Free Web NovelChapter 179: Chapter 179
They rode together in a mostly companionable silence. Circe had barely spoken more than a handful of words to him since they led their horses out of the stables, yet this silence felt strangely different from the other times when she purposefully ignored his presence.
Her current demeanor wasn’t cold and she didn’t feel unapproachable. Instead her silence felt more speculative, as though she were lost somewhere far inside her own thoughts. frёewebnoѵēl.com
Their horses moved side by side at a steady trot. The early morning breeze ruffled the loose strands of Circe’s hair as they swayed with each measured step. Ragnar would occasionally glance at her from the corner of his eye, but every time he did, he found her staring straight ahead, her gaze distant and unfocused.
"It had nothing to do with you," Ragnar said at last, shattering the stillness between them. His voice carried cleanly over the gentle thud of hooves against packed earth. "Everything that happened leading to the war was between my father and yours." He paused, jaw tight. "I hate seeing you so distraught and it’s even worse knowing I had a hand in putting that expression on your face."
He knew without a shadow of a doubt that their conversation in his study still lingered in her mind. He could see it in the way her shoulders slouched slightly, in the way her breaths came slower and deeper, as though she were carrying an invisible weight.
She blinked at him, taken aback by the directness of his words. "Ragnar, I—"
"I didn’t tell you all that so you could worry yourself to death," he cut in, and Circe heard the hard edge in his voice, a tone he was trying, and failing, to hide. "You shouldn’t be stewing over the decisions of other men."
"I’m glad you told me," she said honestly. Her voice was steady, and her eyes had softened as she continued to look at him. "If not you, then I’m sure no one else would have. But contrary to what you might think, my mind isn’t something I can just shut off whenever I please. And something of this magnitude... it’s bound to linger with me for a while."
The what-ifs pressed against her from every direction. If she had known what truly happened back then could she have done something?
Would she have been able to stop the war with her position on her father’s council?
Could she have protected her home from ruin?
They were questions with no direct answers in sight. Questions that gnawed at her. And as idealistic as she wanted to be, she knew the likely outcome of it. She was only just one person at the end, one woman.
Even back then, she had struggled to get her voice heard in her father’s council, surrounded by men twice and thrice her age. If her father saw it fit to keep everything from her, what were the odds of him listening to her when she tried to offer her help and input.
It forced her to consider her upbringing, the neglect she experienced at the hands of her father. He had only bothered with her when it came to her ability to discern lies from truths and how to exploit it for his own benefit. It was never about her but always what she could do for him. And wasn’t that just the saddest realization of all?
Her mother had loved her fiercely, enough that some days Circe felt like she had the entire world. But on others, it felt like even that love could not fill the chasm her father had carved into her life with his absence and neglect.
Ragnar was still watching her carefully, as though he expected her to break down or burst into tears. But she didn’t. She wasn’t sure she still had the ability to do so anymore.
So instead she straightened on her saddle and offered him a small, practiced smile, choosing to steer their conversation toward lighter topics, anything that wouldn’t leave her feeling so exposed.
"We should start heading back," she said. "I’m starving and only the cook’s teacakes will do."
She turned Kena around, guiding the mare back in the direction they had come, though she doubted she had done enough to convince him.
Ragnar didn’t argue. He simply redirected his horse and followed after her. Their ride was now officially cut short.
After breakfast with Ragnar, Circe remained in their chambers while he slipped away to attend to his duties for the day. She had been idly sketching in a new journal when a noise drifted in from outside. This was her third journal already, the pages of the first two filled to the edges.
After she had exhausted the journal Rowen gifted her, Ragnar had given her two more, along with an assortment of high-quality drawing supplies. The kind real artists used. Circe didn’t consider herself one of them. She was simply a woman who liked to draw.
She set the journal on the nightstand and wandered toward the window that overlooked the courtyard. Through the glass, she saw a horse standing below, already saddled and harnessed, looking as though it was being made ready for travel.
A few paces away stood Jayran and Ragnar, locked in what seemed like a tense discussion. From this distance she couldn’t make out a single word.
Then, as if sensing her gaze, Jayran lifted his head and looked directly at her. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
His mouth curved into a wide, charming smile, the sort that had likely led more than a few women astray. Circe felt none of its intended effect, even when he lifted a hand and waved at her as though they were old friends. The gesture left her puzzled. She couldn’t recall ever being that familiar with him.
Ragnar turned to see who Jayran was smiling at, and the moment he spotted her, a scowl overtook his features. He shot his younger brother a glare so harsh it was capable of melting the flesh off bone.
Jayran, looking unbothered by it, merely clapped Ragnar on the shoulder before strolling toward his waiting horse.
Moments later, he was gone.
