Free Web NovelChapter 121: Chapter 121
The evening stretched longer than Circe would have liked. The dignitaries, who had seemingly grown tired of idle chatter, now droned on about Lamora’s current crisis that had been spreading through the kingdom like wildfire. People snatched right off the streets with no trace left behind.
Almost a quarter of their provinces had been affected, and the phenomenon was spreading toward the towns and major cities.
Ragnar listened intently, his expression darkening as one of the men mentioned that some still believed it to be the work of raiders or foreign leaders trying to incite chaos in the kingdom, while others swore they heard the lilting voice of a woman outside on the nights people went missing.
"The people are growing restless," one of the men said gravely. "The king’s decision to enforce a curfew will reduce the number of people being taken, but it does nothing to help those who are still missing. He hasn’t said anything about the victims."
Ragnar’s fingers drummed lightly on the table, his lips set into a tight line. "And have you approached His Majesty about this?"
The dignitaries glanced at each other for a second, a brief, silent conversation passing between them.
"The king has not been himself lately," the second dignitary replied, his tone careful, as though wary of being overheard even here. "He has been preoccupied. There are rumors that he has set his sights on Vernia."
Vernia was a small region to the south of Lamora that operated as a free state, not under the imperial rule of any of the surrounding kingdoms. To King Zerial, it meant Vernia was up for grabs.
It meant the king planned to send his army to another war within the next five years.
Ragnar didn’t comment, even though he knew this conversation must have been uncomfortable for Circe given what had happened to her own kingdom just months ago.
She simply lifted her glass, letting the ruby liquid swirl lazily before taking another sip. The wine had a faint shimmer to it, something she hadn’t noticed before.
It tasted sweeter than what she was accustomed to: honeyed, and smooth. She barely even noticed the strange warmth that slowly spread through her body the more she drank.
She decided she liked it.
While the men continued to speak of politics and looming danger, Circe leaned back slightly in her chair, half-listening as the buzz of the wine began to course through her. She felt it in the light tingling sensation unfurling in her chest.
The words of the discussion became a background hum. Names, dates, and phrases she couldn’t be bothered to follow. Her limbs felt pleasantly light, her mind adrift.
By the time the dignitaries finally excused themselves and were escorted to their accommodations for the night, Circe had drained two glasses.
"Ragnar," she said suddenly when the doors closed behind the dignitaries, her tone suspiciously sweet, "I think I might like your wine."
Ragnar glanced at her, brow arched. "My wine?"
"Yes," she said, smiling at him in that rare, unguarded way. "It makes the room... softer."
He blinked. "Softer?"
Circe nodded sagely, then giggled, a soft, disbelieving sound that startled even her. Ragnar’s frown deepened, the first flicker of suspicion forming as he studied her flushed cheeks and glassy eyes.
"Circe," he said slowly, "how many glasses have you had?"
She held up a single finger. Then, after squinting at her hands, added a second. "Maybe... this many."
That was his second clue that something was amiss.
The first had been when she used his name without a single note of irritation.
He should have paid more attention to her. He had been too focused on his guests to notice her guzzling down glass after glass.
But he had seen her drink before, two glasses of wine should not have been enough to leave her in such a state.
Before he could question her further, she was already on her feet, announcing that she was going to the library.
"Circe—" Ragnar began, but she was already striding out of the dining hall.
He reached out and took her wine glass when the doors swung shut. Bringing it to his nose, he sniffed.
His suspicions were confirmed immediately. Whoever had been responsible for pouring the wine that night had served her fae wine instead of the regular kind.
---
The manor had gone still by the time Ragnar went looking for her. The corridors were bathed in silvery moonlight. She was in the library, just as she’d said she would be.
The door was ajar, faint light spilling into the hall.
Inside, Circe stood precariously on the middle rung of a ladder, stretching toward one of the higher shelves to retrieve a book.
Her balance swayed dangerously with every movement, the hem of her gown brushing against the ladder’s frame.
"Circe," Ragnar said gently, his voice low but firm. "Get down from there."
She froze, blinking down at him through bleary eyes, then smiled as though genuinely surprised to see him. "You found me."
"Yes," he said, stepping closer. "Now, down."
To his mild astonishment, she obeyed without complaint. That was his third clue. ƒгeewёbnovel.com
She descended clumsily, nearly missing a step, and when her feet finally touched the floor, she swayed forward. Ragnar caught her easily, his hands settling instinctively on her waist to steady her.
With one arm still on her waist, Ragnar brushed the back of his hand against Circe’s forehead. Her skin was warm, and when she looked up at him, her eyes were soft and slightly unfocused.
"Circe," he murmured, studying her face, "you’re drunk."
She frowned faintly, as though trying to puzzle out his words. "I’m perfectly fine."
"No, you are not," he said, annunciating each word.
"Mhm," she mumbled, leaning slightly into him.
Ragnar exhaled slowly, torn between concern and exasperation. "You’ve had fae wine," he muttered under his breath. "Who in the gods’ name served that?"
He didn’t get an answer, not from her, at least. She was too busy tracing a lazy circle against his tunic with her finger.
The wine in his cup that night had been the regular kind, rich in flavor but not strong enough to intoxicate him or dull his focus while dining with his guests. It meant someone had served it to her on purpose.
Fae wine was rare and expensive because of how potent it was, even to vampires. Ingesting too much could kill a human, and the fact that someone in his home had wanted that to happen to Circe made his temper rise to dangerous levels.
"Come on," he said, sounding resigned as he wrapped an arm around her. "You need to rest."
Sleeping it off would help get it out of her system and if nothing else, it would keep her out of trouble.
He tried to guide her toward the door, but she kept tripping over her own feet.
Ragnar sighed, and before she could protest, he scooped her up effortlessly into his arms.
Circe gave a small gasp of surprise, then giggled against his shoulder. "You like carrying me, don’t you?"
He glanced down at her wordlessly. He could barely manage any words through the haze of anger he felt right then.
His next words came out sounding more gravelly than he expected.
"I would hold you like this all the time if I could."
Those were the truest words he had uttered aloud in a while.
Ragnar couldn’t meet her gaze after that, not when she shifted slightly in his hold, her cheek pressing against his chest as though she were trying to melt into him.
Her hair brushed his jaw, the faint smell of scented oils and wine filling his senses. It took everything in him not to linger on the way her body fit so perfectly against his.
The wine seemed to have lowered her inhibitions. Her usually prickly demeanor had softened considerably as she lowered her guard fully for the first time around him.
She sighed softly. "You look horrendous up close."
Ragnar scowled. He wasn’t sure if she was speaking her mind or if it was the wine in her system talking.
He knew he wasn’t ugly, many noble ladies both in and outside the kingdom had told him the opposite, in fact. Or perhaps Circe just didn’t find him attractive at all.
She was speaking again before he could dwell on the thought.
"But if I close one eye, tilt my head to the side, and squint very hard," she followed the motions just as she stated them, smiling playfully, "I can actually see the appeal."
He swallowed, tightening his grip slightly as he carried her down the hall.
By the time they reached their chambers, her head had lolled against his shoulder, her voice a sleepy whisper of nonsense and half-thoughts. Ragnar nudged the door open with his foot and stepped inside, the dim firelight casting a soft glow over the room.
He lowered her carefully onto the bed, pulling the covers over her. But as he straightened to leave, her hand shot out, fingers curling around his sleeve.
"Where are you going?" she whispered, her eyes barely open. "You can stay here."
Ragnar froze. For a moment, the world seemed to go still around them, the only sounds in the room were the crackle of fire in the hearth and the faint rustle of fabric as she shifted.
Her grip was light, but it was enough to undo him.
He sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, his hand covering hers. "Alright," he said quietly. "I’ll stay."
Her fingers relaxed, and her breathing steadied as she drifted into sleep.
Ragnar watched her for a long time, his heart uncomfortably full. She looked different like this, unguarded and soft.
He brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek that had come loose from her bun, his voice a low murmur meant only for the dark. freewebnσvel.cѳm
"You’re going to be the death of me, Circe."
And for once, he wasn’t entirely sure he minded.
