Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 80: Chapter 80

He pushed past Nieah when she tilted her head at him, not wanting to linger beneath the weight of her gaze a moment longer. That look of hers always made him feel like she could see far too much, more than he wanted to show.

Circe was the first thing he saw when he stepped into the room, and for a long, stretched second, she was the only thing he saw.

His breath caught in the back of his throat.

She stood before the full-length mirror, entirely immersed in her reflection. Draped in a formal, floor-length gown of deep emerald green, she looked like something torn from a painting. Intricate gold embroidery danced along the front of the dress and curled along the edges of the flared sleeves. The bodice hugged her torso, dipping into a low neckline that emphasized the curve of her collarbone. At the waist, the fabric fanned outward into a wide, voluminous skirt adorned with alternating gold panels and glittering green gemstones that shimmered when the light touched them.

She hadn’t noticed his entrance, or perhaps she simply chose not to acknowledge it. The seamstress, on the other hand, noticed him the moment he walked in. She nearly stumbled over herself as she turned sharply to face him.

"Your Highness," she said, bowing low. "Is there anything you need assistance with?"

"Nothing at all," he replied smoothly, though his eyes remained on his wife.

Circe Valdris had always been beautiful in his eyes, even when covered in Harkon’s blood, even when she wore threadbare clothes. But this? Seeing her now, adorned in one of her favorite colors, looking so regal and radiant—it felt different somehow. It was like peeling off another layer of her tightly wound web.

He vaguely remembered coming here to retrieve the ledger he had been reviewing last night before sleep claimed him, but now that he was here, it felt inconsequential. The open trunk near the mirror was still half-full with neatly folded garments, signaling that the fittings were far from over.

Logic told him to get what he came for and leave but his feet stayed rooted to the spot.

"Is that the dress you’ll be wearing to the ball?" Ragnar asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Circe didn’t turn. Her gaze remained on her reflection. "I don’t know. I haven’t put much thought into it."

****

That night, he found her in the library, only this time she was sitting on the floor with her back leaning against the wall mural depicting the Lamorian war. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, vacant and unmoving. She was so lost in thought she barely registered when he lowered himself beside her, his shoulder brushing against hers.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he said lightly, nudging her from whatever storm she was weathering inside.

"I doubt you can afford it," she replied, barely glancing at him. "Not after spending so much on those dresses."

She may have been surrounded by unimaginable wealth since birth, but she still understood the value of things and she knew those dresses had cost a fortune.

Even after regaining awareness of her surroundings, she still didn’t make an effort to move away.

Ragnar raised a brow, amused despite himself. He let out a low chuckle. "Did you just accuse me of being broke?"

Circe ignored the question. frёewebnoѵēl.com

"Why?" she asked suddenly, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"Because I could," he answered. "And because I wanted to."

"Then why buy so many?"

He paused.

A dozen answers lined up in his mind, all of them true. Because he wanted to make sure she had multiple varieties to pick from each day, just like he assumed she had when she was still in Westeria. Because he didn’t want her to ever worry about something as necessary as clothing, especially as they approached the colder months.

But he didn’t tell her any of that, she would still doubt him even if he did. Instead he chose to tell her another version of the truth, one she was more likely to believe.

"The seamstress handed me a catalog and asked me to pick the designs I liked."

She snorted softly. "You picked every design in the book, didn’t you?"

Ragnar scoffed. "Don’t be ridiculous. I only picked half."

Circe rolled her eyes.

The catalog, in question, was a thick book filled to the brim with detailed sketches and designs. She had only picked four designs that stood out the most to her.

"Besides," he added, "you’ll be accompanying me to social events from now on. You need to look the part. A royal must dress accordingly."

She turned her head then, eyes ablaze but the fire in her expression didn’t faze him.

"So it was a bribe?" she asked, disgust dripping from every syllable. "Clothes in exchange for attending boring parties with you?"

"You’re free to interpret the gesture however you wish," he replied coolly, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. Their verbal sparring was becoming more frequent and oddly invigorating.

She narrowed her eyes, gears clearly turning in her mind. "What happened? Did your last escort grow tired of your company?"

"I usually attended alone," he replied. "Casilo joined occasionally."

"And how does he get paid for suffering through those long, tedious nights?"

"Nothing extra. I already pay him more than enough each month."

Her posture straightened slightly. "How much do you pay him?"

Ragnar frowned, suspicious now. "Why are you asking?"

"I want to be paid a sixth of Casilo’s salary for each event I accompany you to."

That caught him off guard.

He stared at her for a beat and then burst into laughter. A deep, resonant laugh that echoed across the library’s high ceiling.

Her face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

She moved to rise, but he reached out and caught her arm, halting her retreat.

His laughter faded, though a trace of amusement lingered in his voice. "What exactly do you plan to do with the money?"

Her jaw tightened. "Do you ask Casilo that question each month as well?"

He smiled. "Casilo isn’t my wife, nor does he regularly threaten me with bodily harm."

"If you don’t agree to my terms," she said with cool defiance, "you’re always welcome to find another escort. I’m sure it won’t be difficult for you, your Highness." She said his title like it tasted foul on her tongue.

She was right. He could easily get anyone else to accompany him, but for some reason he couldn’t picture himself going along with anyone else. When he tried to imagine it, it was Circe’s delicate hand he imagined slipping in his. It was her body that was pressed next to his and it was her face that was smiling up at him.

"Very well," he said at last. "But your asking price is absurdly steep. I’m a man of honest means, after all."

She scoffed, brushing off his hand like it was a speck of dust. "Are you seriously haggling with a lady?"

"I only haggle with women who plan to rob me blind."