Free Web NovelChapter 522: Chapter 522
There was a knock at the door, interrupting the peaceful moment and forcing them to face the world outside this room, outside the fragile bubble they had created around themselves.
Ragnar let out an annoyed huff at being disturbed before finally dragging himself out of bed. He would have been perfectly content to remain there with Circe forever, wrapped up in her and the softness of her body until everything outside the room ceases to exist. But duty never stayed away for long.
He hastily gathered the clothes that had been left out for him and began dressing, pulling on each piece with obvious reluctance. The clothes were not his own, merely garments a servant had managed to procure for him at the last moment after yesterday’s chaos. Even so, they suited him well.
As Ragnar dressed, Circe drew the covers higher against herself until they rested just beneath her shoulders. A faint smile touched her lips while she watched him move about the room. Now that the truth about his mother’s identity was no longer weighing on her shoulders, she felt lighter and freer somehow.
Her gaze lingered on him unabashedly, tracing the sculpted lines of his body. Her focus moved from his broad shoulders, to the light scars crisscrossing his skin. The muscles carved by years of training and fighting battles. He was masculine perfection. No matter how much she looked at him, she found she could never quite get enough.
Her eyes skimmed shamelessly over his frame and she slowly licked her lips. A second later, Ragnar turned around and caught her staring from where she lay sprawled against the bed.
The corners of his mouth curved into a knowing smirk, as though he had physically felt the intensity of her gaze on him. Even after being caught in the act, Circe made no attempt to look away. If anything, amusement flickered in her grey eyes.
"It’s going to be your first appearance as the future king," she murmured, her voice carrying a faint teasing lilt. She shifted slightly beneath the covers, dark hair spilling over one shoulder. "You ought to look your best."
Her gaze swept over him again. "The people of Lamora are quite lucky. They are not only getting a strong warrior for a king, but a handsome one as well."
Ragnar huffed out a low laugh beneath his breath and walked back toward her once he had finished dressing. Circe was still smiling when he reached the bedside. He bent slightly and captured her lips in a kiss that stirred the longing in his chest, yet it was far too brief to satisfy either of them. The kiss left them wanting more immediately.
He had accomplished everything he had fought for.
His coronation had already been arranged for the following day, where he would officially be crowned king of Lamora and the colonies. The kingdom’s mourning period had finally ended, allowing the ceremony to proceed whenever he wished, and Ragnar had ensured it would happen as quickly as possible. Had circumstances allowed it, he would have claimed the throne that very same day.
But there were still matters demanding his attention before any crown touched his head. Yesterday, he had sent some of his most loyal men to conduct a thorough investigation into the families he suspected of aiding Laheir and Nheera in funding the rebellion, gathering concrete evidence of their involvement. That had been after Ragnar presented the royal court with all the evidence he had uncovered regarding the many crimes and wrongdoings committed by Nheera and Laheir.
With one final lingering look at Circe, Ragnar straightened and reluctantly turned away from the bed before crossing toward the door.
A male servant stood waiting on the other side. The moment Ragnar appeared, the servant immediately lowered his head in a respectful bow, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the floor as though afraid of meeting Ragnar’s eyes directly.
"Your Highness," the servant said carefully, "Prince Jayran has asked to see you."
Ragnar gave a short nod. "Very well. Take me to my brother."
The servant bowed again before quickly turning to lead the way through the halls. Ragnar followed in silence. frёewebnoѵēl.com
When they finally arrived, the first thing Ragnar noticed was Jayran seated in one of the chairs near the window.
His brother rose to his feet the instant Ragnar entered the room. Behind them, the servant bowed once more before quietly withdrawing to grant the two men privacy.
For several long seconds, neither Ragnar nor Jayran spoke. They simply stared at one another across the room.
Then Jayran suddenly smiled and just like that, the tension dissolved.
He strode forward with his arms spread slightly before pulling Ragnar into a firm brotherly embrace.
"You did it, brother. You won," Jayran said, genuine pride clear in his voice. "I’m so proud of you." fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
Ragnar did not resist the embrace in the slightest. In truth, he could not even remember the last time he had embraced one of his brothers like this. Perhaps before everything in their family had shattered beyond repair.
"You weren’t there yesterday," Ragnar said once they separated slightly. He frowned faintly. "I don’t remember seeing you in the throne room."
Jayran exhaled and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck.
"I wasn’t," he admitted. "I wasn’t entirely certain you would succeed, and I wanted to spare myself the torment of watching Hairan ascend the throne. So I left the city altogether. I only returned this morning."
But the smile on his face soon disappeared. A shadow seemed to pass over his features as his expression turned solemn once more.
"A while ago, I encountered one of the physicians tending to Hairan’s injuries," Jayran continued carefully. "He was on his way to find you with important news, but I thought it would be better if you heard it from me instead."
Ragnar’s face remained unreadable as he listened.
Jayran hesitated briefly before speaking again.
"When you stabbed him yesterday, your sword punctured one of his lungs. The physicians tried to save him, but the wound festered throughout the night." He paused heavily. "Hairan died earlier this morning."
Jayran was nowhere near as devastated by Hairan’s death as he had been by Azul’s passing, and judging by the look on Ragnar’s face, neither was he.
Ragnar would not celebrate the death of his brother. But neither would he mourn him. Not after discovering Hairan’s role in Luria’s death. Hairan had not been a good man while he lived, and Ragnar refused to suddenly pretend otherwise simply because he was dead now.
"Have the physicians prepare his body for burial," Ragnar said calmly. "He will be laid to rest by sunset today."
