Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 66: Chapter 66

Circe crouched low on the floor of her brother’s room, her fingers blindly sweeping beneath the bedframe as she searched for the dagger she had kicked under it the night before. Her dress pooled awkwardly around her, the fabric rustling softly each time she shifted her weight. She was so focused on her search that she didn’t immediately register the faint creak of the bedroom door as it slowly swung open.

But when the sound reached her ears, her entire body stiffened instinctively.

She didn’t look up. Her hand was still buried beneath the bed, fingertips grazing wood and dust. She knew without needing to turn that it wasn’t her brother. Rowen was still in the gardens; she had seen him there not long ago. Whoever had entered the room was someone else.

Her suspicion was confirmed moments later when a voice spoke from behind her.

"Do you need help with anything, Your Highness?" Nieah asked, her tone light, almost teasing.

Circe grimaced inwardly. She was certain she made a strange and puzzling sight, sprawled inelegantly on the floor of her brother’s room, half-hidden beneath the bed. She could practically feel Nieah’s curious gaze lingering on her back, silently questioning her behavior.

Instead of responding to the offer of help, Circe pushed out a sharp question.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was taut, threaded with a quiet suspicion. It struck her as more than mere coincidence that Nieah would appear just as she was retrieving her hidden blade.

"A few of the maids mentioned they saw you coming into your brother’s chambers," Nieah replied, her steps drawing her further into the room. " I came looking for you." freёweɓnovel.com

There was no lie in her voice, and yet, the simple explanation still made Circe bristle. She remained on the floor, her fingers curling around the hilt of the dagger. She made no move to stand or adjust her skirts. There was little point to do so. Nieah had already caught her in the act.

Defensiveness rose within Circe like a torrent.

"Why?" she asked, this time more pointedly. "Did Ragnar send you?" Her voice was tinged with bitterness. "Am I no longer allowed to walk freely through the manor?"

"No, he didn’t send me," Nieah said calmly. "I came here of my own accord. You disappeared as soon as you returned and I wanted to make sure you were all right." Her voice had softened, but the concern beneath it was genuine.

A long silence followed, one that neither of them seemed eager to fill. The tension between them hovered in the air like fog, subtle but palpable.

Eventually, it was Nieah who broke the quiet. Her voice was subdued now as she lowered her tone.

"Try as hard as you can, but you will find no enemies here in the manor, least of all me. I only hope that one day, you’ll believe that."

Circe said nothing. She couldn’t. Her tongue felt heavy behind clenched teeth, and the words she wanted to say twisted bitterly inside her. She knew the truth of it. Nieah and the other staff hadn’t played a role in the fall of her kingdom. They had not wielded the sword that had taken her people, nor had they plotted behind her back.

But they served the man who had and for Circe, that alone made it difficult to fully trust any of them.

Slowly, she rose from her crouch, the dagger concealed once more beneath her skirts. She dusted off the dirt that had clung to the fabric and turned away, deliberately avoiding Nieah’s gaze. Her eyes settled instead on her journal, left untouched on the nightstand beside her brother’s bed.

She crossed the room, picked it up, and clutched it tightly to her side as if it could shield her from the world around her. Then she moved to the door, pausing only briefly as she passed Nieah.

Her voice was quiet, but her words cut like glass.

"It’s easier to trust people who don’t work for the man who ruined my life."

And with that, she strode out of the room, her steps quick and unrelenting.

***

Ragnar stormed out of his study, every muscle in his body pulled taut with restrained fury. His jaw was clenched, his stride long and purposeful as he fled the confines of his study. He shut the door with more force than necessary, but it still felt far too quiet behind him. The silence left behind in Jayran’s wake was almost deafening.

He hadn’t meant to leave so abruptly. He had wanted to maintain composure, to say something sharp, maybe even cutting but not cruel. Still, it was better this way. He had learned long ago, especially when it came to his family, that some things were better left unsaid. Words once spoken could not be taken back, and with the fragile balance he maintained with his brother, silence was often the only shield he had.

And yet, no amount of silence could drown out the echoes of their conversation.

His brother’s voice, smooth and smug, played over and over in his mind. Every insinuation lingered like a bitter taste at the back of his throat.

Ragnar walked faster, needing space, needing air. Anything to put distance between himself and the shadows Jayran had stirred inside him.

Then, footsteps.

Soft but quick, approaching from the opposite direction.

He slowed.

He heard the rustle of skirts brushing against stone, the familiar cadence of a woman’s walk. Even before she came into view, he knew it was her.

The woman who had recently begun to plague his every waking thought.

Circe.

The only thing Jayran’s visit had succeeded in doing was momentarily driving her from his mind. But here she was again, turning a corner, moving swiftly, her strides brisk, as though something was chasing her.

She didn’t see him at first, or if she did, she refused to acknowledge him. Her face was a mask of determination, her grip on the journal at her side so tight that her knuckles had turned pale.