Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 570: Chapter 570

The words escaped before he could stop them and the silence followed.

Falein just smiled patiently, like a father indulging his angry son.

"No?" Falein folded his arms over his chest. "Your majesty, I have several children. I watched my wife give birth multiple times and just like you, I paced restless, shaking with worry for her safety. And I nearly broke down every time I heard my wife scream. The first birth is always the worst."

Some of the tension eased from Ragnar’s shoulders. His gaze drifted back to the chamber doors.

She was suffering because she carried their child. Because she loved him. Because she had chosen this future with him.

Another cry followed and it shattered the last of his restraint.

He moved to the door. He needed to reach her, needed to see her more than he needed air in his lungs. Now.

A servant stepped into his path. "Your Majesty—"

Ragnar brushed past him without slowing. The man nearly stumbled.

"Ragnar," Falein called, momentarily disregarding etiquette.

But it was too late. He had already reached the chamber doors.

He shoved one open, only for two women to immediately block the entrance.

Mina and Elara. Circe’s favorite ladies-in-waiting.

Both looked taken aback to see him standing there.

"Your Majesty!" Mina exclaimed.

"You cannot enter," Elara added quickly.

Ragnar stared at them and his expression darkened. "Move."

The women exchanged nervous glances.

"Your majesty," Mina began carefully, "it is not proper for you to be here now."

"Move." He repeatedly gruffly.

Elara swallowed visibly. "The queen would not wish to be seen in such a state. Please understand—"

"I understand perfectly." His voice dropped into something dangerous. "I understand that my wife is suffering."

Neither woman moved. For a moment it seemed they might continue resisting. Then another pained cry came from beyond the door.

Whatever they saw in Ragnar’s face finally broke their resolve.

Reluctantly, they stepped aside. Fear lingered in their eyes but Ragnar did not care.

He crossed the threshold immediately.

Heat struck him first. Then the smells.

The room reeked of sweat, herbs and blood.

It was also crowded with attendants moving about. Nieah was among them. Circe had once told Ragnar how deeply she missed their housekeeper, who had become one of her closest companions during their time in Amris. Wanting to please his wife, Ragnar had arranged for Nieah to be brought to the capital, where she now served as Circe’s private secretary and trusted confidante.

Nieah had volunteered to be present today, despite not being required to. She possessed a solid knowledge of medicine and believed she could be of some help in the situation. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

His breath caught when his gaze landed on the bed where an exhausted-looking Circe lay.

Sweat soaked her nightgown while strands of brown hair clung to her face and neck. Her chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, and for a moment Ragnar could only stare.

She looked utterly spent.

He crossed the room in three strides.

"Circe." He muttered softly.

Her eyes found him immediately. Surprise flickered across her face before giving way to pure relief. Ragnar dropped beside her and seized her hand, and she immediately gripped his with astonishing strength.

Thalora was there as well, holding Circe’s other hand, though in his frazzled state Ragnar barely registered her presence. Another contraction hit and her face twisted with pain as her fingers tightened around his, crushing his hand in a harsh grip. Ragnar welcomed it. The ache in his bones was nothing compared to what she endured. If he could have taken every ounce of her suffering and carried it himself, he would have done so without a moment’s hesitation.

"Ragnar..."

"I’m here."

Her eyes closed and a shaky breath escaped her lips.

At the foot of the bed, Morana looked up from her work. Ragnar’s mother appeared remarkably calm considering the circumstances.

"How is she?" He asked his mother.

Morana returned her attention to the task at hand. "Tired, but strong."

Ragnar let out a slow breath. "And the child?"

Morana snorted. "Large. He takes after his father."

Circe opened one eye.

"You hear that?" Her lips twitched weakly. "I should have known your child would be this massive, husband. Next time, warn a woman before you sire giants."

Despite everything, Ragnar laughed, a genuine laugh that earned smiles from several attendants. Even Morana looked amused.

Then another contraction came, and all traces of levity vanished.

The time that followed blurred together. Ragnar remained at Circe’s side through every moment of it. He wiped sweat from her brow, held her hand, and helped support her whenever exhaustion made it difficult for her to remain upright, all while constantly muttering encouragement.

Sometimes he wasn’t even sure she heard him, but every time his voice reached her through the pain haze, her grip tightened around his hand as though she was using him as her anchor.

Gradually the rest of the room faded into insignificance. Nothing mattered except the woman beside him. The woman fighting harder than any warrior he had ever known.

Then Morana suddenly straightened.

"Good."

Several heads turned in her direction.

"Very good."

Circe was trembling now, barely conscious from exhaustion. Morana looked up sharply.

"One more push."

Circe stared at her in disbelief.

"I can’t." Circe said, drained. She had no strength left inside her.

"Yes, you can."

"I can’t."

"You can."

Ragnar leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Circe’s sweat-soaked forehead. "You can do this." He whispered to her.

Her eyes met his, and Ragnar saw everything there at once. The fear, pain, exhaustion, and determination.

Her hand nearly shattered the bones in his on her next push.

And then a loud wail sounded.

The entire room collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

The cry came again, louder this time, vigorous and demanding.

For a heartbeat Ragnar could only stare.

His son.

Gods above, his son.

Morana lifted the child into the air. The infant was red-faced and already furious at being brought into the world. He wailed with all the outrage his tiny lungs could muster, and it was the most beautiful sound Ragnar had ever heard.

The umbilical cord was cut. The child was cleaned and wrapped carefully in warm cloth while attendants hurried about the chamber with renewed energy. Throughout it all, Ragnar never left Circe’s side. He pressed kisses against her temple, her cheek, her forehead.

"You did it."

Circe laughed weakly.

"You doubted me?"

"Never." He said quickly but it was a lie. While she had been in the throes of childbirth, he had been blinded by worry.

"You were magnificent." Tears burned behind Ragnar’s eyes. "I have never loved you more."

At last Morana approached carrying the bundle in her arms. She smiled before carefully placing the child against Circe’s chest.

Circe looked down at her son and immediately burst into tears. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as she stared at him. Ragnar wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and together they looked upon the tiny life they had brought into the world, cataloging his features.

A head full of dark hair. Tiny fingers. A small nose. Strong lungs.

Their son blinked sleepily.

Ragnar reached forward. One tiny hand wrapped itself around his finger.

The gesture was simple and instinctive, yet it was his undoing. The fear, the waiting, the endless hours of helplessness—all of it vanished in an instant.

Only this remained. His wife and his son.

Circe leaned against him, exhausted but smiling.