Free Web NovelChapter 103: Chapter 103
His mother and elder brother, Leif, were already waiting by the entrance when he returned from the prince’s manor.
Leif stood like a silent sentinel beside their mother, his tall frame rigid, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. His face bore the same unreadable mask it always did, giving nothing away as his sharp eyes tracked Ansel’s approach on horseback.
"You are back later than expected. How did it go?" Maelis asked quickly, her voice betraying the anticipation she had carried for hours. She hurried toward her younger son as he swung down from the saddle, skirts rustling as though she wished to meet him halfway before the horse had even stilled. freēwēbnovel.com
"It went about as well as I expected," Ansel replied wryly, brushing dust from his gloves. He had no idea what had possessed his mother to send him on such a task. Diplomacy was not, and had never been, his strength.
He was an experienced sailor, hardened by years at sea, and he had plenty of skills to boast of like navigating storms, reading the currents, commanding men through hardship.
But smoothing over bruised tempers? Convincing nobles to set aside grievances? That was a game he had never played well. If anything, he was more likely to bumble his way through it and make matters worse.
Leif would have been better suited. Out of the two of them, his elder brother was the one most like their father: calm, measured, deliberate with every word. He not only inherited their father’s features but also his unshakable composure.
It gave Leif the ability to be mistaken for pure Lamorian nobility, something Ansel would never truly experience. That resemblance alone was enough to smooth the scorn of prejudiced nobles, men and women who openly despised Soren Hawthorne for having children with a human woman, yet would grudgingly look the other way so long as the offspring appeared Lamorian enough to pass as one of them. free𝑤ebnovel.com
Leif had mastered that act, moving through high society with the grace and restraint that reassured those waiting for the Hawthornes to stumble.
Ansel, however, had never been able to wear that mask convincingly. He bore traces of his mother too visibly, in his complexion, in his mannerisms, in the warmth of his smile, and nobles saw it instantly. It was why the sea had always been more welcoming to him than Lamorian aristocracy.
Among waves and storms, there were no masks to don, no scrutiny pressing down on him—only the respect one earned by proving himself capable.
From what Ansel knew, Prince Ragnar had never been one to look down on another for their blood. Given the circumstances of his own birth, prejudice hardly seemed a vice he would indulge in.
No, Ragnar’s sharp dismissal earlier that day had not been because of bigotry.
Ansel could not deny that the prince’s anger was justified. If he were in Ragnar’s place, if he had a wife like Circe and had nearly lost her, he would have been livid too.
Though Ansel had promised himself he would not dwell on her, not in front of his family. He could not completely shut her out of his thoughts for now.
But that strange interaction still lingered, needling at the back of his mind. He would not allow himself to dissect it now, not under his brother’s watchful eyes and his mother’s mounting worry.
Later, when he was away from his family and surrounded by just his thoughts, he would reexamine the interaction he had with her today through a clearer lens and properly pick it apart.
His attention returned to his mother as he saw her hopeful expression falter. The brightness that had flickered in her eyes moments ago dimmed entirely. She looked as though he had struck her, though all he had given her was honesty.
Seeing Maelis so distraught tugged at something instinctive in him, that old urge to comfort her, to promise that things would be all right even if he wasn’t sure they would be.
He knew how much her charity foundation relied on Ragnar’s support. Every year, the prince’s donations were among the largest contributions. Ragnar’s name, despite his polarizing reputation, carried weight, and being associated with him lent the foundation credibility it would otherwise struggle to maintain.
To lose his favor was not just a financial blow, it was a blow to the prestige that allowed her work to flourish.
"Perhaps we should give it some time," Ansel said gently, trying to sound more certain than he felt. "He is upset, and rightfully so. I believe his anger will lessen with time. And if it doesn’t, I highly doubt the prince withdrawing his funding will cause your foundation to collapse. It is far more successful than that."
But his words, though calm, did little to ease the worry etched into Maelis’s features. Her eyes churned with worry.
"The foundation is the least of our concerns right now," she said firmly. Her tone sharpened with urgency, as though she could not bear his lack of understanding. "Don’t you see, Ansel? Have you been away so long that you’ve forgotten the tightrope this family has always walked on?"
She was right, of course. To most citizens of the kingdom, the ascension of a new king was normal, hardly something to fret over. But for Maelis, for her half-vampire sons, it determined their livelihood. Each shift of the throne reshaped the politics that governed their existence.
Maelis continued, her words heavy with conviction. "There are already so many in the royal court who despise what we stand for. Now, more than ever, we need a leader who will hear our voices when others have turned a deaf ear to them. Ragnar knows the taste of discrimination in this kingdom as well as any of us. That is why we must remain aligned with him. None of these will matter if we lose his favor."
Ansel noticed that Leif was yet to speak a single word. His older brother was always careful with his words and spoke only when he deemed it absolutely necessary, just another way they were so vastly different.
His mother was right. Owning land and a title had never shielded them from discrimination that came from the elitists.
He could easily run off to sea but it would be like his twenties all over again, running away when things became too hard.
And with that, Ansel decided to regale his mother with details of what happened while he was at the prince’s home and everything he noticed that might possibly be of help to them.
Which just happens to include the way Ragnar had behaved like a completely different person around his wife, the way he seemed unable to tear his gaze from her and how he hung on her every word. Because it was clear that they had been going about this the wrong way.
Arranged marriage or no, Circe had some sort of influence over the prince and perhaps she was the key they needed to get through to him.
Maelis understood instantly, as he knew she would. She relaxed, her shoulders easing, and cleared her throat with newfound purpose. "Princess Circe has been in Lamora for months now and has yet to be properly introduced to high society," she mused. "We should be the ones to remedy that."
Ansel could not help but feel a flicker of admiration. His mother’s mind had always been quick, turning problems over and over until she uncovered a possible solution. It was that same keen insight, he knew, that had once captured his father’s heart.
And perhaps, while his mother sought to ingratiate herself with Princess Circe, he could learn why she had seemed so intent on knowing about his next voyage.
