Free Web NovelChapter 379: Chapter 379
"How are you enjoying our stretch of the kingdom so far?" Ophelie asked, keeping her voice low so that the words were meant for Circe alone.
"I like it very much," Circe answered honestly.
The western region of Lamora was widely regarded as the hub of commerce and trade within the kingdom, even surpassing the capital and for good reason. It was home to the large seaport in the kingdom, along with many others, which meant that nearly half of everything imported into Lamora passed first through its harbors. Ships from distant lands lined the docks at almost every hour of the day, and because it was the center of trade, it also held the largest population of immigrants.
Circe had seen more foreigners in the few days she had spent there than she had ever seen in Amris and the capital combined.
"It is quite an odd thing to say," she continued thoughtfully, "but something about these parts reminds me very much of my home kingdom, more than any other place I have visited in Lamora."
She had never voiced that thought aloud before, not even to Ragnar, and yet here she was, confiding it to a woman she had met only minutes earlier. There was simply something about Ophelie that had put Circe at ease almost instantly. For someone as naturally guarded around strangers as Circe, such comfort did not come easily.
"You miss your home," Ophelie said softly.
The words, spoken by another, might have carried accusations, especially given that the two kingdoms had been at war only a year ago. Some might have interpreted such sentiment as Circe still holding loyalty for Lamora’s rival kingdom. But coming from Ophelie, the statement was not accusing or suspicious. It was sympathetic.
"Sometimes," Circe admitted, a faint, wistful smile touching her lips.
A few moments later, a maid approached their table. With her head respectfully lowered, she walked directly to Ophelie, who had paused midway through lifting her fork. The maid leaned in and whispered something into her lady’s ear before withdrawing just as quickly and silently as she had arrived.
Ophelie’s hand stilled. A subtle furrow appeared between her brows as she set her cutlery down and began to rise from her seat. The movement did not go unnoticed. Her husband, Bastian, cast her a questioning look, though he did not voice whatever concern lingered in his expression.
When Ophelie was already halfway to standing, Circe asked gently, "Is something the matter?"
Ophelie was quick to shake her head. After a brief pause, she looked back at Circe and said, "Would you like to meet my baby?"
Circe’s eyes widened slightly. Of all the things she had expected her to say, that had not been one of them. The invitation felt too personal for a stranger like herself. Yet despite her surprise, she felt herself nodding almost immediately.
She pushed back her seat and rose to her feet beside Ophelie.
"I won’t be long," she told Ragnar when he glanced at her inquisitively. As she passed him, she brushed her fingers lightly along his shoulder as a silent reassurance, before following Ophelie away from the table and into the quieter parts of the house.
The Nicanot family home was immense, built with the clear intention of housing several generations beneath one roof. Ophelie led Circe through a series of hallways and up a curved staircase before they finally stopped in front of a closed door adorned with delicate carvings of flowers and vines. From the other side came faint sounds, thin, distressed wails that tugged instinctively at the heart.
Ophelie pushed the door open. They were immediately greeted by the loud cries of a very unhappy baby.
Soft curtains framed the tall windows of the nursery. Two maids stood near the cradle. One rocked the crying infant carefully in her arms while the other hovered close, murmuring soft coos in an effort to soothe her.
Ophelie hurried forward and gently took her daughter from the maid’s arms. She gathered the child against her chest. Almost instantly, the baby’s cries lessened, though they did not cease entirely.
"You’re hungry, aren’t you?" Ophelie murmured tenderly, bouncing her daughter lightly in her arms. "It’s all right, my sweet girl. But if you keep crying like this, anyone who hears you will think you are being starved, when the last time you ate was only three hours ago." freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
"She isn’t hungry, my lady," one of the maids explained softly. "The wet nurse has already fed her. I have been trying to get her to sleep, but she refuses to."
Circe remained near the doorway at first, quietly observing the scene before her. But when her gaze settled fully upon the tiny bundle cradled in Ophelie’s arms, something within her shifted.
The child was swaddled in layers of soft fabric to shield her from the lingering cold, only a small, flushed face visible beneath the folds. Wisps of fine hair clung to her damp forehead, and her little fists opened and closed in restless protest.
In an instant, Circe was carried back nearly nine years, to when her brother was only an infant. She felt an unexpected tug in her chest. She had been only sixteen when he was born, and she had known nothing about caring for a baby. And yet, when she had first looked down at him, she had been struck by an overwhelming certainty that he was the most beautiful child she had ever seen.
The memory was so vivid that it stole her breath for a moment. She was so lost in those recollections that she did not immediately notice the change in the room. The baby’s cries had softened into shaky sobs, broken only by small hiccupping breaths.
Circe blinked and returned to the present just as Ophelie approached her, the infant still nestled securely in her embrace.
The two maids bowed respectfully before taking their leave, closing the nursery door behind them and leaving the two women alone.
"Sometimes I have to remind myself that she is my daughter," Ophelie said, her voice thick with motherly affection. The look in her eyes was one of pure love. "She is so perfect that I am convinced she cannot possibly be mine. I couldn’t have created something so beautiful."
Circe lowered her gaze to the baby’s lovely face, studying the soft cherubic cheeks that were still faintly flushed from crying. She was, without question, a beautiful child. Circe found herself smiling before she even realized she was doing so.
"Would you like to hold her?" Ophelie asked gently, noticing the way Circe’s eyes lingered.
Once again, Circe discovered that she was nodding before she knew what she was doing. She extended her arms, and Ophelie placed the baby into her embrace.
The child felt impossibly small and fragile against her chest. Circe adjusted her hold instinctively, cradling the tiny form tenderly, unable to tear her gaze away from the infant’s face.
"What is her name?" Circe asked softly, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the delicate peace of the moment.
"Inessa," Ophelie replied, pride swelling in her voice.
"Inessa," Circe breathed, tasting the name. "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl." She brushed her fingertips lightly across the baby’s forehead, her touch feather-soft then paused. Her skin was much warmer than she expected.
