Free Web NovelChapter 70: Chapter 70
Ragnar and Casilo were shrouded in the night’s darkness as they traverse through cobbled streets. The night shielded them away from the watchful eyes of the few people that still wandered around. The town was quiet at this hour, with only a few scattered lights flickering in windows and the occasional passerby hurrying home.
During the day, Amris was full of life. Shops would be open, people crowding the streets but at night, it fell into stillness. That was one of the things Ragnar liked about it. It wasn’t like the capital, which was always loud and full of activity no matter the hour. Amris offered a kind of peace he had never really found in the capital.
It wasn’t as populated as the capital. It wasn’t filled with nobles and rich merchants desperate to flaunt their wealth to make themselves seem like members of high society. The town itself was a middle ground between the wealth of the capital and the simplicity of rural places like Kemia. The rolling fields and open skies around it gave it a sense of freedom Ragnar appreciated.
Their strides were long and purposeful as they darted past buildings and weaved through alleyways. Their path was illuminated by the moon overhead and the flickering lights emanating from a few of the building’s windows.
There was an obvious chill in the air that was common for early autumn in Amris and Ragnar felt the cold far too keenly despite the cloak he wore. Perhaps it was the nerves from what he was about to do, or perhaps it was the fact that he still felt uneasy despite how many times he did it.
Casilo drifted closer to Ragnar, matching his pace until they fell into step with one another.
Ragnar could feel Casilo’s gaze burning a hole in his skull but he didn’t say anything to address it.
" Have you thought about Prince Jayran’s words?" Casilo asked in a hushed tone.
Ragnar hissed out a breath as he pulled the hood of his cloak lower. " I doubt that now is the best time to be discussing the issue."
There was thankfully no one close enough to listen in on their conversation but they still needed to be careful.
" You have avoided it for days already. I don’t it would matter where we discussed it when you were still bent on ignoring the issue."
Who needed enemies when they had brutally honest friends like Casilo in their lives.
Ragnar didn’t respond. Casilo wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make Ragnar want to deal with it any more than he already had.
He hadn’t revisited his conversation with Jayran yet, there were far too many factors to consider and he wasn’t ready to align himself with someone that could so easily bury a knife in his back to benefit himself. Jayran was reckless, selfish and untrustworthy at the best of days. Those were not qualities of a good ally.
Brother or not, Ragnar knew he needed to be careful around him. Now that Jayran knew about Ragnar’s interest in the throne, everything was even more delicate. Any wrong move could be turned against him.
Just then something caught his eyes behind the closed glass of a shop window, causing him to come to a halt. Bright colored fabric and finished dresses hung on a metal rack by the window, on display for everyone passing by. Ragnar brought his face closer to the glass to properly inspect the dresses on display.
It was one of the few shops that were still open at this time.
The interior of the shop was well lit and he caught sight of a woman moving around inside as she folded fabric and tidied up. She looked like she was in the process of shutting down for the day. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
Casilo stopped too, frowning in confusion. He gave Ragnar a questioning look when he suddenly stopped in front of the small dress shop.
Ragnar spoke before Casilo could ask why they stopped.
" Do you think she would like any of these?" Ragnar asked, still peering through the glass.
Casilo’s frown of confusion intensified at the question. " Who are you referring to?"
Ragnar didn’t answer, instead he walked towards the door, pushed it open and stepped in without a word. Casilo had no choice but to follow him inside.
The shop owner turned to face the door when she heard it open. Her eyes widened when she saw who had entered and her mouth fell open. Ragnar had lowered the hood of his cloak and the woman gaped at him with a mixture of awe and shock. She dropped her head in a low bow and her voice was filled with surprise when she spoke.
" Your highness." Her lips trembled around the words. She had never met a royal before, not to talk of doing business with any of them. She had high paying customers but those were just the lower ranking lords and ladies that lived in Amris. " How can I be of service to you?"
Ragnar wasn’t sure what compelled him to enter the shop. He had seen the dresses on display by the window and his mind had conjured the image of Circe wearing the rough clothes Lady Irah had given her.
Circe didn’t have many clothes of her own, she wasn’t really given the time to pack before she was brought to Lamora and he hated that she had to wear clothes so worn that even his maids wouldn’t be caught wearing them. She only had two decent dresses and they had all been borrowed. One was from a serving girl in the palace and the other one belonged to Nieah. That alone had been enough to make up his mind.
" I need you to make a few new dresses for the newest member of my household. I will send someone tomorrow to bring you to my manor so you can take her measurements." Ragnar said. It was hard for him to predict his wife’s moods and he wasn’t sure if his gift would be accepted or if Circe would hurl them in his face.
The seamstress nodded eagerly.
" Which types of colors does she prefer?" The woman asked, already silently cataloging the different styles of dresses she would make.
Ragnar blinked in confusion.
" Colors?" He asked dumbly. All his clothes were either black and white or varying shades of browns and greys. Plain and practical, it was how he preferred it.
He knew that most highborn women fancied colorful dresses but that was the height of his knowledge about women’s fashion. He had only imagined how well the clothes by the window would fit Circe that he had failed to think this far ahead.
The seamstress nodded. " Yes, your highness. What are her favorite colors?"
Ragnar furrowed his brows. He did not know his wife’s favorite colors, their conversations were never civil enough for them to discuss their preferences.
He relaxed his expression when he noticed that the seamstress was still watching him closely, eagerly waiting for his response.
" You will have to ask her by yourself when you meet her." Ragnar finally said. " and you will be compensated handsomely for your efforts." fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm
His words made the woman beam. She bowed her head once more. " Thank you, your highness."
Ragnar gave a small nod and turned back toward the door. Casilo followed, still eyeing him curiously.
Ragnar ignored the look. He didn’t know how Circe would react to the gift, whether she’d accept it or throw it back at him. But at the very least, she deserved clothes that actually belonged to her.
Neither of them bothered to speak as they continued their trek through the darkened streets. The deeper they ventured into the sleeping town, the fewer people they encountered. The occasional flicker of a dying lantern or the distant bark of a dog was the only sign that the world around them wasn’t entirely still.
They walked in silence, their footsteps muffled against the uneven cobblestones, until finally, they reached their destination.
Before them stood a dim, narrow alleyway. It was quiet, save for the faint sound of whistling drifting out from the darkness beyond. The melody was low and slow, the kind that settled uneasily in the ears.
Ragnar stepped forward, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt of his sword. He moved toward the sound, stopping once his eyes adjusted enough to make out the shape of a tall figure leaning against the rough surface of a brick wall.
"Aruis," Ragnar called, his voice firm.
The whistling stopped abruptly.
At the sound of his name, the figure shifted. The man pushed himself off the wall with a lazy grace and began walking toward them, each step measured and deliberate. As he neared, the pale light from a nearby lantern fell across his face, revealing high cheekbones, a hard jaw, and eyes as black as pitch.
"Prince Ragnar," the man greeted coolly, his voice laced with faint disapproval. "You’re late. It’s disrespectful to keep people waiting."
