Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 300: Chapter 300

Then another. And another.

The sound was too sharp, too violent. It took Hairan a heartbeat too long to understand what was happening before the dreadful realization set in. Arrows.

They were striking the body of the carriage.

They were under attack.

The carriage jolted violently, swaying as the driver shouted something unintelligible and urged the horses forward. Panic dawned on Elka’s face, her eyes widening as fear finally broke through her carefully maintained composure.

Hairan reacted instantly. He dropped low to the carriage floor, pressing himself against the wood as another arrow thudded into the side panel with a splintering crack. The carriage didn’t slow—if anything, it surged forward, careening down the road as the driver desperately tried to outrun the ambush.

"Get down here, damn it," Hairan hissed sharply.

Elka hadn’t moved. She remained seated, frozen in place, her body rigid as terror rooted her to the spot.

His words jolted her back into herself. But just as she lurched forward to do as he said, an arrow shattered through the glass window. The crash was deafening. Shards of glass exploded inward, glittering briefly in the air before raining down around them. Elka screamed, a sharp, piercing sound that tore from her throat.

When Hairan twisted back toward her, his breath caught.

The arrow had struck her arm.

It jutted out grotesquely, blood already blooming through the fabric of her sleeve as she clutched at it in shock, her face draining of color. freewebnovёl.ƈom

***

A man waited in the foyer early the following morning. He was dressed impeccably in expensive tailored clothing, and a heavy woolen coat hung neatly over his shoulders.

When he had embarked on the journey here, he wasn’t even certain he would be granted an audience with the prince.

Unforeseen circumstances had disrupted everything. The final day of the festivities had been abruptly cancelled, as detailed in the brief letters the queen had dispatched to the noble houses earlier that morning.

But a cancelled event did not necessarily mean Prince Ragnar would be receiving guests.

Truthfully, the man hadn’t expected to make it this far at all. He stood quietly, hands clasped behind his back, as one of the guards he encountered at the entrance hurried away to inform Ragnar of his presence. The wait felt longer than it was, each second that passed feeling like an eternity.

At last, footsteps echoed through the hall.

He dropped into a deep bow the moment Ragnar entered the foyer.

"Lord Corvin," Ragnar said evenly, his gaze sweeping over the man before settling on his face. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Corvin had been part of the hunting party the previous day, one of the lords who had headed out into the forest with them. He was an older man, silver threading through the dark hair at his temples, his sharp eyes betraying a mind that missed very little.

"Your Highness," Corvin greeted respectfully. "Forgive me for arriving at your home so early, but I have something important to discuss with you. Something that simply could not wait."

Ragnar’s expression remained polite, though suspicion stirred beneath the surface. Corvin had never visited him before. In all the years they had known one another, their relationship had remained cautiously neutral—neither allies nor enemies, but something tenuously balanced between.

Still, Ragnar offered a calm smile. "Then I would love to hear it. Please, let us discuss it in private."

He gestured for Corvin to follow and led him towards the guest parlour. Once the doors were closed and the room fell silent, Ragnar turned back to face him. "Have a seat," he said, indicating one of the many unoccupied chairs.

"Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate your generosity," Corvin replied, inclining his head. "But I’m afraid this is a conversation best had standing."

Ragnar lifted a brow slightly. "Very well. Say what it is that brought you here."

Corvin drew in a slow, measured breath. "It concerns your wife, Your Highness."

A frown gradually settled over Ragnar’s features. His posture stiffened, and his eyes narrowed as they fixed on the man before him.

"What about my wife?" he asked, his voice turning frigid.

Corvin hesitated for only a moment before continuing. "Yesterday, while we were in the forest, I strayed from my group and wandered farther than I intended. That was when I witnessed something... deeply troubling. At first, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. But Princess Circe was there and I watched her kill Lady Irah."

Ragnar did not show any reaction.

"She didn’t use a weapon," Corvin went on, his voice low but insistent. "I still don’t understand how she did it. It was as though she wielded some kind of magic. And as I’m certain you’ve heard by now, Lady Irah’s body was discovered in the forest last night."

Ragnar’s face remained carefully blank.

"Those are serious allegations, Lord Corvin," he said at last, his earlier lightness nowhere to be found.

"I am well aware," Corvin replied, his eyes sharp as polished daggers as he studied Ragnar’s reaction. "That is why I came to you first, before bringing this to the king. Or perhaps even the queen. I imagine she would have a particular interest in such information. Losing such a close acquaintance cannot have been easy for her."

Ragnar did not rise to the provocation.

He held Corvin’s gaze steadily, his expression carefully controlled, his voice even so when he spoke again.

"Are you certain you even know what you saw?" Ragnar asked. "We were exposed to the biting cold for hours. Fatigue can play tricks on the mind. For all I know, you might have hallucinated the entire thing."

That was certainly not the response Corvin had anticipated. His brows drew together sharply, his face twisting into a deep frown as irritation flared in his eyes. He straightened, shoulders stiffening as though Ragnar’s words had struck him across the face.

"Your Highness," Corvin said, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his temper in check, "are you calling me a liar?"

Ragnar’s gaze did not waver. If anything, it hardened. A faint smile tugged at his lips, though there was no humor in it.

"That depends," he replied evenly. "Are you calling my wife a murderer?"