Free Web NovelChapter 115: Chapter 115
"Your Highness," someone said behind him.
At once, Ragnar and Lord Tomar turned to find Lady Taryn standing a few paces away, one arm draped loosely around a much younger woman.
"Lord Tomar," she greeted warmly, her gaze falling on Falein with a wide smile that instantly brightened her face. The same expression was mirrored on the younger woman’s face. "You both remember my daughter, Avarine." freewebnøvel.com
Ragnar returned Lady Taryn’s smile with one of his own.
"Of course," he said, turning his attention to the young woman. "How could I ever forget little Avarine?"
The truth was, Avarine was not so little anymore, not the way he remembered.
It had been years since Ragnar last saw her and her older brother. That was around the same time the king began sending him from one battlefield to the next, leaving little room for anything outside war. In those years, Avarine had blossomed into a strikingly beautiful young woman.
She was no longer the timid little girl who used to follow them around the palace courtyards, clinging to Casilo’s arm wherever he went.
Now, she stood tall and elegant, her features soft and almost ethereal beneath the glow of the ballroom chandeliers.
Her resemblance to her cousin Casilo was undeniable, the same sleek black hair, the same clear green eyes, and fair porcelain skin. Yet, where Casilo’s face bore sharp, defined angles, Avarine’s features were gentler, her beauty possessing a delicate, almost dreamlike quality.
She beamed as she dropped into a graceful curtsey. "Your Highness."
"This is Avarine’s first ball," Lady Taryn said, her voice carrying both pride and excitement. "She’s quite eager to see the night through. It’s also her first time among so many lords and ladies."
Her tone was that of a mother who was both proud and anxious, already thinking of the long line of suitors she would soon have to consider, now that her daughter was of age.
It was a moment all mothers awaited with equal parts joy and dread.
"Then I hope she has the best night of her life," Ragnar said with an easy smile.
Even as he spoke, though, Ragnar’s thoughts were far from the ballroom. His mind wandered back home to Amris, to the vicious, confounding woman waiting for him there.
Lately, everything seemed to remind him of her. Just the other day, he had passed a woman wearing a gown the same brown shade as Circe’s hair, and he had found himself pausing, his chest tightening unexpectedly.
It had been almost four days since he left home, and in that short time, he had found himself thinking about her far too often for his own liking.
It was confusing, infuriating even.
He told himself it shouldn’t matter. Yet every idle moment made him wonder, foolishly, if she ever thought about him the way he thought about her.
Avarine’s gaze flitted between Ragnar and Falein, her smile never wavering. She was clearly fascinated by them both, though her eyes lingered on Ragnar a little longer than was proper.
"I’m sure your daughter will have suitors lined up by the end of the night," Falein said good-naturedly, his tone light and teasing, a reflection of the long friendship he shared with Lady Taryn. "I would have recommended one of my sons, but they’re all too old and cynical, much like myself. They wouldn’t know the first thing about courting a woman as beautiful as Avarine."
Lady Taryn laughed. "Don’t say that. I know your sons, and they are a delight to have around."
"All lies," Falein scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "They’re nightmares, the lot of them. I can barely stand their company on the best of days."
Avarine giggled softly as the two of them exchanged playful remarks, clearly used to their friendly banter.
Ragnar took that opportunity to quietly slip away.
"I’ll just be outside if you need me," he murmured to Falein before turning to Lady Taryn. When his gaze met Avarine’s again, he found her already watching him, her expression a mixture of awe and curiosity.
It wasn’t malicious, just the wide-eyed fascination of youth.
"It was wonderful seeing you both again," Ragnar said politely. "Give my regards to your son."
He inclined his head and then turned away, making his exit toward the double doors.
The chill of the night air met him the moment he stepped outside, cutting through the lingering heat of the ballroom. The breeze carried with it the faint scent of pine and torch smoke, and it felt like a soothing balm against his skin.
The torches lining the pathway flickered weakly against the darkness, their light barely reaching beyond a few feet. Beyond that, the land stretched into shadow, the fields swallowed up by the night.
He stood there for a long moment, gazing into the darkness. The tightness in his chest returned, familiar and persistent.
He missed her.
He didn’t want to admit how much, but denying it had become impossible. He had spent too much time around her, too many hours locked in their verbal sparring matches, watching her eyes flash with that particular blend of fury and defiance that both irritated and fascinated him.
Now, in her absence, he found himself aching for her presence.
Ragnar absently rubbed his chest, as though trying to ease the ache there, but it did nothing. Four days. That was all it had taken for him to realize how deeply she had gotten under his skin.
It was alarming how Circe had managed to turn him inside out in the few short months they had been married. And what made it worse was that she had no idea how she did it, no clue how much power she held over him.
She still saw him as her rival, perhaps even her enemy. But all Ragnar wanted was to pull her close again, to feel her warmth and her softness, vicious glares and all.
She infuriated him. She fascinated him. And though he tried to push the thought aside, he couldn’t shake the truth that frightened him most of all. He didn’t want to stop thinking about her.
Ragnar felt the exact moment he was no longer alone outside.
The faint crunch of footsteps broke through the quiet night, slow and unhurried, as though the newcomer were merely taking a leisurely stroll rather than approaching with intent. The sound drew closer, echoing softly against the cobblestone path until it stopped just behind him.
"I didn’t think you would show your face here," came a familiar voice, cutting through the stillness.
Ragnar exhaled through his nose and shot a bored look over his shoulder, his expression impassive as he met his brother’s gaze.
"Yes, I assume it must come as quite a shock to you," he said dryly, turning fully to face him, "that you have no control over who people choose to invite into their homes."
His eyes traveled deliberately over Hairan, studying him with the faintest trace of disdain. "Hello, brother. It’s good to see your face completely healed and back to the way it was."
The air between them grew heavy, charged with the silent scorn that had festered between them for years.
Ragnar reminded himself of Lord Falein’s earlier warning, not to engage, not to let Hairan provoke him again. But it was far easier said than done.
Ever since their fight in the arena, Ragnar’s tolerance for Hairan had thinned to nothing. The restraint he had once managed to hold onto had long since crumbled.
It didn’t matter how anyone would see him afterward. He was done letting his brother’s venom pass unchecked.
Ragnar’s hand slid discreetly to his side, fingers brushing the faint outline of the knife hidden beneath his coat. It wasn’t an act of aggression, not yet at least. Merely a precaution.
Just in case Hairan decided to take things too far, as he often did.
Hairan took a deliberate step forward, his lips twisting into a hateful sneer. For a heartbeat, Ragnar thought he might actually strike. But then, just as quickly, Hairan’s face smoothed into that practiced, disarming calm, the kind that always came before his cruelty.
He was erratic and volatile, much like his mother, Nheera, and that unpredictability was what made most people tread carefully around him.
"Let’s not cheapen the night by arguing," Hairan said, tone deceptively pleasant. "Not when I have wonderful news."
The smile that followed was the same one he had worn earlier in the ballroom. "I have been granted permission to resume my administrative duties. Tonight is a night of celebration for me, and I choose to share my joy with everyone present. You should be happy for me, Ragnar. Soon, I’ll outrank you."
Ragnar’s expression didn’t waver, though inside his blood simmered.
He was anything but happy. Hairan’s suspension had been one of the few things keeping him at bay, and now that obstacle had been lifted. With his reinstatement, the web of political interference that plagued Ragnar’s plans would only grow thicker. And Hairan had always been the sharpest thorn in his side.
