" Until then consider yourself both."
The words were a painful blow, like a hot brand searing through her flesh. Circe hated how much it affected her, she knew what she was to these people. Spoils of war. A captive.
Circe was the most important woman in Westeria. It felt like a hundred years ago since she last peered out at the land surrounding the castle from her childhood bedroom window. In truth, it had only been ten days.
Her innards twisted, her shoes digging into the carpet as she watched her enemy speak so casually about her fall from glory. She was both his wife and prisoner.
In ten days, Circe lost everything she held dear, her birthright, her home, her family and in return she gained a prison. It might not be a typical grim and stench riddled cell but it was still a prison regardless.
Circe was never the type of princess to sit by herself, twirling a lock of hair with a finger while entertaining whimsical thoughts of foreign princes traveling across borders to woo her. She never dreamed about marrying for love for she knew her father would only approve of the match if it greatly benefited the kingdom.
She was the princess after all, her duty was to serve the kingdom with her life.
The uncertainty that laced every second she spent in Lamora— her father would have never wished such a fate upon her.
Circe stood stock still as Ragnar spoke, she was barely breathing. She remained that way minutes more after he left the room.
Wife or prisoner?
She tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. Circe pushed the door open to reveal a deserted hallway.
To him she was both.
Circe stepped into the hall, into the open arms of the stifling silence. Her footsteps sounded louder than they actually were as she sprinted through winding halls and corridors. She didn't have a destination in mind or even a sense of where she was headed. Fueled with stubbornness and rage, her rebellious side sat just at the surface. It was a malevolent creature perched on her shoulder, whispering wicked, insidious things.
She hadn't done anything wrong to be considered a prisoner so she was going to remedy that. If he claimed she was his prisoner, she was going to do things that would make her worthy of the title.
The walls were painted the same cream color, and with no framed portraits to serve as landmarks, they looked the exact same. It didn't deter her in the slightest.
She twisted the knobs of every door she passed. Most were locked and the ones that weren't led to empty bedrooms. She heard no sound of voices as she left one wing of the manor and leaped to another.
Heavy double doors stood tall as imposing sentinels. The wood was etched with intricate carvings and the knob was a gleaming gold. Circe wrapped her hand around the knob, its surface cold to the touch. She twisted it and with one firm push, the door swung open.
Inside she was greeted with tall arched windows spilling golden light across rows of shelves packed with weathered tomes and freshly bound books. She took a step inside, unable to resist. The scent of old paper mingled with polished wood.
Her soft footsteps echoed over the marble floors as she wandered through the hushed space. Overhead, a grand chandelier cast a warm glow beneath the vaulted ceiling, where whispers of history and imagination seemed to linger in the air.
It reminded her of the time she spent assisting Lokan at the grand palace library. It was the only thing she enjoyed since coming to Lamora. Circe had always been happiest surrounded by books, feeling the coarse texture of paper as she flipped through pages. It was a type of joy that even Lokan's ill temper and obvious dislike of her couldn't dampen.
A flash of color caught her eyes. It beckoned her forward, coaxing her to take measured steps closer. There, hidden behind thick columns was a sectioned off area devoid of books and shelves. Alone stood a wall as tall as it was wide. A mural was painted on its surface, spanning the entire wall.
The wall mural depicted an ancient battle frozen in a moment of violent grandeur, stretching from corner to corner in sweeping detailed strokes. On the left, a regiment of soldiers in gleaming bronze armor advancing in unison, their rectangular shields raised and spears bristling forward like a forest of iron.
Their commander rode ahead on a chariot, robes and plumes billowing in the wind. The opposing side emerged from a cloud of dust. They were bare-chested warriors with painted faces and animal-hide armor, charging with axes, curved swords and primal fury. Between them, the battlefield was a chaos of bodies in motion: horses rearing, archers loosing arrows mid-draw and foot soldiers locked in desperate combat.
She stood entranced, the splendor before her stealing the very air from her lungs. Seconds slipped through the cracks on her fingers, she didn't know how long she stood there simply staring. The spell shattered when she heard the library door creak open and shut. No longer was she alone. Did Ragnar notice her absence and sent someone to search? Or did he come in search of her himself?
Neither of those thoughts sounded appealing.
Aside from the sound the door made, Circe heard nothing. Not even the rustle of fabric or the sound of boots thudding against marble.
Fed up with not knowing, Circe tossed a glance over her shoulder and came face to face with Nieah standing paces away. Still in her sage green gown, the housekeeper had her hands clasped demurely in front of her.
Gone was the peace and fleeting joy the library walls offered, and in its place were the tumultuous emotions it helped keep at bay. Staring at Nieah did nothing but reignite the cooling embers of Circe's rage.
" Did he send you?" Circe turned to face her fully. " Am I not allowed to be in here?" She couldn't help the anger and accusation that slipped into her tone and mixed with the words coming out of her mouth.
" By my judgment, you've more right to stand within these halls than I ever did, your highness." Nieah said and gave a low curtsey, her words and actions aiming to placate Circe. " I merely wished to ensure you hadn't lost your way. The manor is vast, and its halls can prove daunting to those unacquainted with them."
Circe watched the housekeeper, searching for any signs of deception and found none. She heaved a sigh, her chest relaxing with the weight of her exhaled breath.
Noticing what had previously captured Circe's entire focus, Nieah nodded at the mural on the wall. " I was drawn to it when I first arrived. It took me days to work up the courage to ask someone about it."
Nieah's words reminded Circe of her worries and questions from earlier. Why would a human woman willingly choose to work for vampires, knowing what the vile beasts did to human settlements. Vampires were the dark creatures from the tales her maids whispered to Circe at the dead of night, creatures that killed for sport and plundered foreign lands for gold, feeding on the human men and women until they became nothing but dried-up husks. Creatures Circe witnessed burn her home to the ground.
She wanted to ask, the words were already at the tip of her tongue. Why? How could Nieah stomach being around Ragnar and his kind day after day, willingly interacting with them? She turned to face the mural instead, her lips refusing to move.
Circe was beginning to sense that Nieah had no fondness for long, uneasy silences, the kind that lingered like a spell left unfinished. She felt the urge to fill it with chatter that Circe surprisingly enjoyed.
" It's the great Lamorian war." Nieah began without being prompted. " Marzen the conqueror, first vampire king of Lamora, had rode into battle against the original inhabitants of the land with his troops and won. It is said he laid waste to his opponents and renamed the land for himself and the next generation of vampires that came after him."
Circe stared at the mural with fresh eyes, Nieah's explanation providing much needed clarity. It made her notice details that eluded her minutes prior. The sharp canines of the bare chested warriors, the way they were depicted in an almost animalistic way. More beast than man. Creatures of darkness.