Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 86: Chapter 86

He needed to take her home, to get her into dry, warmer clothes before she caught a cold. The thought planted itself firmly in his mind as he finally released her from his hold and turned to retrieve his discarded shoes from the grass. Once they were securely on his feet, he returned to her side and carefully draped his coat over Circe’s trembling shoulders, gently guiding her arms through the sleeves.

The heavy fabric wouldn’t do much to keep her warm, not while she was still soaked to the bone, but it was better than nothing at all.

Without warning, Ragnar bent down and swept her into his arms again. He made sure she was secure before moving away from the pond, his steps steady despite the weight of her and the tension coiled in his limbs.

Circe didn’t fight his touch. She didn’t protest or flinch away. That was unlike her. She remained oddly still, her body lax, her mind clearly adrift in places he couldn’t follow.

Her fingers brushed her abdomen, searching, remembering. There was no wound. Not even the faintest tear or bruise on her skin. But she had felt the sharp bite of her attacker’s blade cutting through flesh and muscle, the cold agony that had spread viciously through her entire body. Pain like that couldn’t be imagined. No mind was capable of conjuring such vivid torment out of nothing.

And yet no injury. No mark or blood. Only the raw, burning sensation in her chest, left behind by the water she had inhaled.

So where was the stab wound she had been so sure she sustained?

Who was the man that attacked her? Was he working alone or was he an assassin for hire? And if the latter was the case, who was he working for?

Most unsettling of all—why her?

That question clawed at her insides with the desperation of something that refused to be ignored. Why had she been targeted? She was certain it had something to do with the man that was currently carrying her in his arms but she didn’t understand the inner workings of this kingdom and wasn’t able to narrow down the people that wanted her dead.

Her thoughts raced out of control. She felt like she was second away from going completely mad.

She turned her head slowly and looked up at Ragnar.

This was the closest she had ever been to his face, close enough to see the lines of tension at the corners of his eyes, the tiny nick just above his jaw from an old scar, the faint furrow in his brow that hadn’t eased since he pulled her out of the water. Her gaze traced his features silently. Focusing on something anchored her to reality and if he happened to be the one she focused on, then so be it. So long as it stopped her from slipping away.

"Where are we going?" she asked at last, her voice thin and hoarse from exhaustion.

"Home," Ragnar said simply. His eyes met hers then, unwavering in its intensity. "I’m so sorry that this happened to you."

Every syllable dripped with sincerity. There was no feigned sympathy, no empty platitude. It was raw and unfiltered with genuine regret.

Circe blinked slowly. Of all the things she expected him to say, that wasn’t it.

Why was he apologizing? Why was he saying those words to her when she had experienced much worse because of him. He might have been her rescuer tonight but she couldn’t forget that he was the reason she was in Lamora to begin with, the reason she no longer had a home of her own.

"You don’t need to feel sorry," she said, her tone devoid of emotion. "I killed him."

Ragnar’s steps faltered just slightly but then he saw a figure in the distance. A patrolling guard. He adjusted Circe carefully in his arms and called out to the man.

"There’s a body in the pond," Ragnar said darkly, his voice laced with a subtle menace. "He attacked my wife."

The guard, sensing the gravity in his tone, gave a sharp nod before turning on his heel and hurrying off in the direction of the pond, likely to recover the corpse.

With that taken care of, Ragnar resumed his path toward the carriage waiting in the distance. Their driver straightened when he saw them approaching. His surprise was evident. The ball was still in full swing and he hadn’t expected them back so soon. But any questions he might have had died on his tongue when he saw the state they were in. They were both soaked and bedraggled.

The driver leapt down from his perch and rushed to open the carriage door.

"Take us home," Ragnar barked. He usually took great care not to snap at his staff, but right now, the calm exterior he prided himself on was beginning to crack. He was unraveling faster than he could control.

Circe shivered violently in his arms, her teeth nearly chattering. He climbed into the carriage with her and carefully sat her down on one of the plush velvet seats. But instead of sitting across from her, he slid in beside her, wrapping one strong arm around her waist, pulling her gently into his side. The road ahead was uneven, and in her current state, she looked like a stiff wind could knock her unconscious.

Still, she didn’t flinch at his touch. Her body was too dazed to register anything beyond the numb cold that had seeped into her bones. When the carriage jolted forward, she swayed, instinctively pressing into him for balance. Her body no longer felt like her own.

When they finally arrived at the manor, the driver sprang into action again. He threw open the door and Ragnar stepped out, once again lifting Circe into his arms.

"I can walk," she muttered, the first flicker of her usual defiance trickling back into her voice. Though, even she didn’t believe her word.

"I know," Ragnar replied. "But I want to carry you."

"You’re stubborn," she said, her lips twitching faintly.

"And you’re freezing," he replied.

They passed two kitchen maids as they entered the grand foyer. Both women paused in shock, quickly lowering their gazes in polite greeting, though their curiosity was unmistakable. frёewebηovel.cѳm

Everyone in the household knew the tension between Ragnar and his wife. They knew of the fights between them, how combative they were with each other. And yet here she was, wrapped in his coat, curled in his arms, her head against his chest.

The maids didn’t dare stare too long, but their eyes occasionally flicked to their clinging wet clothes, the tender way Ragnar adjusted his hold on her.

"Have someone prepare a warm bath for her," Ragnar ordered over his shoulder, ascending the stairs without slowing his pace.

"Yes, Your Highness," they replied in unison, their voices trailing after him as he disappeared into the upper halls as he made his way to his bedchamber.