Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 382: Chapter 382

Her voice didn’t waver. "When did it change?"

The carriage had rolled to a gentle stop in front of their cottage but neither of them noticed. The world beyond the wooden panels might as well have ceased to exist.

Ragnar turned fully toward her. He wanted to tell her that it changed the moment he realized he had fallen for her, when he found himself yearning hopelessly for a woman who, at the time, hated everything about him. He wanted to confess that he had stopped seeing her as a pawn when he began craving even the smallest scraps of her affection, when the thought of existing in a world without her approval became unbearable. He wanted to admit that it was when her laughter had become something he chased, that making her smile felt like his proudest achievement.

But when he opened his mouth, none of those words emerged. freewёbnoνel.com

"I began seeing the cracks in my plans right after we returned from the palace, after I fought in the arena," he said instead. "We stepped into our bedchambers, and you immediately tried to smash my skull open with a candelabra. You tried to maim me and I should have been furious. I should have been insulted. But all I felt, as I stared at the fire in your eyes, was fascination. I was enthralled by your rage, by your refusal to yield. I told you about what happened to Luria, and you believed me without hesitation when many others did not. And every time you forced me to search for you around the manor, it was like you took an axe to every carefully constructed plan I had made."

A corner of his mouth twitched faintly. "It was not ideal, the way I could not stop thinking about you. The ways I wanted to be with you. You were meant to be nothing more than a backup plan, my final resort if things didn’t go as I intended. Instead, you showed me the flaw in every strategy I devised. I didn’t expect to fall in love with you."

Three firm knocks sounded against the carriage door, the sharp raps echoing in the confined space.

Ragnar did not look away from her.

"A moment, please," he called out, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest.

Silence settled between them again, fraught to countless unvoiced thoughts.

Circe said nothing for a long while. Yet her eyes betrayed the riot of thought churning beneath her composed exterior. Her lips pressed into a thin, severe line, and her expression was carved from granite. She looked as though she might strike him or curse him where he sat, and he would not have blamed her for either.

"I knew I was right not to trust you back then," she said at last, her voice low and controlled. "I hate that you believed you could use me for your political gain." A pause then she added, "but I do not doubt that there is merit to your plan."

That caught him off guard.

The look in her eyes could have pinned a grown man in place. It was intense, and more formidable than any expression he had ever seen on her face before.

"If a day ever comes when we are forced to flee to Westeria," she continued, "I will help you establish rank with the rebel factions there. I will help you however I can. But in return, I want your word that when you become king, your first course of action in power will be to withdraw all Lamorian troops from Westeria." Her chin lifted slightly, the proud bearing of royalty settling over her like a mantle. "I refuse to see my kingdom remain a colony of Lamora. This is my only condition. I am not asking this of you as your wife, but as a princess."

He would have laid his heart at her feet if she had asked. Compared to that, this was a small price.

"Westeria will be a sovereign nation again when I am king," he said without hesitation, his voice steady and resolute. "That, I promise you."

He breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw her expression soften, and it felt like witnessing the sun after years of prolonged darkness. The tension that had coiled tightly in his chest finally loosened. Her softened gaze was as good as a spoken pardon, an assurance that she had forgiven him for keeping secrets and that no bitterness lingered in her heart because of them.

Later that night, Circe slipped into a bathtub filled with warm water infused with sweet-smelling oils. Fragrant steam curled lazily through the air, wrapping around her like a silken veil. The soothing heat lapped gently against her skin, easing the lingering exhaustion from the day’s events and loosening the tightness in her muscles. She leaned her head back against the rim of the tub, and closed her eyes, the space around her illuminated by flickering candlelight. In the quiet chamber, she replayed every word she and Ragnar had exchanged in the carriage and the fragile understanding that had settled between them.

When she finally opened her eyes, Ragnar was standing before her.

He watched her with a gaze that could only be described as hungry—filled with a longing that made her pulse quicken. She remained where she was, the water rising just enough to conceal her modesty, though parts of her bare breasts occasionally brushed the surface as she shifted.

Ragnar had long since discovered that her body looked exquisite no matter how it was presented, whether draped in fine silks or bare and glistening as she was now. The sight of her stirred something primal within him. Heat pooled low in his abdomen as blood rushed downward to his groin, stoking his desire. He wore only a loose dressing gown, carelessly tied at the waist, and the evidence of his arousal strained visibly beneath the fabric.

Neither of them looked away.

Her gaze followed his movements as his hand dropped slowly to the knotted belt at his waist. With deliberate slowness, he loosened it. The knot came undone, and the robe fell open before slipping from his broad shoulders, pooling soundlessly at his feet. He stood before her, bare and exposed, the candlelight tracing the hard lines of his chest and abdomen.

The tub was large enough to accommodate them both and she recognized his intention the moment he stepped closer. The air between them seemed to thicken with anticipation. A heartbeat later, he stepped over the rim and climbed into the bath. The water shifted and rippled as he lowered himself in, the warmth enveloping him as he settled opposite her.

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