Claimed by the vampire prince Chapter 98

Ragnar bit back a smile as he watched Circe ride circles around him on horseback, turning with her to keep track of her at all tis.

He had been right in assuming she would be a fast learner. She had taken well to the mare he gave her and had adjusted quickly in the two weeks they had been practicing together in the fields.

Circe had also grown fond of the horse, it was obvious in the way she always made it to the stables before him and in how he often caught her patting the mare whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. Watching the bond forming between her and the horse was one of the reasons he had abandoned the idea of finding her another riding instructor.

That, and the fact that no one else ever seed to et his impossible standards.

It certainly had nothing to do with the sound of her laughter as she galloped across the field, loud and utterly carefree. Her unbound hair billowed in the breeze as she rode, more relaxed than he had ever seen her.

He had first heard her laugh just days ago, in a mont much like this one. It hadn’t been the polite laugh she so often gave others. This laugh had been wholly hers—deep, wild, and straight from the chest.

The sound resembled a cackle, the kind one might expect from a drunken sailor.

How such a noise could co from such a beautiful woman was beyond him, but he was enthralled by it, just as he was by everything else about her. Circe usually kept her emotions tightly guarded around him, so seeing her consud by joy had stunned him. Her laughter had been a shock, but one he welcod.

He had felt ten feet tall knowing he was the cause of it. His delusion-addled mind had taken it as a ceasefire in the silent war they had been waging ever since he discovered her wrists wrapped in bandages.

What could he do to make her laugh like that again? That had been his first thought after the initial shock wore off, seconds before he chastised himself for even entertaining it.

"You’re getting better every day," Ragnar said when she slowed. It was almost pathetic, the way he craved her attention. Circe was oblivious to how a single look from her could turn him inside out. "You’re almost skilled enough to overtake soone in a race if you wanted to."

Circe ca to a stop right in front of him, looking down at him in that haughty way he secretly loved.

"Almost?" she asked, her lips thinning as if the word offended her.

The horse snorted, as though in agreent.

"Yes, princess. Almost. You’re doing well, but not quite at the level where you should be racing anyone yet." Circe’s eyes narrowed with each word until they were sharp slits. She didn’t like it when he called her ’princess,’ but it had beco a habit, one he enjoyed far too much to stop.

In truth, they practiced every day, and she had grown skilled enough to win a race on her own. Circe knew it, too.

She had been riding since she was a girl, and this wasn’t much different from what she already knew.

"Fine. Get your horse so we can put your words to the test," she said, her gaze unwavering.

Circe was fiercely competitive, yet another thing he had learned about her during their daily lessons. If told she couldn’t do sothing, she would go out of her way to prove him wrong, even if it ant breaking her limbs in the process.

She was still speaking, laying down the rules of a competition he hadn’t even agreed to join.

"We’ll both ride once around the estate and return to this very spot. Whoever gets back first wins." She paused, looking thoughtful. "And you’re not allowed to use your warhorse."

Ragnar couldn’t help himself, he laughed.

Circe scowled, not appreciating that he found her amusing.

She carried on regardless. "You can only choose one that’s similar to Kena in size."

Kena. That was the na she had chosen for the mare. He had hidden his amusent when he first heard it.

Ragnar had never nad any of his horses in all his years, yet Circe had picked one out within days. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was already thinking of nas for the rest of his horses so they wouldn’t feel left out.

He decided to indulge her for once. "And what are you hoping to win if you beat ?"

He must have asked the right question, because her scowl softened a fraction.

"If I win, and I probably will, you’ll owe twenty gold coins." There was a glint in her eyes, the sa one she always had when she tried to extort him.

"Your prices are always so exorbitant, it has to be a talent. Such skills are wasted on a princess. You’d fit right in with a gang of bandits."

"If you don’t have the money, just say so. There’s no sha in it," she replied haughtily.

This beautifully infuriating woman. He wanted to hoist her over his shoulder and teach her a lesson for the way she delighted in frustrating him, and for how delectable she looked while doing it.

Ragnar raised a brow. "And when I win?"

She clicked her tongue. "If, Ragnar. If you win."

"What do I get if I do?" His gaze narrowed on her face. He fought to keep his eyes from trailing down her body. He had stopped allowing himself such liberties the mont he realized how much else he wanted to do with her and to her. It was an affliction, how badly he was starting to want her.

He knew he should have kept to his resolve to put distance between them. But like a fool, he had ignored the voice of reason in his mind and was now wading deeper into chaos of his own making.

A wicked smirk tugged at Circe’s lips. She only smiled like that when she was plotting to dupe him.

"If you sohow manage to best , and that’s a very big if, you may console yourself with the fact that you were right. You can even boast about it, as I assu n do. Such a privilege may never co again." She said, speaking confidently like she wasn’t still the student in this scenario.

"That’s hardly what I’d call a prize." Ragnar argued.

"That’s all you’re getting, I’m afraid. I don’t have twenty gold coins to give you," she said, her smirk turning devious. "But I’m sure you do, prince that you are."

This woman was going to be the death of him.