Free Web NovelChapter 216: Chapter 216
Circe had attached herself to Nieah for the day, trailing after the woman like a child clinging to its mother’s skirts. Ragnar had left the estate early that morning, claiming he needed to see to official business, while Rowen was currently enduring basic sword-fighting drills with Kostia.
That left only Nieah to serve as polite company. Unfortunately, Nieah had been waist-deep in chores when Circe approached her earlier, tasks she could not simply abandon to entertain a bored princess.
But instead of retreating and allowing Nieah the peace to work, Circe had done the next best thing. If her presence was going to be a distraction, she might as well make herself a useful one. If nothing else, she could lighten the woman’s workload.
"Your Highness, you do not have to do that. I’m quite alright," Nieah blurted, hands fluttering in alarm when she realized Circe intended to follow her out into the gardens.
The task was not even Nieah’s responsibility. A servant tended to the vegetable beds, but he had injured his arm the day before, and dutiful as always, Nieah had chosen to fill in during the small sliver of free time she had.
What she had not anticipated was Circe offering to help as well.
She nearly jumped when Circe calmly took one of the hand-woven baskets from her and bent at the waist, ready to harvest the remaining carrots still buried in the dark, cool soil, wearing a pristine day dress, no less.
Nieah glanced around in mild panic, checking to make sure no one stood close enough to witness the scene. The last thing she needed was someone assuming she had forced the prince’s wife into menial labor.
"I want to help you, so it’s fine. Please don’t fret," Circe said warmly as she set the basket at her side and went straight to work.
All Nieah could do was watch in stunned silence as the princess wrapped her fingers around the fronds of a carrot and pulled it free. She brushed away the clinging dirt with awkward taps, revealing its bright orange skin before setting it carefully into the basket. Her movements were hesitant, her posture stiff, an unmistakable sign that this was her first time performing any form of farmwork. frёeωebɳovel.com
Circe’s soft, uncalloused hands spoke of a life touched by luxury, not one shaped by labor. Yet there was a gentle, almost childlike smile on her face as she extracted a particularly large carrot.
Her small smile blossomed into a playful grin as she lifted the carrot beside her face, comparing its length to her own head. Dirt stained her fingers and smudged parts of her dress, but she didn’t seem remotely bothered. All her attention was fixed on the simple, grounding task of harvesting and marveling at the absurdly large vegetable in her hand.
"It’s a shame it’s going to end up being eaten," Circe murmured, giving the carrot a soft pat before placing it in her basket atop the others.
Nieah resumed her work, though she kept glancing at Circe, still unable to fully comprehend the sight of a royal crouched in the soil beside her.
"But what if His Highness returns?" Nieah finally asked, breaking the quiet that had settled between them.
Circe was watching the woman’s hands closely, studying the way Nieah moved efficiently. It was the only way Circe knew how to keep up. By observing and replicating every action with earnest focus. ƒrēewebnovel.com
Circe responded with light amusement, "Then he can roll up his shirt sleeves and lend a hand as well."
Nieah’s breath hitched in surprise, and then, slowly, the tension in her shoulders eased. A soft laugh escaped her.
They fell into a comfortable silence after that, one filled with the rhythmic sounds of roots being unearthed, baskets filling, and the occasional breeze rustling through the leaves.
Nieah, accustomed to such chores, cleared her portion of the garden swiftly, filling her first basket with practiced ease while Circe lagged behind, determined but undeniably slower.
After a while, Nieah’s hands stilled. She stared off into the distance, her gaze unfocused, brow drawn as if wrestling with something heavy. Uncertainty tightened her features as though she was bracing herself for something. Then she cleared her throat.
Circe noticed immediately. But instead of pressing, she simply waited, giving Nieah the space to gather her thoughts.
When Nieah finally spoke, her words came out reluctant, like she had dragged each one out by herself.
"I have noticed that you and His Highness have been getting along quite well," she said quietly. There was no teasing in her tone, no playful implication. Instead, her voice held a somber weight.
Circe hummed softly. "It would seem that is the case. He makes pleasant company when he isn’t actively trying to be overbearing."
"That is not what I meant. At least, not in that sense." Nieah’s expression tightened, seeming almost pained, as though she would rather be anywhere else than discussing this. She drew a slow breath. "Your Highness... may I speak freely for a moment?"
Circe stopped what she was doing as well and nodded, sensing there was something more that Nieah wasn’t yet saying.
"Of course. You are my friend. Tell me whatever it is that bothers you," Circe said, turning to regard her fully.
"When I said that you and His Highness were getting along, I meant in the adult sense. Like lovers," Nieah said, and Circe only blinked, utter disbelief flickering through her, baffled over how Nieah could have known such a thing.
Nieah continued when she noticed the startled look that flashed across Circe’s face, a look like someone who had just been caught doing something she shouldn’t. "There is a love bite just below your collarbone."
The love bite in question was one Ragnar had given her last night. She had tried to hide it with a dress that had a slightly higher neckline, but it hardly mattered. The mark revealed itself whenever she bent at the waist the way she had been doing all morning as she harvested, essentially broadcasting what she and Ragnar had done to Nieah without saying a single word.
"Oh." It was all Circe managed, her gaze dropping instinctively to her chest. She knew that mark was only one of many that currently littered her skin. They were hidden beneath her clothes, most of them around her breasts, and her thighs, warm reminders that made her flush just thinking about them.
"It isn’t for me to speak on what happens between a married couple," Nieah said gently. "I have been married before too, and I know from experience how easy it is to get carried away, especially in the earlier stages. I am not saying this to dissuade you from wanting that kind of connection with anyone, least of all your husband. I just want to know that this is what you want and that you understand the risks that come with it."
"Risks," Circe muttered, sounding dazed. Her voice felt distant in her own ears, and a faint ringing began, growing louder with every passing second.
Nieah misunderstood Circe’s sudden shift in demeanor as confusion. She gestured toward her own abdomen, a universal unmistakable sign. Then her brows lifted meaningfully.
Circe almost laughed. She was nearly twenty-five, she certainly knew the risks that came with being intimate with a man. But for a moment, while wrapped in Ragnar’s strong arms, lost in the way he touched her, she had carelessly, foolishly forgotten to consider it. To consider what becoming pregnant with his child right now could mean for her life.
But as Nieah spelled it out so plainly Circe felt forced to truly consider it, the risks, the consequences, and everything they could shape in her future.
She had drifted into her thoughts and belatedly realized that Nieah was still speaking.
"I just wanted to make sure this is truly what you want," Nieah said softly. "Having a child is not a decision that should be made without careful deliberation. Parenthood isn’t for everyone, and it should certainly never be forced on anyone, especially someone ill-equipped for the role."
Nieah was right, as she usually was. Circe felt thoroughly scolded, even though she knew the woman had no intention of sounding admonishing. She was simply concerned. Compassionate.
A child was not something Circe felt prepared for, not yet, at least. Not when so much of her life remained painfully uncertain. But then she pictured a small child with Ragnar’s eyes, Ragnar’s mischievous smile, and her chest squeezed in a way that frightened her. It fluttered with an emotion that was almost tender.
It would be so easy to fall into his perfectly spun web. So easy to let herself be consumed by him and the steady comfort of his presence, the warm safety she felt while in his embrace. But whenever her thoughts drifted dangerously close to that fantasy, reality pulled her back with sharp, ruthless clarity.
It wasn’t just her own future that was on the line, Rowen’s too. Most days, Rowen’s life felt even more uncertain than hers. And he was her first priority.
As his wife, she could rely on Ragnar here, in this kingdom. But Rowen was a child and she was all he had. What happened when she could no longer lean on Ragnar as a crutch? What would happen to Rowen then?
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