Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 454: Chapter 454

Zeriel stood over his cousin Orrin’s grave, unmoving, as though rooted into the very earth beneath his feet. He had been there long enough for the sun to shift across the sky, yet he barely registered the passage of time. The minutes slipped by unnoticed, dissolving into one another as his mind flitted through distant memories.

He thought of Orrin.

They had been close as children, inseparable, even. Their fathers were brothers, and so they had been raised side by side, more like siblings than cousins. They shared lessons since they had the same tutors. They were close in age and shared the same interests, and had been friends since they could talk.

But time had a way of eroding even the strongest bonds.

As they grew into men, that closeness began to wither. Slowly, their relationship unraveled. Conversations became shorter, laughter between them less frequent. The familiarity they once shared faded until all that remained was a hollow imitation of what used to be. They were still cordial with one another, polite and respectful but it was nothing more than a performance. A fragile façade maintained out of obligation rather than genuine affection.

And Zeriel knew, deep down, that he had been the cause of it.

He could not pinpoint when it had begun, nor how something so small had grown so monstrous, but over the years, a quiet resentment had taken root within him. What had started as something insignificant had gradually festered, spreading through him until it became something he could no longer control.

He had envied Orrin. Envied him for everything.

Orrin had been the perfect prince in the eyes of the kingdom—admired, respected, effortlessly beloved. Everything in his life seemed to fall into place with ease. Where Orrin succeeded, Zeriel struggled. Where Orrin was praised, Zeriel was overlooked.

And worst of all, Orrin had been destined to be king.

Or he would have been, if he had lived. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

Zeriel had carried that jealousy in silence, burying it beneath layers of forced indifference. He had never allowed it to surface, never given it voice. To the world, he had remained the dutiful cousin, standing beside Orrin without complaint.

Now Orrin had been dead for weeks, and nothing remained the same.

Their lives had been irrevocably altered.

Zeriel’s gaze lingered on the grave and something restless stirred behind his eyes. A thought lingered at the edges of his mind.

Would Orrin still be alive if he had not harbored such bitterness?

The question festered, but stayed unanswered.

Orrin had been laid to rest in the royal burial grounds, a vast expanse of sacred land reserved for the kings of Lamora and their bloodline. It was a place untouched by the public, a place steeped in history. Rows of graves stretched across the land, each one a reminder of those who had come before.

Orrin rested beside their grandfather.

In the weeks since his death, Zeriel had lost count of how many times he had come here, how many hours he had spent standing in this exact spot, staring down at the grave as though expecting it to offer him something in return.

Closure. Forgiveness. He was desperate for anything at that point.

He had cared for Orrin. Or at least, that was what he told himself.

But Orrin’s death had been so sudden, so unexpected, that it had shaken not only their family but the entire kingdom. Lamora had mourned him deeply. The loss of its golden prince had left a wound that had yet to begin healing.

Even Zeriel had mourned him.

Perhaps that was why he kept returning here. To quiet the voice in his mind that refused to be silenced.

A voice that whispered a single, damning word.

Murderer.

It came again, louder this time.

Murderer.

His jaw tightened, his hands curling slightly at his sides.

The voice was right.

Because that was exactly what he was.

He might not have been the one to wield the weapon that ended Orrin’s life, but that did not absolve him. The truth was far uglier than that. His greed, his envy, his relentless ambition, his hunger for power had set everything into motion.

He had wanted what Orrin had. And because of that, Orrin was gone.

Gone, never to ride his favorite horse again. Never to laugh, never to rule, never to marry the woman who had been promised to him.

Gone, because of him.

The summer sun burned brightly overhead, its warmth pressing down against his skin, but Zeriel barely felt it. Even the carriage waiting for him in the distance had slipped from his awareness, forgotten entirely.

It was the same reason he did not sense the person approaching him.

The soft rustle of fabric accompanied her arrival, her steps light as she came to stand beside him. Nheera said nothing at first. She simply gazed down at the grave, a solemn expression on her face.

Strands of her pale blonde hair had come loose from her simple updo, swaying gently in the wind as it brushed against her face. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Zeriel glanced at her briefly before looking away again.

He had forgotten she had come with him.

She was his betrothed. The woman his father had chosen for him.

Only months ago, his father had arranged the match, deciding that left to his own devices, Zeriel would never take a wife. He would have continued as he always had, indulging himself in fleeting pleasures, bedding whores and any woman that offered him her time.

Yet of all the women his father could have chosen, he had chosen Nheera Osbourne.

Zeriel had never understood why.

She was the daughter of a minor lord, her family lacking the wealth and influence expected of a union with the royal bloodline. There had been far more suitable candidates, women of status, of power.

And yet, his father had been charmed by her and that had been enough.

While Zeriel’s thoughts drifted elsewhere, Nheera remained focused on the tombstone before them. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she read the inscription carved into the stone.

"Stabbed with a sword," she read, her voice calm, sounding almost thoughtful. Then, slowly, her lips curved into something faintly resembling a smile. "That’s odd. I killed him with a spear. Drove it into his chest again and again until he drew his last breath."

There was no hint of remorse.