rage.

"You do not get to speak about my mother," she seethed, her voice shaking as much with fury as with the aftermath of what she had just been forced to do. Her breath came fast and uneven, chest heaving as she glared at Dena with naked hostility.

Dena did not flinch. She merely regarded Circe with that piercing stare, the kind that made her feel as though she were being stripped bare, flayed open by nothing more than a look.

"She was my sister before she was your mother," Dena replied in a low voice that sent chills skittering down Circe’s spine. "So I can speak of her however I please."

There was a brief pause before Dena continued. "You are death, Circe. This is what you were made for. It is absurd to be distraught over a single animal when you possess the power to lay waste to cities. You will learn, in time, that sentiment is temporary and that it has no place on the path laid before you."

With every word, Circe felt the disdain in her chest deepen, curdling into something dark.

***

Ragnar had been distant ever since the invitation arrived.

Even now, as he sat across from Circe, his body present but his mind clearly elsewhere.

They sat together at the small table in their chambers, breakfast laid out between them. For a time, the only sounds in the room were the soft scrape of silverware.

She was the one to break the silence.

"I barely saw you yesterday," she said lightly, testing the waters. Circe studied him closely, curiosity and concern twisting together in her chest. It felt strange to go from spending an entire day with him to not seeing him at all the very next.

"Did anything noteworthy happen?" This time she lowered her voice into an almost conspiratorial whisper, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she leaned forward just slightly, doing anything she could to coax him into speaking, to chase away the dark mood that had clung to him since the queen’s invitation had arrived.

If she felt anything at all about his absence, she didn’t voice it.

Ragnar snorted softly at the question, the sound carrying a hint of dry amusement.

"Hardly," he said. "But I did send word ahead to the capital. I have a house there, and the letter was meant to inform my staff there of our impending visit." frёewebηovel.cѳm

Her brow creased slightly as she considered this. She lowered her spoon back into her bowl of half-eaten custard, the porcelain clinking faintly against the edge.

"So we won’t be required to stay in the palace like last time?" she asked, her tone cautious, as though the memory still lingered unpleasantly.

"No," Ragnar replied, shaking his head. "Not if I can help it." His expression hardened, the ease from moments ago slipping away. "But we’ll still need to be careful while we’re there."

"The goal," he continued, "is to attend the banquet, remain only as long as we are required to, then leave the moment we can."