Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 333: Chapter 333

The tall windows of Queen Nheera’s chambers stood open to the evening air, gauzy curtains stirring softly as the sun set over the palace courtyard. She stood motionless at the center window, hands folded behind her back, her gaze fixed downward with unwavering intensity.

Ragnar had already mounted his horse when she spotted him.

His warhorse was truly an impressive sight, its breath puffing out in the cold air. Ragnar swung easily into the saddle despite the events of the day, posture straight, movements controlled. Even from this distance, there was no mistaking the ease with which he commanded attention. The guards parted for him without hesitation as the gates were drawn open.

Familiar hatred stirred in her chest. Not the hot, reckless kind but the cold, calculating sort that settled deep and lingered. He had slipped the noose again. Not by plain luck, but through his sharp wit. Through that infuriating cunningness that made him so difficult to crush outright.

Behind her, the sound of heavy footsteps broke the silence.

Hairan paced the length of the chamber like a caged animal. The sharp scent of rum clung to him, thick on his breath, his movements just unsteady enough to betray how much he had already consumed. A half-empty cup dangled from his fingers, sloshing as he gestured furiously.

"So that’s it?" he snarled, stopping short and spinning toward her. "You’re just going to watch him leave?"

Nheera did not turn. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

"He was supposed to have been executed," Hairan went on, voice rising, words slurring slightly together. "Dragged out in chains. Made an example of. And now—" He let out a bitter laugh. "Now he rides out like some honored guest." frёewebηovel.cѳm

Below, Ragnar urged his horse forward. The hooves struck stone in a steady cadence as he passed beneath the archway and into the road beyond the palace walls.

Nheera’s nails bit into her palm.

"You said you had him," Hairan pressed, stalking closer. "You promised me this would end today. That Laheir’s evidence would be enough. That Father would have no choice."

"Enough," Nheera said calmly. The single word cut through his tirade more effectively than any raised voice.

She finally spoke again, her tone measured, infuriatingly composed. "You mistake delay for defeat."

Hairan scoffed. "He humiliated the court. He made fools of your witnesses. He made you look—"

Her eyes flicked toward him then, sharp as knives.

"That is quite enough, Hairan."

He faltered, jaw tightening as he looked away, swallowing another mouthful of rum to mask his frustration. "He’s dangerous," he muttered. "You know that. Every time he walks free, he gains more confidence and more allies."

"Yes," Nheera agreed softly. "Which is precisely why this was never meant to be the end."

Her gaze returned to the window just as Ragnar’s figure vanished beyond the curve of the road.

"Patience, my son," she said, her voice smooth, almost soothing. "Good things come to those who wait patiently."

Hairan let out a sharp breath. "You expect me to believe there’s still a way?"

Nheera’s lips curved up.

"There always is." She straightened slowly, the waning light catching in her eyes as calculations already began to take shape.

Below, the palace gates closed with a final, echoing clang.

Nheera listened to the sound fade, already thinking several moves ahead, already deciding what her next move would be.

***

Ragnar reached his home in the capital long after the sun had sunk beneath the horizon, the city swallowed whole by night. He reined in his horse before the iron gates of the house he owned here, the sight of it offering little comfort tonight.

He had wanted to ride straight through to Amris. Every mile that separated him from Circe felt like torture. But the king’s curfew was a hindrance, especially in the south where nightly disappearances were reported with alarming frequency. Even he could not afford to openly defy it.

By morning, he told himself. At first light, he would leave. He would be back with his wife, who must have been worried sick by now.

The gates opened at his approach and closed behind him with a final clang that echoed too loudly in the quiet courtyard. Ragnar dismounted and handed the reins off without a word, his body heavy with exhaustion that no amount of rest ever truly seemed to cure. The house loomed ahead, a place he rarely used and never lingered in longer than necessary.

Inside, warmth greeted him at once. His housekeeper stood waiting in the entry hall, hands folded neatly before her as she bowed deeply.

"Your highness," he said. "Welcome home."

Ragnar nodded, already moving past him, when he cleared his throat softly.

"There is a guest, your highness. She is requesting an audience with you."

This made Ragnar pause.

"A guest," he repeated flatly.

"Yes, my lord. She arrived shortly before dusk. She said it was urgent." The man hesitated, then added quickly, "She is already inside. Waiting in the guest parlour."

Ragnar turned slowly to face him, fatigue sharpening into irritation. "You allowed an unauthorized guest into my house?"

The housekeeper lowered his gaze. "It would have been cruel to leave her outside, your highness. It’s very cold tonight."

He studied him for a moment, weighing a reprimand he did not have the energy to deliver. Whatever reserves of anger he possessed had been spent at the palace, wrung dry by accusation and threat and the ever-present certainty that he was being watched.

"Very well," he said at last. "Who is she?"

"She did not give her name."

Of course she hadn’t.

Ragnar exhaled through his nose and motioned for the man to lead the way. Right then, all he wanted was to see who had come seeking him out like this.

The guest parlour was softly lit, the fire crackling low in the hearth. Two of his own men stood along the wall, rigid and alert. Between them sat a lone figure in one of the chairs, her back to the door. She wore a cloak pulled high around her shoulders, hood drawn low enough to obscure her face entirely.

Ragnar stepped fully into the room.

"You two can leave," he said.

The men hesitated only briefly before bowing and filing out, closing the door behind them. The hooded figure did not move, did not even turn at the sound of his voice.