Free Web NovelChapter 310: Chapter 310
They stood in the silence of the library for a long while, the only sounds the thrum of their heartbeat. Circe did not pull away until the initial shock of seeing her mother’s portrait had faded, settling instead into a bittersweet, almost aching happiness, a humming warmth that glowed beneath her skin. When she finally leaned back, her fingers still clung to the fabric of Ragnar’s shirt, as though letting go entirely might shatter the moment.
Ragnar lifted a hand, his thumb brushing gently along her cheek with a familiar tenderness she had long since grown accustomed to from him. He looked relieved, as though revealing this secret had lifted a weight from him.
"Where did you find it?" she asked softly.
When one kingdom conquered another, the invaders typically made a point of erasing every trace of the former rulers. Statues were torn down, monuments shattered, portraits burned, history scrubbed clean to make way for the new regime. Circe had fully expected the same fate for Westeria’s royal likenesses after Lamora’s invasion.
"It took some time," Ragnar admitted. "Before we left for the capital, I sent someone I trust implicitly to retrieve it and bring it here." He guided her toward the portrait so they could stand before it together.
This was not a task he would have entrusted to just anyone. He had ensured the painting remained in capable hands from the moment it was found until it reached Amris.
It had not been inexpensive. A portrait of the late Queen of Westeria had become a rare commodity, dangerous to possess, especially after the regime change and its value had only increased with time.
Ragnar had spared no expense, compensating both the seller and the retriever generously for their discretion and success.
"Most of the portraits that once hung in your castle had already been destroyed," he continued. "But the man I sent managed to track one down that had been smuggled out safely. By the time he learned of its existence, it had already passed through three different dealers. I was told the last one was particularly shrewd. He nearly tried to oversell it."
The retriever had made certain the man was paid well enough to relinquish it without hesitation.
Circe stepped closer, her gaze tracing the familiar curve of her mother’s smile. Seeing it again felt surreal. There she was as an infant, cradled in her mother’s arms, swaddled in soft white fabric and delicate lace. Beside her stood her brother, still a child, already wearing the solemn expression that he had been known for.
The artist had captured something rare in her mother’s eyes, a spark of fierceness and strength.
"You went to all that trouble," she whispered. "While we were in the capital, you had someone searching for this."
"Yes," Ragnar said, stepping behind her once more. This time, he did not touch her, granting her the space to absorb it all, though his presence remained a steady wall of warmth at her back. "I told you before, didn’t I? There is nothing in this world I would not do for you. That includes this, Circe."
She turned to face him, the low light casting long shadows across the shelves and stone walls.
"You shouldn’t have gone through so much trouble," she said quietly, searching his eyes. "You already do so much for me, and I can never return the favor. It isn’t fair to you."
"I never asked you to," Ragnar replied, his voice firm, unyielding in its certainty. "You deserve everything, Circe. You deserve it simply for existing, for coming into my life when you did, and for being mine." His gaze softened, but his resolve did not. "I intend to keep you by my side forever. The least I can do is make sure you feel comfortable here."
Words deserted her then, completely overwhelmed by the depth of his sincerity. To be loved by a man like Ragnar—so openly, so fiercely—was something she had never believed she would experience. Now that she was living it, she realized there was nothing more beautiful.
Her eyes burned as emotion gathered, and she reached up to cup his face. Rising onto her tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his. He responded instantly, arms tightening around her to hold her in place, deepening the kiss as he claimed her mouth.
With every sweep of his tongue, something unfurled in her chest, blooming and expanding until it felt too vast to contain. The sensation was both strange and familiar, something she had felt before but never understood until now.
Love.
She loved him. She loved him so much that it was almost impossible to remember a time when she didn’t feel this overwhelming emotion.
When they finally broke apart for air, she stared at him as though she were seeing him for the first time, her chest rising and falling in shallow, unsteady breaths. Her lips parted on a soft inhale, and her tongue darted out to wet them, the simple motion betraying how suddenly aware she felt of him, of herself, and of the space between their bodies.
Ragnar loosened his grip around her waist and stepped back just enough to give her room, though his eyes never left her face. He extended his hand toward her, palm up in an unspoken invitation.
"It’s getting rather late," he said with a smile. "We should go to bed."
Circe blinked, her lashes fluttering as if she were forcing herself back into the moment. Then she tilted her head. "To bed or to sleep?"
The question was not meant to be humorous but it still drew a low, husky chuckle from him.
"Whichever one you prefer first," Ragnar replied, his thumb brushing lightly against her palm as her fingers slid into his. "I’m happy either way."
Circe laced her fingers fully through his, their hands fitting together perfectly. "Then let’s go to bed." freeweɓnøvel.com
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Lady Mina’s mother-in-law possessed a sitting room that seemed purposefully built for genteel suffering. The armchairs were upholstered in soft creams and muted blues, their cushions plump and inviting, while the sofas were arranged in careful arcs around a low, polished table. The tabletop itself was crowded with
embroidery hoops, folded silks, spools of thread, and tiny, ornate scissors that looked far too decorative to be truly useful.
Sunlight filtered through lace curtains, casting dappled patterns across the rugs and catching on gold-threaded cushions, bathing the room in a warm, tranquil glow. freёwebnovel.com
It was, in every way, the complete opposite of the woman who owned it.
