Free Web NovelChapter 295: Chapter 295
She could accuse Irah openly. She could lay every ugly truth of what the woman did at their feet. But it would do no good. Irah would simply deny it all, and that would be the end of it.
No one would believe Circe. She wasn’t one of them and in their eyes, she never would be. Which was fortunate because she had never wanted to be like them to begin with.
"That’s very admirable of you, Lady Irah," Circe said evenly. "Loyalty such as yours is difficult to come by these days."
Moments later, Irah excused herself and drifted away from the group. Things were relatively peaceful after that, mostly due to Irah’s absence.
Circe could feel the queen’s gaze boring into the side of her face.
"I never thought you had it in you," Nheera said lazily, lifting her cup to her lips. "So different from the filthy girl Ragnar dragged back with him. I sensed a hint of boldness in you then, but it was mostly overshadowed by how pathetic you looked on your knees before me."
Circe gave no outward reaction.
"I have no idea what you mean, Your Majesty," she replied softly. The queen liked games, so two could play at them. Circe could be just as two-faced and deceitful as any of them there.
Nheera merely smiled.
Not long after, Circe excused herself as well. Irah had not returned, and that suited her just fine. Opportunities like this one rarely presented themselves, and Circe had no intention of letting it slip through her fingers.
She headed toward her carriage, which was a good distance from the queen and the cluster of nobles. A servant lingered nearby, just close enough to make her hesitate, but not enough to stop her.
Time was not on her side now as she snuck inside her carriage. The second phase of her plan would require her to be stealthy and act quickly. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she reached beneath the seating.
She was even more grateful that Ragnar had not ridden with her that morning. If he had, she would never have been able to hide the bow and quiver she had taken from the house. Smuggling them here unnoticed would have been impossible under his watchful eye.
Gripping the bow and slinging the quiver over her shoulder, Circe peered out through the small carriage window, scanning the surroundings. Once she was certain no one lingered nearby, she slipped out and darted toward the trees, keeping low as she vanished into the forest’s edge.
She moved carefully, each step deliberate, making as little sound as possible. Among the thick trees and dense shrubbery, she looked every bit like a predator stalking its prey.
What she was about to do was dangerous. One misstep, one wrong decision, and everything could unravel. Ragnar would never have agreed to this, not in a thousand years and that was why she never told him about it. She didn’t need him ruining her plans.
It didn’t take long for her to find her target. A few paces ahead, partially concealed by tall ferns, Irah was crouched low, skirts gathered in her hands. She ventured this far from the others in search of privacy while she relieved herself.
Circe blended into the thicket, careful to remain unseen. From where she stood, she had a clear, unobstructed view of Irah, while the woman herself remained blissfully unaware that she was being watched.
A second later, Irah straightened and smoothed down her dress, pulling the fabric back into place. She had barely finished when Circe nocked the first arrow.
Her gaze never wavered as she lifted the bow and drew the string taut. Just as she steadied her aim, her elbow brushed against a low-hanging branch. The rustling sound it made was the only warning Irah got before the arrow sailed through air.
Irah yelped as the arrow missed her head by mere inches, embedding itself deep into the trunk of the tree behind her. She whirled around wildly, eyes wide, scanning the forest in blind panic, trying to locate where the shot had come from.
Before she could process what was happening, Circe had already nocked another arrow.
"Don’t shoot!" Irah shouted, her voice cracking as fear took hold. "It’s me— Irah! Irah Alder!" She spun in place, shouting into the trees, clearly convinced the shot had accidentally come from one of the nobles that were out in the forest hunting. But that hope shattered when another arrow was loosed almost immediately, slicing past her throat so closely she felt the wind of it against her skin.
She froze. This was no accident, she realized. Someone out there was intentionally targeting her.
Fear shone in her eyes as she stumbled backward, breath coming in short, frantic gasps. Circe watched her with cold detachment, taking in the way Irah’s chest heaved, the tremor in her limbs, the dawning terror that hollowed out her expression.
It was exquisite. The sight of Irah’s fear, raw and unfiltered, was the most satisfying thing Circe had ever witnessed.
She lifted her bow once more, lining up another shot. But before she could release it, Irah turned and fled, plunging deeper into the forest, skirts clutched in trembling fists.
Just as Circe had planned.
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She wanted Irah to feel what Ragnar had felt as a child—cornered, and powerless. She wanted her to understand true helplessness.
Circe gave chase, keeping to the more concealed paths, her movements fluid. She no longer made any effort to remain quiet. Irah would hear the sound of her pursuer drawing closer but she would never see who it was until the last minute.
Feet pounded against the forest floor as Irah ran, desperation driving her forward. She was fast, but fear made her clumsy, and the heavy dress dragged against her legs, catching on exposed roots. The dense forest closed in around her.
Circe followed relentlessly, her muscles burning, lungs aching, but the fury coursing through her veins dulled every sensation but one. Rage.
