Free Web NovelChapter 378: Chapter 378
"Do my eyes deceive me, or is that Prince Ragnar I see standing before me?" the man called out as he approached them just as the ceremony concluded.
The priest had departed only moments earlier, having offered his final blessing to the newly wedded couple. In his wake, a gentle murmur rippled across the grand hall as guests exchanged pleasantries, and offered heartfelt congratulations to the newlyweds and their immediate family.
The man drew closer, and with the richness of his attire, it was impossible to mistake him for anything other than a noble of considerable standing. He was tall, nearly matching Ragnar in height, and wore upon his face the widest, most unabashed smile Circe had ever seen.
Ragnar turned at the sound of his name, and at the sight of the approaching figure, his lips curved into a grin just as broad.
"It must certainly be your eyes," Ragnar replied smoothly, amusement glinting in his gaze. "That would explain why you could never land a perfect shot with a bow."
Instead of taking offense, the man threw his head back and laughed, a full, booming sound that drew the attention of a few nearby guests. Reaching them, he clasped Ragnar firmly by the shoulders before pulling him into a hearty embrace.
"It is always good to see you, old friend," he said warmly as they parted. "You do not visit these parts nearly as often as you should."
"Thank you for inviting us," Ragnar answered, still smiling as he stepped back. Then he turned slightly toward Circe, who had been observing the exchange curiously.
This was the first time she had seen Ragnar behave with such easy familiarity toward someone who was neither Casilo nor Kostia. There was no guardedness in him now, only genuine fondness and it was always delightful to witness this lighter side of him.
"Princess," Ragnar began, gesturing toward the nobleman, "this is Lord Bastian Nicanot, a very dear friend of mine. It is his cousin’s wedding, and he was gracious enough to extend an invitation to us."
When he finished, he turned back to Bastian. "And this is my beautiful wife, Princess Circe." ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
Bastian dipped into a courteous bow. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Your Highness. I have heard many things about you." His smile was so effortlessly charming it might have swept a lesser woman off her feet.
Circe returned the smile with one of her own. "All good things, I hope."
"Yes," he replied, straightening to his full height, eyes sparkling. "Very interesting things, to be sure." He cast a teasing glance at Ragnar. "His Highness has been in this part of the kingdom for days now, and he has hardly made time to visit his good friend. Had I not extended that invitation, I suspect I might never have had the honor of meeting you in my lifetime."
Ragnar let out an amused chuckle. "And you exaggerate, as always," he said once his laughter subsided. "I had already planned to visit before returning to Amris. If not to see you, then certainly to see your wife and the baby. How many children do you have now? I stopped counting after the second."
"It is a girl," Bastian replied proudly, "and she is my fourth. After three sons, having a daughter is a most welcome reprieve." His expression softened briefly at the mention of his wife and children before his grin returned. "And in case it is not already obvious, the two of you are my honored guests. You will sit with my wife and I at our table."
Ragnar nodded and gestured forward. "You are too kind. Please, lead the way."
They followed behind Bastian as he navigated through the lively hall, weaving between clusters of nobles deep in animated conversation.
As they walked, Circe leaned slightly closer to Ragnar, lowering her voice. "The two of you seem very familiar," she said thoughtfully. "Yet you have never spoken of him before. How do you know each other?"
"We were both fresh recruits at the southern border twenty years ago," Ragnar answered.
A few steps ahead, Bastian shook his head, overhearing them, a fond smile tugging at his lips. "Two sixteen-year-old boys who barely knew what they were doing."
Ragnar scoffed lightly. "Speak for yourself, Nicanot. I was born to be in the army."
And in many ways, it was true. There had been little else left for him at that time. With the queen’s cruelty pressing upon him in subtle, suffocating ways, and the king’s indifference to the entire situation, the southern border had seemed like the only clear path available to him. The army had given him structure when his life lacked direction, purpose when his place in the palace felt uncertain.
His years in the army had not been easy. It had instilled in him a sense of discipline and loyalty that he wouldn’t have been able to learn anywhere else. It gave him confidence and taught him resilience and at the end, it made him a leader among his peers. Though he would never call those years he spent fighting the king’s battles gentle, he could not regret them, not when they had shaped him into the man he now was.
They reached the reserved table, positioned near the center of the hall where the merriment was at its height. Three figures were already seated there: a strikingly beautiful woman and two young boys.
"Your Highness," Bastian said, drawing their attention, "this is my wife, Ophelie, and my sons, Callum and Knox."
The introduction was meant solely for Circe as Ragnar already knew who all these people were.
At once, Ophelie and the boys rose to their feet, bowing respectfully to Circe and Ragnar.
"Welcome," Ophelie said kindly. "It is truly a pleasure to have you both joining us today."
She was statuesque and elegant, with warm brown eyes that held quiet intelligence. Her blonde hair had been arranged in an intricate style that swept gracefully at the nape of her neck, woven through with delicate gems that glinted each time she moved. There was a natural poise about her, one that spoke of a noble upbringing
Around them, the celebration unfolded in full splendor in honor of the newly wedded couple.
"Thank you, the pleasure is all ours," Circe responded warmly. Her gaze drifted toward the two young boys standing beside them. They looked no older than eleven and eight, respectively, both neatly dressed, and bearing a strong resemblance to their mother. But where was the third son?
"My third son is only five years old and isn’t quite old enough to join such gatherings," Bastian said smoothly, as though he had anticipated the unspoken question lingering in her mind.
Circe moved toward the table after that and Ragnar was already beside her. Without a word, he pulled out a chair next to Ophelie for her. As the rest of the table settled into their seats, Circe lowered herself gracefully into the chair and glanced up at him with a grateful smile. Ragnar returned it faintly before stepping around to pull out another chair beside her for himself.
From the head of the table, Bastian rested his chin upon his intertwined fingers, elbows propped casually against the polished wood. A playful twinkle danced in his blue eyes as he took in the quiet exchange between Ragnar and Circe. freewebnovel.cσ๓
"Ah, look at you," he drawled lightly. "Marriage has turned you into a gentleman."
Ragnar let out another amused scoff. "I can’t say that anyone has ever accused me of such a thing before," he replied dryly. "You might actually be the first."
