Free Web NovelChapter 319: Chapter 319
"I trust you slept well last night." Nieah said as she inspected the manor’s newest staff member from head to toe, her gaze sharp and assessing.
It was the break of dawn, the pale light of morning just beginning to filter through the tall windows lining the corridor. The day’s activities were already in full swing. Footsteps of servants echoed softly down the halls, doors opened and closed, and the quiet murmur of voices filled the air as the household staff attended to their respective duties.
Mirelle nodded emphatically. "Yes, Mistress Nieah," she answered, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor as she stood before the door that led into the servants’ quarters, enduring Nieah’s thorough appraisal. Years of service in noble households had taught her caution and that direct eye contact from someone of her station could easily be mistaken for insolence. She had no reason to believe Prince Ragnar’s estate would be any different.
"That is good to hear," Nieah replied. "As you already know, your duties begin today. You will be responsible for serving Her Highness, and henceforth, her comfort will be your utmost priority." Her tone was firm but not unkind. "I am aware that you have experience working in noble houses, but this will be your first time serving as a lady’s maid and much less to a princess."
Mirelle inclined her head again. "You are correct. This will be my first time."
Nieah seemed to notice the stiffness in the woman’s posture then the tension drawn tight across her shoulders, the careful way she held herself. A moment later, Nieah’s expression softened.
"You have no reason to fear," Nieah said. "The princess is very kind, and His Highness pays his staff generously. Do your work well, and you will be compensated handsomely for your efforts."
With that, she turned and gestured for Mirelle to follow.
"Your first task today will be to serve the princess her morning brew of herbal tea," Nieah continued as Mirelle fell into step behind her. "Her Highness fell ill with a terrible fever some time ago. Since then, I have ensured she drinks a carefully prepared herbal blend each morning to keep her strong. It has worked well, she has not taken ill since. I will teach you how to brew it properly, as the princess’s needs now fall under your care."
Mirelle listened intently, committing every word to memory. She did not interrupt once. freёwebnovel.com
Later that morning, Mirelle stood outside Princess Circe’s bedchambers, a polished silver tray balanced carefully in her hands. A porcelain cup and matching teapot rested atop it, steam curling faintly into the air and carrying the subtle scent of herbs.
She lifted her fist and knocked twice against the thick oakwood door.
"Enter," came a feminine voice from within.
Mirelle pushed the door open gently and stepped inside, closing it quietly behind her. She bowed at once, careful not to jostle the tray in her grasp.
The room was large and elegantly furnished, bathed in soft morning light. Circe sat alone on the bed, her back resting against the carved headboard, dark hair spilling loosely over her shoulders. There was no sign of the prince anywhere in the chamber.
Mirelle approached and stopped a few feet from the bed.
"Your morning tea, Your Highness," she said, gaze lowered respectfully.
"You may place it on the table over there," Circe replied, gesturing toward the round table, the same one where she and Ragnar had shared breakfast countless times.
Mirelle obeyed immediately, setting the tray down with practiced care. When she turned back, she found the princess watching her closely.
"Thank you," Circe said in their native tongue.
The words startled Mirelle, though she concealed her reaction well. She had not expected the princess to acknowledge her at all, much less speak directly to her, and in their language no last. In her experience, servants were meant to move unseen, working quickly in the background and barely being noticed by the lords and ladies of the house.
"You are most welcome, Your Highness," she replied, dipping her chin. "Please enjoy your tea. Your breakfast will be brought up shortly. I can prepare your bath while you wait, if you wish."
Circe shook her head. "No, there is no need. A bath can wait." Her gaze remained steady. "But I would like to have a word with you."
Mirelle felt her muscles tense before she forced herself to relax.
"Whatever you wish, Your Highness," she said. "Is there something in particular you would like to discuss?"
"Yes," Circe answered without hesitation. "I am aware that His Highness must have conducted his own investigation into your background before employing you. However, I would like to do one of my own, if that would not trouble you."
"Of course not," Mirelle said at once. "Your Highness may ask whatever you wish, and I will answer truthfully."
"Good," Circe said, her voice calm but firm. Her eyes never left the woman’s face. "Then tell me about your Westerian roots."
"As you wish," Mirelle replied. "I was born and raised in Westeria to my merchant father and mother. I lived there until I was twelve, when my family left the kingdom following my mother’s death."
Circe studied her carefully, searching for any falsehoods woven into the woman’s words. In the end, she found none.
"Why did you leave?" Circe asked, voice tinged with barely concealed curiosity. She wanted to know more. If Mirelle was to tend to her personal needs and if the two of them were to spend so much time in such close proximity, then the least Circe could do was understand who it was she was allowing into her space.
"My father was a traveling merchant," Mirelle answered. "His work often took him away for many months at a time." As she spoke, the composure she had carefully maintained began to fracture. Her fingers fidgeted unconsciously in front of her, twisting together before she could stop herself. "After my mother passed, we had no relatives willing to take us in while he was gone. So he decided to bring us along with him instead. That was how my family came to this kingdom, years ago."
Circe’s expression shifted, if only by the slightest degree. It was subtle, barely perceptible but Mirelle noticed it all the same.
"Oh," Circe said softly. "And your father... is he still in Lamora?"
Mirelle’s fingers stilled instantly, as though the question itself had frozen them in place. She lifted her gaze, meeting Circe’s eyes briefly for the first time. "My father has been dead for some time now," she said quietly. "He died here, in this kingdom."
It was one of the many reasons she had never left, even as tensions between Lamora and her homeland rose to dangerous heights. This place, however unwelcoming it could be, was where he was buried. Where his life had ended.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. The way Circe looked at her then made Mirelle feel exposed, as though the princess could see far beyond her carefully chosen words, straight into the depths of her soul.
"I am sorry for your loss," Circe said at last, her tone sincere. "Truly. It could not have been easy to endure something like that."
