Free Web NovelChapter 275: Chapter 275
Ragnar watched absently as the guard bowed low before retreating back to his post. He barely registered the man’s movement, barely felt anything aside from the envelope crinkling softly as he crushed it in his clenched fist.
Circe’s eyes darted to his tightly squeezed hand. Her gaze lingered there for several seconds, drawn to the tension in his grip, before slowly lifting back to his face. She noticed the hard set of his jaw, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, and the way his entire body seemed to have gone rigid, as though bracing for an unseen blow.
"Are you alright?" she asked quietly.
With how stiff he had become, she wasn’t certain he had even heard her. After a moment of hesitation, she reached out and rested her hand gently on his forearm.
"Ragnar?"
That finally cut through whatever storm was raging inside him. His fingers loosened, the crushed envelope slipping slightly in his grasp. He turned to look at her but the blissful expression he had worn only moments earlier was gone. In its place was something darker.
It was almost unbelievable that a single invitation could have caused such a drastic shift. But Ragnar knew the queen. He knew her far too well, knew how cruel she could be to those she deemed beneath her, how inventive her punishments were, and just how merciless she could be.
She did not send the invitation merely out of courtesy. When Ragnar stared down at it, he did not see the elegant script or the intricate, glamorous design meant to impress. He saw a summons. A threat. A beckoning of doom that rose and hovered over both their heads.
"Do you think she’s planning something nefarious?" Circe asked at last, her voice careful.
Ragnar was still looking at her. He wanted to lie, to tell her everything would be fine, that she had nothing to fear. But the words refused to form. He would not lie to her. Not about this. Not when it involved her safety. freewebnovel.cσ๓
She deserved to know exactly what she might be walking into.
"Without a doubt," he said grimly. "It would be more surprising if she wasn’t."
What unsettled him most was that he had no idea what the queen was planning or where the blow would come from. That ignorance sat like a stone in his chest, feeding his unease and stoking his anger.
There was only a week until the supposed banquet. A week before they would be expected to walk into her domain blind, smiling, and endure whatever cruelty she decided to unleash. Ragnar had endured the queen’s brand of torment countless times before but the thought of Circe being subjected to the same made his stomach churn.
For years, he had played the role expected of him: the dutiful prince, the loyal soldier. He had kept his head down, bitten back his fury, and waited patiently for the right moment. All to avoid drawing more of the queen’s venomous attention. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
And yet, it had accomplished nothing.
They still came for him. Still came for Circe. And more often than not, he had been powerless to stop it.
For so long, he had been forced to play along, to endure, to survive, to bleed quietly while they played their games.
No longer.
In that moment, a decision was made.
The cell door was shoved open with such force that it slammed violently against the stone wall. The echo rang through the corridor and Jorrit’s head snapped up instantly, eyes wide with alarm.
Ragnar stepped through the doorway without haste, his movements fluid. An unnatural calm clung to him now, still and lethal, like a predator that had already decided the fate of its prey.
In one hand, he held a wickedly sharp sword. The empty scabbard hung at his waist, swaying faintly with each step.
Without thinking, Jorrit’s gaze dropped to the blade, following its sharp gleam, before slowly lifting back to Ragnar’s face. The prince’s expression was utterly blank, closed off, stripped of all emotion. There was no anger there. Just an empty, chilling resolve.
And in that moment, Jorrit understood with horrifying clarity that he was staring at his own death.
"You must be freezing in here," Ragnar remarked idly.
There was no hearth in the cells, no way to ward off the cold that seeped through the stone walls. Jorrit’s clothes were thin, threadbare in places, offering little protection against the biting chill that had settled deep into his bones.
Ragnar let the tip of his sword trail lazily along the floor as he moved closer, the faint scrape of metal against stone raising gooseflesh along Jorrit’s arms.
Ragnar was still dressed in the clothes he’d worn earlier, though he had taken off his coat before coming.
"Are you here to kill me?" Jorrit croaked, his throat dry and raw.
He had worked alongside killers before. Truly dangerous men. He recognized violence when he felt it and the barely leashed menace radiating off Ragnar came in heavy, suffocating waves.
The prince was terrifying in his calmness.
"Your next words will determine what I do with this sword," Ragnar said quietly. "So choose them very wisely."
He stopped just short of the cell’s center, lifting his gaze to lock onto Jorrit’s still form.
"What were Narfor’s plans before you were captured?"
Jorrit sucked in a sharp, shaking breath. He had already been broken again and again in this cell. If not by the man standing before him, then by the guards stationed outside the door. His blood had stained the stone floor more times than he cared to remember.
He didn’t think he had the strength left to resist anymore.
And Ragnar knew it too.
"He and his younger brother are funding the rebellion," Jorrit said, each word landing heavy, like stones dropped into still water. "It’s all a ploy to steal power from the crown. They are raising their own army, men willing to lay down their lives for House Tavish."
Ragnar listened in silence, forcing himself to absorb the revelation as quickly as he could. His mind raced, sorting through every implication, every hidden thread, yet no matter how many times he turned the words over, some parts of it still refused to make sense.
