Claimed by the vampire prince

Chapter 89: Chapter 89

It had only taken a few hours for true exhaustion to set in. It seeped into her skin like a cold mist, burrowing deep into her bones until even breathing felt like an effort. For more than two days, Circe had drifted in and out of consciousness, waking only long enough to relieve herself and choke down a few bites of the food pressed upon her before her head inevitably sank back into the pillow.

The only constant through these cycles of wakefulness and sleep was Ragnar’s presence. He was always there whenever she woke, silent and watchful, immovable as the furniture.

Circe hated the way a simple act from a man she loathed could bring her any measure of comfort. But she could not deny that it did. No one had ever lingered for her sake like this, not since her mother had died. Her ladies maids might have fussed over her in the past, but that was their duty, not a choice. She was accustomed to being the one who cared for others, not the one who was cared for.

She had been only sixteen when Rowen was born, and in many ways, she had been more mother than sister to him. Her father had proved time and again how little interest he had in raising his children.

When their mother died, he drowned himself in the battle strategies and council meetings, letting the affairs of the kingdom consume him entirely. Politics became the only thing he made time for, and for the first few years of Rowen’s life, he had barely looked at his youngest child. freёweɓnovel.com

The truth— although Circe rarely voiced it—was cruel. Their mother’s health had begun to deteriorate during her pregnancy with Rowen, and she had died just days after giving birth to him. The king, racked with grief, had fixed the blame on the most defenseless target.

He blamed the child for killing his wife.

Valik went so far as to refrain from publicly acknowledging Rowen as his son. To the court, the boy was merely the princess’s ward, not a prince in his own right.

When Circe woke on the third morning, Ragnar was still there, as if he had never left. He sat turned slightly away from her, eyes fixed on the open book in his hands. He must have felt her gaze, because after a moment he turned, meeting her eyes.

"You’re awake," he said, snapping the book shut.

Circe pushed herself upright against the pillows. "And you stayed. I take it work must have been minimal these past few days?"

"Princess, I stayed because I wanted to." His tone was steady, almost gentle. There was a softness in his gaze, a look one might give a wounded animal or something as fragile as a baby bird. But Circe was neither of those things, and the thought that he now looked at her like that unsettled her.

She knew he was telling the truth but she still couldn’t bring herself to accept his words. Hours later, he was still there, unmoving even after a kitchen maid brought in a tray laden with warm bread, broth, and fruit for her.

The longer he remained, the more her wary curiosity began to harden into suspicion. She watched him over the rim of her journal, her narrowed eyes following the turn of each page he read. She had long since grown bored of lying on her back, and sketching was the only thing keeping her hands busy. There was little else for her to do within the manor’s walls.

"If you keep staring at me like that," Ragnar said suddenly, a teasing note in his voice, "people might start thinking you actually liked me. We wouldn’t want to give them the wrong idea, would we?"

Circe scoffed. "Don’t you have anywhere else to be?" she asked skeptically. Surely a man like him had other matters to attend to, ones that didn’t involve breathing the same air as her.

"Why? Have you grown bored of my company so quickly?" His lips twitched, the beginnings of a smile tugging at them.

"Yes, I have," she replied flatly. "I know why you’re here and as you can see, I am perfectly fine now."

His gaze, deliberate and unhurried, slid down her body before returning to her eyes.

"Yes, Princess," he murmured, a smirk curving his lips. "You are definitely... fine." He managed to turn the most innocuous word into something that felt almost indecent.

Circe looked away, like refusing to acknowledge it could make it cease to exist.

"You may leave now," she said coldly. It did not matter that the room was his and she was the squatter between them.

"I’m quite comfortable here, actually." He leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs, as though to prove his point.

"Then I will leave. There’s nothing to do here anyway." freewёbnoνel.com

That, he suspected, wasn’t quite true. She was not allowed to leave the manor unaccompanied, but surely she had found ways to pass the time.

"You have your journal," Ragnar reminded her when she began pulling the covers from her legs.

She picked it up and gave it a little shake in the air in front of him. "It’s almost full." Only a handful of blank pages remained.

"Then I’ll get you a new one," he offered without hesitation.

She rolled her eyes at that, but said nothing. Swinging her legs off the bed, she let them dangle for a moment before pushing herself fully upright. She wore one of the plainer day dresses Ragnar had bought her and it had become her favorite in the pile, though she would never admit it aloud.

"Do you want to learn to ride the horses?" he asked suddenly, surprising even himself. The thought had come unbidden, and now that it was out, he wasn’t sure it was wise. Horse riding would be a perfect way for her to occupy herself but it was also a skill she could use to try and escape. A craftier person like her could steal a horse and be halfway to the border before anyone knew she was gone.

And yet, for all the reasons he shouldn’t have asked, he still found himself awaiting her answer with something dangerously close to anticipation.

Circe turned her head slowly toward him, her expression cautious. "Are you offering to teach me?" she asked, suspicion sharpening her voice.

"And if I am?" he countered. He shouldn’t want to spend more time with her. He had told himself, firmly for that matter, that whatever pull he had towards her was fleeting, a passing attraction. And yet here he was, looking for excuses to remain around her.

"Then I would say you’re a fool for doing so," she replied evenly. "You do know I might try to escape on one of the horses if I learn."

They both knew it was true. She remained in the manor not from any sense of loyalty or comfort, but because she had no choice.

Ragnar’s smile deepened. "You can try, Princess. But I’ll catch you before you make it to the gates."

Ordinarily, she would have dismissed such a claim as arrogance but this was Ragnar. She had seen what he was capable of, seen him find her night after night, no matter how cleverly she hid.

If he said he would catch her before she reached the gates... then he would.