Free Web NovelChapter 433: Chapter 433
After Mirelle left Circe’s chambers with the cup of unfinished tea, she went on with her day as she usually did, throwing herself into her duties so she could complete her assigned chores without delay. She smiled and interacted with the other staff whenever she could, as she was oddly fond of doing, keeping her demeanor calm and relaxed. She made certain to appear as she always had so as not to draw even the slightest suspicion to herself.
After all, the dried herbs she had slipped into Circe’s morning tea would only show any noticeable effect if the princess was with child and there was still a chance that she was not. If Circe was not pregnant, then the herbs’ effects would be limited solely to preventing conception.
Mirelle would benefit either way.
Still, her thoughts waged a silent war in her mind, even as she did her best to keep it from showing on her face. Her fingers trembled whenever no one was looking, betraying the unease she fought so hard to suppress. Again and again, she found herself contemplating whether it would be wiser to flee the estate immediately or remain where she was, feigning innocence as she waited for events to unfold on their own.
Running now would be no different from confessing to her transgressions outright, and she was certain there was no need for that. She did not think anyone had seen her tamper with Circe’s tea. She doubted that anyone in the kitchen had truly caught her in the act; otherwise, word of it would have spread by now, and she would have already been dragged away.
Hours blurred together as she moved through the estate, maintaining her routine while staying alert and on edge. It was in this strained state that she first learned Circe had fallen terribly ill.
The news spread quickly among the staff, passing from one whispering voice to another until it seemed to fill every corner of the estate. Speculation followed just as swiftly, each servant offering their own explanation for what might have befallen the princess.
In the servants’ quarters, a group of maids gathered together, tossing around what they believed to be reasonable suggestions.
"It could be a cold," one maid said, a fuller-figured woman of average height. "It is the season for it, after all."
"Or it could be something she ate last night that isn’t agreeing with her," another maid chimed in. "That could be what’s making her sick."
Mirelle stood close enough to overhear every word that was being said, though she did not join their discussion. She lingered at the edge of the group, her presence unobtrusive, content to listen from a distance while keeping her expression carefully neutral.
Then a different woman let out a loud gasp, her hand flying to cover her mouth as though she had stumbled upon a shocking revelation. Her eyes gleamed with sudden excitement.
"What—what if her Highness is pregnant?"
Her question was met with immediate, deafening silence. Every head turned toward her. Every mouth fell slightly open. freёwebnoѵel.com
Mirelle stiffened.
The silence lasted only a handful of seconds before the room erupted into overlapping voices. The maids began speaking over one another, their earlier guesses forgotten as this new possibility took hold. They scrambled to piece together signs they might have missed, all except Mirelle, who remained utterly still.
They had been so busy considering common ailments that they had not thought to entertain the idea that the princess might be with child. Now that it had been spoken aloud, the notion spread rapidly among them, bringing with it a mixture of surprise and tentative excitement.
More than anything, they wanted it to be true.
Most of them had served Ragnar since he acquired the estate, and their loyalty to him ran deep. He was a good master, fair in his dealings, generous in their wages, and mindful of their comfort. They had stood by him through his grief after the loss of his first wife, and they rejoiced now as he began to rebuild his life and form a new family.
In the beginning, many of them had not known what to make of Circe. She was a foreign princess, distant and seemingly unwilling to remain in a place that was now meant to be her new home. There had been apprehension, unspoken fears of how she might treat them. Yet even during the height of her clashes with Ragnar, she had never been cruel to the staff, never used them as an outlet for her frustrations or made their work harder out of spite.
Over time, they had all come to see her as a permanent fixture in their lives.
Now, the thought of her carrying a child—of bringing new life into the household—filled them with a fragile hope.
Everyone in the room seemed happy by this. Everyone but Mirelle’s. Her lips had thinned into a tight line.
One of the maids noticed and frowned, her gaze sharpening slightly.
"You are her Highness’s lady’s maid," she said. "You should be there with her, seeing to her needs."
Mirelle did not argue. She merely dipped her head in a small, obedient nod before turning and stepping out of the servants’ quarters without another word. Going to Circe’s chambers might have been a terrible decision but it was the one she made nonetheless.
Since hearing of Circe’s condition, she had learned nothing more, and the uncertainty gnawed at her from within. She needed to know.
Moving quietly through the hallway, her footsteps light and measured, she made her way toward Circe’s chambers. The closer she drew, the more her pulse quickened, each beat echoing loudly in her ears. When she finally reached the door, she hesitated only briefly before pressing her ear against the wood, straining to catch any sound from within.
Voices drifted through, muffled but distinct enough.
And immediately her blood turned to ice.
"Toxin? You are saying that someone did this to her?" Nieah’s voice rang out, sharp with alarm.
"Yes." The reply came from a voice Mirelle did not recognize.
"They know," Mirelle whispered, her lips trembling.
Slowly, she backed away from the door, as though distance alone might shield her from what lay beyond it. One step, then another, her movements careful. But the farther she retreated, the faster she moved.
Carefulness gave way to urgency, then urgency gave way to near panic, until she was almost sprinting through the corridors, her breath shallow, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as fear finally caught up with her.
Nieah had an exceptionally sharp mind, and it wouldn’t take much for her to piece everything together with what she knew now. Mirelle was certain of it.
