Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 343: Chapter 343

"What are you waiting for?" Aeron growled, jabbing a finger toward the severed head. "Get this out of my sight."

The guards moved instantly, scooping it up grimly before hurrying from the chamber to dispose of it elsewhere.

Aeron was left alone once more.

He stood in the center of the room, shaking with fury, blood still slicking his leg, the damp fabric of his breeches clinging uncomfortably to his skin. With a sudden burst of anger, he stormed to the bedside table and swept his arm across it, sending everything on it crashing noisily to the floor. freёwebnovel.com

"That fucking wench," he snarled into the empty room. "How dare she!"

His chest rose and fell heavily, each breath drawn through clenched teeth.

Nheera would pay for this. Of that, he had no doubt. She would learn exactly what it meant to cross him and it would be a lesson she would never forget.

But first, he needed to tend to his wound.

Everything else could wait.

A shame, truly, that Nheera wasn’t standing in front of him at that very moment, else he would have gladly wrapped his hands around her throat and wrung the life from her. But no matter. Soon enough, she would understand exactly why he was feared.

***

Mirelle carefully set a cup of freshly brewed tea in front of Circe, the faint steam curling upward between them. She then retreated a few steps, hands folded neatly before her, posture rigid as she waited to be given her next task of the day. freēwēbnovel.com

Circe lifted the cup and brought it to her lips. The moment the tea touched her tongue, her face scrunched in displeasure. She forced herself to swallow before lowering the cup back onto the table with a soft clink.

"It’s somehow even worse than it was yesterday," Circe said, grimacing as the bitter taste lingered stubbornly on her tongue. "Are you quite sure you brewed it correctly?"

Ever since Nieah had handed over the responsibility of preparing Circe’s herbal teas to Mirelle, the drink had tasted nothing like it once did. There was now a sharp, unpleasant bitterness to it that had never been there before.

Mirelle immediately lowered her head, shoulders drawing inward as if bracing herself. "My apologies, Your Highness," she said quietly. "I will try harder to get it right next time."

"Please see that you do," Circe replied.

Mirelle flinched visibly, her head dipping even lower, her body tensing as though she expected a strike or harsh words, to follow. The reaction stirred something uneasy in Circe. It made her wonder what sort of households the young woman had served in before coming here, and what cruelties she had grown accustomed to enduring.

Circe’s lips thinned, but the part of her heart she usually kept carefully sealed from others softened a fraction.

"It’s alright," Circe said at last, releasing a quiet sigh. "Just ask Nieah to teach you again."

Mirelle nodded hurriedly, relief flickering across her features. "I will. Thank you, Your Highness." She picked up the cup and all but fled the room, clearly eager to discard the ruined tea and remove herself from Circe’s presence.

Only seconds after Mirelle slipped out, the door opened once more.

Ragnar strode in with his usual confidence, his presence filling the room instantly. He went straight to Circe, who remained seated at the table, and stepped in close behind her. His arms slid around her shoulders as he leaned into her. He lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive skin of her neck, right where her pulse fluttered beneath his lips, before nuzzling her affectionately.

Her heart skipped.

Such tenderness from him was nothing new, but when Circe shifted slightly to look up at his face, she paused. A wide smile curved his lips, one filled with barely concealed satisfaction.

"Did something happen that I’m not aware of?" she asked, arching a brow. He was devastatingly handsome when he smiled like that, and his good mood was infectious. She felt her own lips curve upward despite herself.

"Why do you ask?" he rumbled against her neck, his lips brushing her skin and sending a small shiver through her.

"Because you’re smiling like a fiend," she said lightly, unable to look away from him. "It makes you look rather mischievous. Quite worrying, now that I think about it."

She was utterly trapped in his web, and wanting nothing more than to remain there forever.

He kissed her again, this time on the cheek.

"I simply did something I’ve wanted to do for a long while," he said. "And I find myself rather thrilled by it." He paused before adding, "Do you remember the king’s advisor?"

Circe nodded slowly. "Laheir Tavish," she said. "That’s his name, isn’t it?"

"Yes, my love," Ragnar replied smoothly. "Though I often refer to him as the bane of my existence." His smile sharpened slightly. "But he has a brother, one who is far worse. And that brother is the one who has been sending the assassins."

As he spoke, he traced the tip of his nose along her cheek and gently nipped at her earlobe. The small, intimate gesture sent tingles racing down her spine.

"Narfor," she breathed.

"Most know him as Aeron Tavish," Ragnar confirmed. "And today, I thought it only fitting to return the favor for all the times he’s sent others to hurt you."

His voice dipped into that low, delicious gruffness that made her thighs press together instinctively.

It never ceased to amaze her how easily her body responded to him, how thoroughly he could unravel her with nothing more than his voice, his touch, and his presence. And every time, without fail, she found herself surrendering to him completely.

A quiet gasp slipped from her lips when he released her earlobe and dragged his fangs gently over her skin. Her legs weakened, and she felt perilously close to melting where she sat. She didn’t stop him. She simply let him continue touching her, teasing her the way he was now.

"I will torment him for everything he’s done," Ragnar murmured against her skin. "And I find myself bursting with glee at the thought."