Free Web NovelChapter 575: Chapter 575
Beneath a gray, overcast sky, the royal party arrived at one of the many castles scattered throughout Westeria. Once, it had been one of the holdings overseen by Circe’s father, a place that had thrived in years before war had swept across Westeria. Unlike the great stronghold that had fallen during the invasion, this castle had survived, tucked away from the worst of the fighting. The choice to bring her here had been deliberate.
Ragnar’s guards moved ahead of the party, securing gates and nearby towers before allowing the queen and her son inside. Their vigilance followed Circe wherever she went, but for once she paid little attention to it.
She stepped beneath the arched entrance with her infant cradled securely against her chest. The familiar stone walls rose around her, weathered by time yet unchanged enough to stir old memories.
She refused to hand Khamsin to any attendant. Wherever she went during those first hours, he remained in her arms.
Circe had visited this particular palace countless times as a girl, now she wandered around the place at an unhurried pace, speaking softly to him as she introduced him to bits and pieces of her past.
In just four months, he had blossomed remarkably, no longer a delicate newborn, but a robust, cheerful little soul. His eyes lit up at the smallest delight, and he would kick his chubby feet in sheer joy whenever something caught his attention—an infectious little giggler, radiating happiness with each day.
"Here," she murmured, pausing beside a recessed alcove, "is where I used to hide whenever my tutors came looking for me."
A faint smile touched her lips as she continued onward.
A string of cheerful babbles tumbled from his mouth, punctuated by delighted squeals whenever she glanced his way. As she carried him through hallways, up staircases, and into forgotten corners, sharing pieces of a childhood he would otherwise never know, a permanent smile remained etched across her face.
Words alone could describe how thrilled she was to be there, in a place she thought she would never see again. Her homeland. Being here was worth the four months she spent waiting. ƒгeewёbnovel.com
The two days that followed were just as calm and peaceful as the first. Their stay could only be brief, and the guards maintained a strict perimeter around the castle grounds, but within those boundaries Circe found a type of joy she had not realized she was starving for.
On the second day of their visit, Ragnar asked a footman to ready the carriage early that morning for the excursion Circe had planned weeks in advance. Together, the three of them spent the day exploring historic monuments and ancient landmarks scattered across the countryside. Some were places Ragnar had only ever read about in books, now standing before him in weathered stone and fading grandeur, like the first castle ever built by House Valdris and ostentatious shrine dedicated to the kingdom’s patron deity.
Others were sites he had never even heard of until Circe enthusiastically shared their histories, guiding him through each location with the familiarity and fondness of someone revisiting cherished pieces of her childhood and afterwards, she happily indulged in all the local delicacies she could get her hands on.
By the third evening, twilight had begun to settle over the grounds when she carried Khamsin into the gardens. The winding paths were bordered by neatly trimmed hedges. The air seemed cooler here than it did in Lamora.
Circe walked slowly along the stone path, one arm securely around him to keep him from slipping from his perch on her hip. Above them, the fading light painted the sky in shades of burned orange and pale violet.
The breeze was soothing against her flushed cheeks.
Even as she adjusted her son again on her hip, her thoughts remained stubbornly trapped an hour in the past. Heat crept into her cheeks for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Ragnar truly was incorrigible. Give the man a moment alone with her and his wandering hands always seemed to find their way back to her, as though he simply couldn’t help himself.
The memory surfaced unbidden, making her stomach swoop. She knew what always happened whenever she was alone with him for long. Yet resisting Ragnar had never been one of her strengths.
He only had to flash that maddening smile, murmur a few carefully chosen words, and she would find herself caught in his web all over again, an alluring trap she rarely wanted to escape. She was every bit as hopelessly drawn to him as he was to her, and even now, recalling the encounter, she had to bite back a smile.
Different scents surrounded her. The familiar fragrance of pine and damp earth carried on the breeze. The distant mountains stood dark against the darkening sky.
One small hand was tangled in a lock of her hair while the other clutched the fabric of her dress. His eyes, the color of molten bronze, darted from one sight to the next, following fluttering birds, and swaying branches with endless fascination.
The older Khamsin got, the more his father stared back at her through his eyes, his expressions, even that determined set of his mouth. Each day, he looked a little more like the man she loved.
Every few moments an excited babble escaped him, accompanied by vigorous kicks of his feet.
Then something shifted in the air and she felt it. Someone was watching her.
The smile she wore vanished instantly.
The time she spent as a member of her father’s council, surrounded by people who disliked her for being there, had sharpened her instincts. It taught her to be aware of encroaching danger. Her gaze subtly scanned her surroundings, searching for who it was.
The last thing she wanted was to be taken by surprise when she was alone with her baby.
Then movement caught her eye, and a figure emerged from the shadows between a cluster of trees a few feet away.
Circe froze when she saw who it was. The world seemed to stop.
No.
That wasn’t possible. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
The man stepped closer and she was greeted by a cherished face from her past. A face that belonged to the same man she grew up with.
"Torben?" She whispered, afraid that she might be dreaming.
For a brief, impossible moment, she could only stare.
Torben, her brother, was alive.
Mother was right.
The realization felt her stunned.
Months before Khamsin was born, Thalora told Circe she did not believe Torben was dead. She insisted she could still feel a connection to him, something she believed would be impossible if he had truly perished as everyone claimed. Somewhere, somehow, she was certain her son had survived the invasion.
Circe had wanted to believe her.
Gods, she had wanted to.
But months had dragged on with no word from him even after Circe conducted searches through the Lamorian troops, trying to find him. No letters. No sightings. No reliable rumors. Nothing.
As time passed, a part of her had begun to doubt. She had hated herself for it, but she had wondered if Thalora’s conviction had simply been a grieving mother’s refusal to let go.
Yet here he stood before her, alive and well.
The shock struck her so hard she nearly forgot to breathe. Then another thought crashed into her.
How did he get into the castle grounds?
How long had he been here? Had he waited for her to be alone before making his presence known?
How long had he been watching her?
The questions came one after another, but none could overpower the surge of relief flooding through her chest.
"Torben." She called again, as if wanting to reassure herself that he was real.
A dozen emotions collided inside her all at once. Disbelief, joy and a deep sense of relief.
For one fragile heartbeat, she almost moved to embrace him.
She wanted to ask where he had been. If he was hurt. How he had managed to survive the invasion when everyone else believed he didn’t.
Then she noticed the expression he wore on his face and her stomach dropped.
There was no happiness in his eyes. He didn’t even seem happy or relieved to see her again and what stared back at her was enough to make her take a step back.
Even in the waning light, she could still easily make out the look of disgust that hardened his features.
