Free Web NovelChapter 108: Chapter 108
" Oh." Circe felt herself deflate under the weight of his words, all the sharp retorts balanced on the tip of her tongue instantly crumbling to ash.
She had suspected that the incident on the Hawthorne estate was the reason Ragnar was so adamantly against taking her along, but hearing him finally voice it aloud was entirely different.
His words dragged her back into the memory of that night. The icy water closing in, her body trembling and weak, the iron grip of her attacker holding her down, stopping her from reaching the surface.
Her chest had burned, her vision had blurred, and even now, the thought of it tightened her throat.
" Circe." Ragnar saying her name jolted her from the memory and reminded her that she had fallen silent. His voice was as gentle as always. " The ball is to be held in the capital, and I would rather you have nothing to do with that place."
He meant every word. As long as the queen sat on the throne, Ragnar would do everything in his power to keep Circe away from the capital.
" How long will you be gone?" she asked at last, steepling her fingers together.
" Four days at most. Less if I can help it," Ragnar answered.
He had far more pressing matters in the capital than just attending a ball; were it not for those, he would not even bother with the journey.
Circe’s brows drew together. " And what am I to do in the afternoons while you are gone?"
Afternoons were usually set aside for their riding lessons— a part of her day she always looked forward to. Even Ragnar could see how much it made her happy.
" You could always go back to what you used to do," he said, unhelpfully vague.
Her eyes narrowed, the spark of defiance already kindling in them. " And what, pray tell, might that be?" Her voice was edged with challenge, daring him to answer poorly.
Ragnar should not have liked the way she met him head-on, as if this were some battle of wills, but against all reason... he did.
From the opposite side of the table, he regarded her like a man puzzling over a particularly difficult map.
He knew she had often complained of having little to occupy herself with, and it was for that very reason he had introduced the lessons in the first place. They gave her a rhythm to her days and he noticed the light in her expression when she rode.
" You could take up embroidery," Ragnar suggested at last. " I hear it’s all the rage among noblewomen."
The look she gave him in response was nothing short of murderous. Her face twisted as though he had asked her to fling herself from a moving carriage.
Circe had never possessed the delicate patience embroidery required.
She had tried once, years ago, and the attempt had ended terribly. She kept pricking herself with the needle so she was forced to put it down and walk away with injured fingers and her bruised ego.
If she attempted it now, she was quite certain she would end up not only frustrated but possibly blind in one eye.
" I want to go into town," she announced instead. " I have barely stepped outside the estate since we returned from the palace."
She braced herself for the sharp rejection she was certain would follow. Even as the words left her lips, she was already preparing counterarguments in her mind.
" I didn’t think you would want to explore Amris," he said evenly, as though the thought had never occurred to him. " You never showed any interest." There was no refusal in his voice, only mild surprise. If he had known, he might have taken her himself long ago.
That was certainly not the rejection she had prepared for.
Circe shrugged, feigning nonchalance. " I didn’t. But it’s better than staying here, twiddling my thumbs until you return."
His eyes softened, and shone with curiosity, the rare, unguarded kind she had only seen a handful of times. " And what would you like to do when you go into town?"
There was no suspicion in his tone, no condescension, none of the calculating glances she had grown accustomed to from the men in her father’s council. His interest was genuine, untainted by anything dark or patronizing.
For a moment, Circe forgot to guard herself. Before Ragnar, she could not recall the last time she had shared a meal with someone other than Rowen and actually enjoyed the conversation.
" Whatever women my age are doing," she replied. In truth, she had no particular plan, but anything would be preferable to languishing in the manor with nothing to do.
Ragnar arched a brow. " I assume that it does not involve embroidery." The corner of his mouth tilted, and though he lifted his cup as if to hide it, the humor in his voice betrayed him.
" As a matter of fact, it doesn’t." Her lips twitched against her will. " You always have something to say, don’t you?"
" Most times, yes," he answered, his smile no longer restrained. It spread easily, snug and infuriating.
" I don’t like you at all," she said. The words slipped out with hardly any heat, and she realized belatedly how little force they carried.
But Ragnar only leaned back, his smile deepening like a man who had just won a prize in a game she wasn’t aware they were playing.
****
"Circe, what about this one?" Rowen called out, holding up yet another flower for her to inspect, the fifth one in the span of only a few minutes.
The other four were already clutched carefully in his other hand, their fragile petals quivering with every movement he made.
"I don’t think you should be plucking so many at once," Circe said, her tone lightly admonishing, though she still accepted the flower he offered.
A faint chill clung stubbornly to the late afternoon air.
Circe usually divided her hours between the library, the garden, and the terrace, seeking solace in each space in turn.
It hadn’t been long since Rowen had joined her here, yet the sight of him darting from one plant to another, made her chest tighten. This level of enthusiasm was something she had feared she might never see in him again.
But then a thought struck her with cruel clarity.
Rowen would never get to play in their mother’s garden the way she had. He would never grow up learning how to nock an arrow beneath their mother’s tree. The thought was like a fist squeezing her heart.
Before she could sink further into those morose thoughts, Rowen’s voice cut sharply through the air. He was calling for her, his tone high and urgent, carrying the unmistakable pitch of alarm.
Circe rose at once, skirts brushing against the grass as she hurried toward him.
When she reached him seconds later, she saw what had startled him. A small carcass lay sprawled on the lawn. It was a white rabbit that looked identical to the one she saw in her dream two nights ago, with the same gaping wound on its neck.
Her stomach lurched.
Without hesitation, she seized Rowen’s arm and pulled him behind her, shielding him instinctively with her body. The fear that surged through her was the same raw, suffocating terror she had felt in that dream.
"Go and fetch the gardener to dispose of this," she instructed, her voice measured and calm but her gaze never once strayed from the lifeless creature on the ground.
"Okay," Rowen said. He obeyed without protest, running off to do as she said. ƒrēewebnovel.com
Circe remained rooted in place until she was certain he was out of earshot. Only then did she let her composure slip, her chest rising and falling unevenly.
It could all be coincidence, she tried to tell herself. But no matter how fiercely she clung to that explanation, the truth pressed down on her like a weight.
Her hands were trembling.
With slow, tentative steps, she approached the rabbit, every instinct screaming at her to turn and flee.
"You don’t scare me," she whispered, though the words rang hollow even to her own ears. They were meant for whatever force haunted her dreams, the unseen tormentor that had begun creeping into her waking life.
But the lie was betrayed by her shaking fingers. Circe was very scared.
She crouched before the rabbit, extending her hand over its body.
She needed to prove herself wrong, to convince herself this was nothing more than a coincidence.
But the moment her palm hovered above its still form, her skin prickled with a crackling energy.
Glowing threads began to wind themselves around her fingers, but unlike in the dream, they did not rise from the rabbit. They flowed out of her.
They streamed from her like light spilling from a broken vessel, sinking into the rabbit’s body.
Her throat went dry.
How was this possible? What did it mean?
She knew what would come next, yet the inevitability of it did nothing to dull her shock when it happened.
The rabbit blinked. Its eyes now flickered with life, staring at her in silent awareness. Yet its body remained unmoving, limp against the grass, as if some essential part of it lingered between death and life.
And then like a stone being tossed into still water, a memory stirred. It was not one she remembered having, yet it pressed insistently at the edges of her consciousness, demanding to be freed.
In it, she was small again, her voice thin with fear as she cried out for help as a rabbit—this rabbit—hopped to its feet before her with blood still pouring from the side of its neck, and even as a child she had understood something was terribly wrong.
" Mama, I think something is wrong with me."
Those were the words Circe’s younger self had said in the dream as her mother brushed her hair.
She hadn’t heard it then but she could hear it now in her ears, as clear as day
Circe staggered back from the rabbit, desperate to outrun the truth of what she had done. Her retreat was halted only when she collided with a figure. She turned, startled, to find herself face-to-face with Nieah.
Her eyes widened, her pulse racing wildly. A scream threatened to bubble up from her throat. She felt like a woman teetering on the edge of madness.
Nieah’s hands gripped her shoulders firmly, steadying her trembling frame.
"Your Highness, are you all right?" Nieah asked, her expression etched with concern.
No. Circe did not feel all right. Her entire body was still shaking. She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came.
"Is something wrong?" Nieah pressed gently when Circe failed to respond.
Circe’s gaze darted involuntarily back to the rabbit.
It lay where it had before, eyes closed once more, its body limp and lifeless as though it had never stirred at all.
