Free Web NovelChapter 285: Chapter 285
Ragnar saw it at the same moment she did, and the smile that had been on his face as he spoke with Circe in hushed tones only minutes before vanished entirely. The warmth in his expression hardened the instant his eyes caught on the chains fastened around the necks of the human servants moving through the hall.
His first reaction was confusion. It was, at first glance, a baffling sight—one that did not immediately make sense to him. Why would servants be wearing chains?
But only a heartbeat later, that confusion curdled into something far darker as the truth finally dawned on him.
This was meant to be a spectacle. A cruel, calculated display meant to demean and to portray humans as subservient, as lesser.
The chain collars were not meant to restrain them physically; they were symbols, meant to proclaim their supposed inferiority. A reminder that as long as humans remained in Lamora, they would never be free, never equal. Bound by the will and whims of their vampire masters.
Ragnar felt Circe stiffen beside him. The subtle tension in her body did not escape him. She was the only human seated openly among a hall filled with vampires, and that fact alone made the display feel all the more pointed, more an act of deliberate cruelty. A message crafted for her eyes alone.
It was exactly the sort of thing the queen was capable of. And Ragnar had no doubt whatsoever that Nheera was responsible. freēwēbηovel.c૦m
Following Circe’s line of sight, Ragnar saw exactly what she was staring at but in this case, it was not a what.
It was a who.
Circe stared unflinchingly at the queen, her gaze unwavering. Nheera met it with ease, her lips curling slowly into a satisfied smile. Smug. Triumphant. She did not bother to disguise her involvement, nor the intended recipient of the insult. The message was as clear as it was vicious.
The silent confrontation stretched on, thick and heavy, the air between them growing more charged with every passing second. Neither woman looked away. Challenging Nheera in any way, no matter how little, was something most people in this hall would never dare to do. And yet Circe did it without flinching, despite knowing full well the consequences that could follow. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
The sight of the chain collars had ignited something vicious and hateful in Circe’s chest, a burning fury that coated the back of her throat in bile. She wanted to scream. She wanted to overturn the tables, shatter the goblets, ruin the carefully curated splendor of the hall. She wanted to do something to express the fury clawing its way through her veins.
Only a handful of guests looked even remotely uncomfortable with the display. The rest paid it no mind at all, too absorbed in the feast laid out before them, laughing softly as they drank and indulged. Their indifference made Circe seethe even more. If they wanted to see her and her kind miserable and degraded, then she would make certain they would not enjoy this banquet in peace.
The necklace around her neck suddenly felt impossibly tight. Ragnar had given it to her only that morning. He had stood behind her as she faced the mirror, carefully draping the beautiful piece around her neck before fastening the clasp. He had leaned down then and pressed a soft kiss just beneath her ear, lingering for a moment as though the world beyond them did not exist. She had adored the necklace then, and had felt cherished wearing it.
Now her skin was hypersensitive, every brush of metal against flesh made it seem as though the necklace burned. She resisted the urge to reach up and remove it.
The king sat beside Nheera, silent as ever, making no comment on his wife’s blatant display. When Ragnar was a boy, he would have sought his father’s gaze in moments like this, desperately hoping for intervention. The king could end this with a single word. But help never came.
Ragnar had learned that lesson early. Zeriel did not involve himself in matters that offered him no benefit. And so Ragnar did not look toward him now, unwilling to reopen an old wound, unwilling to be met once again with the same familiar rejection he had grown used to as a child.
Instead, Ragnar slid his arm beneath the table and covered Circe’s trembling hand with his own. The anger coursing through her had begun to manifest physically; she was shaking, her fingers clenched tight.
He leaned closer, lowering his voice so that no one else could overhear.
"Princess," he murmured, his tone gentle but urgent, "I know how upsetting this is. I can’t tell you how to feel or how to react. But I know the queen well. She wants a reaction from you. I beg you, do not give it to her."
His thumb brushed soothingly along her forearm.
Circe finally tore her gaze away from Nheera and turned to look at him. Ragnar expected fury in her eyes, and it was there, but beneath it lay something far more devastating. Pain.
"Why?" she whispered. A single word, fragile and heavy all at once. She knew Ragnar was right, yet the injustice of it all still tore at her. She could not understand why someone would choose to be so deliberately cruel.
"Because terrible people don’t need a reason to do terrible things," Ragnar replied quietly.
A servant drifted toward their table moments later. Without a word, the woman refilled their cups with wine, her movements practiced and subdued. Circe watched her intently and did not look away even as the servant moved on to serve others.
There were many moments in Circe’s life when she had felt powerless. But this was among the worst.
Ragnar scanned the hall once more, his eyes searching for the king’s advisor. Nheera and Laheir remained the greatest thorns at his side, the most dangerous obstacles standing between him and his claim to the throne.
It wasn’t hard for Ragnar to believe that Laheir always had a hand in matters like this. The man’s influence stretched far, and his appetite for subtle manipulation was well known. But instead of Laheir, Ragnar’s gaze was drawn to someone seated near the far corner of the hall.
The man sat partially turned away, his body angled so that Ragnar could not immediately see his face. He appeared relaxed, almost casual, one arm resting against the table as he held a cup of wine. At the very last moment, as if guided by some cruel twist of fate, the man turned.
Ragnar froze.
Recognition struck him like a blade between the ribs.
Aeron Tavish sat there, wine in hand, speaking quietly with another noble at his table. His posture was unchanged by the years that passed. His face, though older, bore the same sharp intelligence Ragnar remembered all too well.
After so many years, and after everything Ragnar had learned about Aeron, seeing him there was almost jarring. For a brief moment, Ragnar felt the urge to walk up to him, to confirm that his eyes were not deceiving him. But he resisted, knowing that reacting now would be a mistake.
No matter how deeply the sight of Aeron there unsettled him, Ragnar knew he could not afford to expose what he knew, not yet. He forced his expression into careful neutrality, locking his reaction behind years of practiced restraint. Whatever other secrets Aeron carried, Ragnar would keep his own buried just as deeply.
Laheir was the man Ragnar had been searching for, and Laheir, unlike Aeron, thrived on attention. He loved it far too much to remain hidden for long. Sooner or later, he would find a way to draw every gaze in the hall toward himself.
Moments later, Laheir did exactly that.
He rose from his seat and turned toward the long table at the front of the hall, his attention fixed squarely on the king. The musicians lowered their tempo at once, the soft hum of conversation gradually fading until the hall fell into expectant silence. When Laheir spoke, he made certain his voice carried to every corner of the room.
"I wish to propose a toast to Prince Hairan and Lady Elka," Laheir said, lifting his cup of wine. The king gave a small nod, and it was permission enough.
Looking pleased, Laheir shifted his stance so that he now faced Hairan and Elka directly.
"I have watched this young man grow with the strength and honor any father would wish for a son," he continued, his voice warm in a way few had ever heard from him. "Though fate did not allow our families to be bound as once intended, my respect for him has never lessened."
A murmur of approval rippled through the hall.
"Today," Laheir went on, "I am glad to see him step into a future filled with promise, beside a woman worthy of his devotion. May their union be guided by patience, strength, and the quiet understanding that endures for many more years to come."
As the natural-born liar that he was, Laheir played his role flawlessly. The nobles clapped enthusiastically, eagerly consuming every carefully chosen word. Even though he despised the union between Hairan and Elka, no one present would ever suspect it.
Circe barely noticed the cheers and applause swelling around her. The longer she remained in the hall, the more distant everything felt, as though the noise washed over her without ever truly reaching her. She sat stiffly beside Ragnar, her expression composed, though her thoughts were far away.
Once Laheir lowered himself back into his seat, the king’s attention shifted towards Ragnar for the first time since the banquet had begun.
"You have been awfully quiet tonight, Ragnar," the king said mildly. "Do you truly have nothing to say to your brother?"
Every head in the hall turned.
Ragnar felt the weight of their gazes settle on him and fought the urge to scowl. What was his father playing at? Was he being deliberately obtuse, or was this part of something more calculated? Yet, given how little the king generally concerned himself with his sons’ lives, Ragnar could not think of a reason for his father to behave maliciously.
Slowly, he rose from his chair.
Circe’s eyes followed his movement, her fingers tightening briefly in her lap. Ragnar cast a measured glance around the hall before returning his focus to the king and then to Hairan.
He forced a smile onto his lips and raised his cup.
"Brother," Ragnar began, his voice calm and even, "tonight places you exactly where you have always wished to stand, at the center of attention, with all eyes upon you and every expectation laid carefully at your feet."
A few nobles exchanged glances.
"I raise my cup to that ambition," he continued, "for you have never lacked the desire to be chosen, nor the talent for stepping neatly into the positions others have carved out for you. May this union grant you the steadiness you have sometimes found difficult to keep, and may marriage teach you the value of promises."
Ragnar’s smile never wavered.
"I wish you joy, prosperity, and a future unmarred by old habits, though some lessons, I find, must be learned more than once. I wish you everything you deserve, and more."
Ragnar lifted his cup slightly higher.
"To my brother and his betrothed: may your bond be strong enough to endure truth, and may you both grow into the roles you now so confidently claimed for yourself."
Applause followed, but unlike before, it was hesitant. More than a few nobles caught the subtle barbs woven neatly into Ragnar’s words.
