Free Web NovelChapter 147: Chapter 147
Casilo hadn’t seemed the least bit worried last night when she went to speak with him. He had been so calm, not even a single hair out of place.
But his responses had not been enough for Circe. It had been three days since Ragnar left for the capital, and every time she so much as asked about him, Casilo waved it off like it was nothing.
It was immediately apparent to her that there was much he wasn’t telling. None of them had even said why Ragnar had to go to the capital in the first place.
Not even Kostia had breathed a word about it when she asked, and Ragnar himself had somehow managed to evade the question entirely before leaving, purposefully keeping her in the dark.
Her father had done this to her enough times in the past that she had grown to resent it and the helplessness that usually came with it.
"Your Highness, I can assure you that everything is perfectly fine. You would be one of the people I would inform if it wasn’t." Those words, spoken in a tone full of certainty, should have been enough to assure her.
But the way they were all behaving left a bitter taste in her mouth and a strange unease she couldn’t shake.
At that moment, Casilo’s unflappable composure irritated her more than it ever managed to reassure her. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
She caught herself just as she opened her mouth to ask more questions and stopped, startled by her own impulse. None of them owed her any answers, and it wasn’t their duty to keep her informed about matters within their ranks.
She had never been particularly curious about Ragnar’s affairs or what he did during his absences. His station was demanding and required frequent travel, often to deal with matters in the capital or in a different city.
So why couldn’t she let this go? Why was she suddenly so concerned? She had no reason to be feeling this way in his absence. ƒreewebɳovel.com
It made no sense at all, so she forced herself to drop the matter long enough to retire back to her room for the night.
She tried to push it from her mind, and for a while, it worked but the next morning, as she sat before the vanity mirror, staring at the reflection of her worry-drawn face, it all came rushing back as though it had never left.
Ragnar, by all accounts, was a fearsome general with countless victories to his name. It was impossible to live in Lamora for as long as she had and not hear tales of his triumphs.
Sometimes she even caught the maids whispering amongst themselves about him in awestruck tones.
She knew that he was more than capable of taking care of himself.
So why did the image of him in that arena, facing down a vicious beast, keep replaying in her mind whenever she thought of him back in the capital? The memory of that day never failed to send faint tremors through her, shaking her to the core.
Whenever she recalled it, her chest would tighten painfully, making it harder to breathe. Casilo’s guarded silence only made it worse. He was as tight-lipped now as he had been the night before Ragnar entered the arena.
Would the queen trade her off to someone else like a trophy if something were to happen to Ragnar? The thought came unbidden but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.
She usually refrained from entertaining such thoughts, if only to protect what little sanity she had left.
Today marked the fourth day since he left for the capital, and though it bothered her more than she wanted to admit, there was something else presently gnawing at her.
Today also happened to be the date listed on the invitation Lady Mina had delivered a week ago.
The luncheon was set to take place in just a few hours, the same one Circe had been dreading all week.
A part of her still didn’t want to go but a different, more logical part of her was still willing to use any opportunity afforded to her to leave the estate, even if it was only for an afternoon. Who knew when next she would be able to do so.
Circe sat before her vanity mirror, trying to make herself look presentable enough to attend the luncheon. Her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, but she barely noticed.
Her hands moved on their own as she searched for something along rows of jars, and cosmetic bottles, all while momentarily lost in thought.
Her hands moved without thought, her mind elsewhere. The brush slipped from her fingers, and as she reached for it, her elbow knocked against a jar of scented body oil, sending it crashing to the floor.
It shattered on impact, and the sweet scent of vanilla quickly filled the air.
The sudden noise startled her and apparently Nieah too, who had just entered and was closing the door behind her.
Before Circe could bend to gather the broken shards, Nieah’s voice rang out.
"No, Your Highness. There’s no need for you to do that. I’ll have one of the maids take care of it for you, don’t worry."
Nieah quickly stepped back out and, within moments, returned with a young serving girl carrying a broom and a dustpan in one hand and, in the other, a small bucket and rag to clean the spilled body oil.
The maid made quick work of the mess, bowing deeply before exiting the room once the last of the oil had been wiped away. The heavy fragrance of the spilled oil now lingered thickly in the air.
Noticing how quiet Circe had grown, Nieah spoke to break the silence.
"Would you like me to help you get ready?" she asked gently.
Circe turned to glance at her, giving a look that was more pitiful than defiant.
"I don’t think I want to go anymore. I don’t think this is a good sign," she murmured, pointing at the spot where the jar had shattered, as though that alone proved her point.
Nieah tilted her head slightly, seeming to consider Circe’s words.
"I didn’t know you were very superstitious," Nieah said mildly, walking over to pick up a comb. There was a hint of humor in her voice, soft but unmistakable.
"May I?" she asked, waiting for Circe’s nod of approval before she began carefully detangling the ends of Circe’s hair, her movements slow and gentle.
Circe didn’t even protest. She had realized long ago that arguing with Nieah, who was always so kind and soft-spoken, wasn’t as fun or invigorating as the verbal sparring she and Ragnar frequently engaged in.
"And even if you were right," Nieah continued, "you can’t decline an invitation you already accepted, especially not just hours before the event. It would be unseemly."
Circe exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.
"If I agree to go, will you come with me?" Circe asked quietly.
She knew it wasn’t right to even ask. Nieah was Ragnar’s housekeeper, not her lady-in-waiting. She likely had far more pressing duties around the manor than following Circe to a social gathering. But still, Circe asked.
With Ragnar gone, the thought of attending a luncheon and possibly being surrounded by vampires whose faces were unfamiliar made her stomach twist.
Nieah paused briefly, then smiled in understanding. It was as though she could read Circe’s thoughts and unease perfectly in that moment.
"I’ll come along if that will make you more comfortable," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "But I promise, everything will be just fine. And if you begin to feel overwhelmed, we can always leave early."
Circe’s heart swelled with gratitude.
"Thank you, I appreciate it," she said, meaning every word. She reached out to give Nieah’s hand a gentle squeeze.
It felt unexpectedly nice to be cared for by someone other than her brother and Ragnar.
And for the first time that morning, a small, fragile smile found its way to Circe’s lips.
"Now," Nieah said a little mischievously, setting down the comb and retrieving the silver hairpin from the vanity. It was the same one Ragnar had bought as they passed through storefronts. "Let’s make proper use of the wardrobe of clothes His highness commissioned. I’m sure there are dresses in there that you haven’t worn before."
Yes, there were. Multiple, in fact. Unable to help it, Circe laughed, her spirits lifting once more.
Nieah moved efficiently, and with Circe’s help, they selected a dress of soft beige silk that complemented Circe’s complexion.
She helped Circe with her stays first before finally easing her into the dress, smoothing the delicate folds.
Nieah brushed a hint of powder across her cheeks before styling her hair into an elegant chignon, taking care to secure the last few strands.
When it came time for jewelry, Circe went straight to where she kept the necklace from Ragnar, and as she secured it around her neck, she briefly recalled the first time he had worn it on her.
By the time Nieah stepped back to look at her handiwork, Circe looked every bit the princess that she was. The type of woman who wouldn’t have second-guessed herself about attending a fancy luncheon.
But beneath the graceful veneer, Circe’s heart still stirred with unease.
Nieah caught her reflection in the mirror and said quietly, "You’ll do just fine, Your Highness."
And for a fleeting moment, Circe believed her.
