Free Web NovelChapter 39: Chapter 39
Circe couldn’t stop her jaw from tightening the moment Ragnar settled into the chair beside her. Her muscles tensed reflexively and she kept her gaze fixed on the pale tablecloth, willing herself to appear unbothered by it all. In truth it felt like her nerve endings had been lit ablaze.
But she could feel it, the subtle shift in the atmosphere around the table as soon as she took a seat. They had become the center of attention for the gathered courtiers once more. Some of the guests made a poor show of feigning disinterest, turning to their partners and launching into shallow, forced conversations that lacked any real depth, all the while hiding fake smiles behind swishing paper fans. Others didn’t bother pretending at all, their gaze filled with blatant curiosity, bordering on rude fascination.
Lady Taryn was present among the number of gathered nobles. She shot Ragnar a pointed look that Circe couldn’t quite decipher. Ragnar responded with a nod. It was a slight action, hardly even noticeable.
Irah strode into the dining hall a second later with her head down. Her footsteps were light against gleaming marble floors. She hurried to the queen’s side, leaning forward and whispering hushed words into her ears. Irah took a step back once their exchange was done. The queen didn’t offer her a seat on the table and Irah didn’t linger.
" His Majesty will no longer be joining us this evening. A regrettable turn of events, indeed but I urge you not to let it dampen your spirits. Do partake in the feast and make the most of the night’s offerings." The queen said. Her painted lips remained curved in a broad smile. The look alone unsettled Circe more than the collective weight of the nobles’ watchful eyes.
Before long, the quiet murmur of the hall gave way to the soft clatter of silverware against porcelain as the guests eagerly turned their attention to the feast before them. Without hesitation, they began to help themselves to the generous spread, an impressive array of grilled meats, their smoky aroma mingling with the richer scent of stewed vegetables seasoned with fragrant herbs.
In the center of the long table sat a large polished tray piled high with warm, freshly baked flatbreads, their golden edges still glistening with melted butter. Bowls of ripe fruits, figs, grapes, and sliced melons, surrounded it like jewels. The once-stiff air quickly softened with the sounds of satisfied chewing and muted conversation as the evening meal commenced in earnest.
Servants flitted around the table, pouring pitchers of wine into waiting goblets.
Circe didn’t touch her plate or even bothered reaching for the food. Her mouth should have watered at the sight of the magnificent spread but her stomach and mind were tied in knots and just then her appetite chose to revolt. She glanced furtively at Ragnar and noticed he hadn’t touched his plate as well. His gaze was fixed ahead, so detached from everything that was happening around him yet so utterly focused at the same time.
Times like this were when he felt less like the man she spent days being locked in a room with and more like the man she was forced to knee in front of in her father’s throne room. The warrior that conquered her kingdom. It was times like this Circe wanted to know what went on in his head, to sift through his mind, his every thoughts.
Two sides of a coin, yet so utterly different from each other. She wondered which side was the mask and which one was truly him.
The thoughts came to a halt when she noticed the queen watching her.
Queen Nheera cut a strip from her steak and lifted it gracefully to her lips, chewing slowly.
" You haven’t picked up your fork. Is the food not to your liking?" The queen asked.
" No, the food looks absolutely delightful. I’ve been feeling unwell for the past few days and don’t have much of an appetite for anything." Circe lied. She flashed a demure smile, the same one she had learned and perfected while dealing with the members of her father’s court. Its aim was to make her appear calmer, more delicate, while lulling her target into a false sense of security. freewёbnoνel.com
" And you, prince Ragnar?" The queen cocked a brow. " Don’t tell me that whatever ailment Circe has is contagious." freēwēbnovel.com
A few of the courtiers tittered with laughter while Lady Taryn watched on with a grim expression.
Ragnar’s lips thinned. Circe couldn’t tell if it was in anger or frustration.
But the queen continued speaking, this time addressing the entire table rather than Circe alone. "Truly, it was a stroke of brilliance to unite the two of them. Just look at how naturally they sit beside one another. It’s plain to see that Circe suits Ragnar far more than poor Luria ever did."
The laughter froze. Then it was completely silent, safe for the clinking of the queen’s silverware as she continued delicately cutting out her piece of steak, seemingly unperturbed by the chaos she evoked with just a few words. Tension descended upon the hall as the courtiers tossed glances at each other, trying to gleam hints of how to proceed with the current situation.
Beside her, Ragnar reached out and seized a portion of the tablecloth, his knuckles turning white as he bunched the fabric tightly in his fist. The movement was subtle, but the tension in his arm betrayed the storm brewing beneath the surface. There was fire in his gaze, wild, uncontained. One by one, emotions rippled across his face: rage, revulsion, and something dangerously close to hatred. When Circe turned to look at him fully, she caught the unmistakable shift in his eyes, his pupils widening unnaturally, the inky blackness slowly devouring the whites of his eyes like ink spilling on paper. Whatever control he clung to was slipping, inch by inch, anger wrestling with his restraint.
She pictured him in the arena, how horrifying he looked covered in blood, his eyes a swirling abyss of darkness.
Who was Luria? And why had the mere mention of her name by the queen elicited such a raw, visceral reaction from Ragnar?
