Free Web NovelChapter 451: Chapter 451
"Everyone learns to endure this kind of loss eventually. I just... didn’t expect it to come so soon."
Circe took his hand in hers and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze, just as he always did whenever he sensed she needed comfort. Her fingers tightened around his in an attempt to calm the turmoil behind his eyes.
"You have been through so much, even as a child," she murmured, reaching up to touch his cheek with gentle affection with her free hand. Her thumb brushed lightly against his skin, lingering there. "And just like with all the others in the past, you will overcome this. I know you will."
She truly believed every word. He could hear the conviction in her voice, see it reflected in her eyes, which shimmered with honesty and unwavering faith in him.
"I will get through it and I don’t doubt that," he replied, certain, "because I have you with me. You and the tiny miracle growing inside you are my entire world."
He had spent most of his time away thinking of her and now that he was back, all he wanted was to remain here, with his arms wrapped around her, undisturbed by the world beyond those walls. If it were up to him, they would spend the entire day in bed, with nothing but each other.
"So," he began, "aside from barging into the dungeons, is there anything else of interest that occurred while I was away?"
His question was meant to draw a smile from her, to ease the heaviness lingering between them.
Instead, it did the opposite.
All it did was remind Circe of the vision she had the night before.
The memory stirred unbidden, curling through her thoughts like wisps of smoke, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped past her lips.
"I keep having visions of your mother and of you when you were little," she said quietly. "I was hoping there was more you could tell me about her."
It had always unsettled her, the way her visions refused to reveal his mother’s face. No matter how many times she tried to focus, it remained obscured. She did not know whether it was a limitation of her power or the interference of something else she didn’t quite understand.
"The only information I have about her is what I was able to gather on my own and what the couple who took me in told me."
Ragnar said honestly with a faint edge of resignation. "She told them her name was Leonora Sealey. She worked in the palace as a lady’s maid. When the queen discovered she was pregnant, she was driven out of the capital. She gave birth to me and then she left while I was still a baby."
"Surely that can’t be all," Circe said, her brows knitting together faintly. The information felt shallow, like incomplete fragments of a story that refused to come together. "Did she leave you with any material possession? Anything at all?"
Ragnar gave a small smile, though it was strained at the edges.
"She did." He gently untangled himself from her and climbed off the bed, his bare feet making little to no sound against the floor as he walked away. Circe watched him go, her curiosity sharpening into anticipation.
When he returned, he held two items in his hands. The first was a midsized portrait. The second, a silver locket. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
Circe sat up quickly, her gaze immediately drawn to the portrait. Ragnar held it with the back facing her, concealing its contents, yet her body still thrummed with expectation.
It must be his mother, she thought. Why else would he have kept it for so long?
But the moment he turned it around, her heart sank.
It was unmistakably a portrait of a woman, her dark hair swept into a simple bun but her face had been violently scratched out. Deep, jagged lines carved across the surface had erased every trace of her features, leaving behind nothing but a haunting absence.
"I do not remember her face," Ragnar said quietly. "Nor what she sounded like. I was too young when she left."
His gaze lingered on the ruined image. "I have been searching for her for years. I began by questioning the palace staff who had worked there during her time, but most of them could tell me nothing. One of them, however, gave me this." He gestured to the portrait. "You see, when my mother fled the capital, she did so in the dead of night. She left with nothing, no belongings, nothing to her name. The next day, the queen ordered all of her possessions destroyed. They were torn apart first and then burned. One of the maids saw what was happening and tried to save this portrait, but she was too late. My mother’s face had already been scratched out. Still, she kept it. And when I asked her for it she gave it to me without a word."
Carefully, he set the portrait aside before straightening. Then he extended the locket toward Circe, the silver catching the light faintly as it rested in his palm.
She took it gingerly, almost reverently, her fingers brushing against his as she did. Her gaze dropped to it, awe flickering in her eyes as she examined the intricate carvings etched across its surface, delicate patterns that spoke of care and intention.
It looked very valuable, its beauty unmatched and the longer she stared at it, the more curiosity stirred within her.
With a gentle press against the clasp, the locket clicked open. Inside, nestled carefully within, was a small folded note.
But before she touched the note, she glanced up at Ragnar, intending to ask if it was alright for her to read it, only to find him already watching her intently.
He gave her a nod before she could even voice the question on her mind. With his silent permission, she reached into the locket and carefully took out the small, folded note. She handled it with delicate care, as though it were something fragile enough to fall apart at the slightest misstep, and gently unfolded it. Her eyes scanned the words written within as she read them aloud.
"To my little ember, never doubt the love I have for you."
---
It had only been meant to be a brief, quiet walk through the palace grounds, but she should have known better.
Before stepping outside, Elka had tossed and turned restlessly in her bed, unable to find sleep no matter how hard she tried. The silence of her chambers had felt pressed down on her from all sides and her mind was still so restless. It had been that way since she watched the king’s sudden collapse. After a while, she had given up entirely. With nothing else to occupy her restless mind, she slipped into a thick robe over her modest nightgown and quietly made her way out of her room.
Now, she found herself outside, alone, the cool night air brushing gently against her skin. The walk had been exactly what she needed—calming and relaxing. But on her way back, she had chosen a different path from the one she had taken earlier. This route led her past the garden.
Even in the middle of winter, and with not a single bloom in sight, the garden remained a beautiful sight to behold. The bare branches and frost-kissed hedges held a kind of elegance, one that never failed to capture her attention. No matter how many times she passed by, she could never quite grow used to its beauty. Even now, she slowed ever so slightly, silently admiring it as she walked.
That was when she noticed the figure.
Someone sat on one of the stone benches, partially concealed by shadow. Alone. Much like she was.
She continued forward, knowing there was no avoiding passing him if she wished to stay on her path. The distance between them gradually closed, and with each step, his features became clearer, the pale blond hair, the sharp, angular lines of his face.
She watched as he lifted a cigar to his lips, inhaling slowly before releasing a thin stream of smoke into the cold air. It curled and drifted upward, dissolving into the night.
The soft sound of her footsteps must have alerted him to her presence, because he turned his head slightly, his gaze settling on her. A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"Do you always make it a habit to wander around the palace late at night?" Azul asked, his voice calm as his eyes lingered on her.
Elka met his gaze without slowing. "No," she replied evenly. "We just seem to keep running into each other whenever I do."
A coincidence she wasn’t particularly fond of, especially when it involved him.
