Free Web NovelChapter 87: Chapter 87
The bedroom doors clicked shut behind them as Ragnar stepped farther inside. The silence of the space was thick and pressing, wrapping around them like a second skin. Several candles flickered on the mantle and tables, casting long shadows against the walls and bathing the room in a golden, wavering glow.
"Put me down," Circe said quietly.
This time, Ragnar listened.
He set her gently on her feet, handling her as though she were made of glass and might shatter if he let go too quickly. Her soaked gown clung to her body, heavy with pond water and he couldn’t help but notice the way she trembled, not just from the cold but from what had just happened. freewёbnoνel.com
Without a word, he crossed the room toward the cold hearth. Crouching low, he arranged fresh logs into a careful pile before striking a flame to ignite them. As the fire crackled to life, warmth slowly began to seep into the room.
When he straightened, Ragnar turned back to face her, his eyes scanning her from head to toe. He searched for any bruises, scrapes, or wounds that he might have missed earlier, but found none. Still, his gaze lingered on the sodden fabric of her dress. The wet material must have been unbearable against her skin.
"I’ll call someone to help you change out of those clothes," he said, already striding toward the door. He paused with his hand on the polished knob, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes found hers and his voice softened. "I will look into what happened and I swear to you, I will do everything in my power to make sure nothing like this ever happens to you again."
Circe wanted to believe him, she truly did. But this wasn’t the first promise he had made to protect her and someone had already gotten close enough to hurt her. Close enough to try and kill her. If she hadn’t fought back with everything she had, she would be dead right now, floating lifeless beneath the surface of Lady Maelis’s pond.
And she didn’t even know why the man had attacked her. What had driven him to such violence? What if there were others like him, hiding in plain sight?
At the end of the day, Circe realized, the only person she could truly rely on was herself.
She didn’t respond. Ragnar waited a moment longer, then gave her a stiff solemn nod before slipping quietly out of the room.
As he strode down the corridor leading away from his bedchamber, he spotted three maids approaching. Each carried buckets filled with warm water, the handles clinking softly with every step.
He slowed his pace as he neared them. "Help her change out of those wet clothes," he instructed one of the maids.
The girl gave a quick bow of acknowledgement. She was young, with freckles splashed across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, her eyes wide and solemn.
Ragnar didn’t stop moving. His steps carried him deeper into the manor in a vain attempt to burn off the restless, boiling energy rising in his chest. His blood felt too hot, his head too tight. He feared that if he didn’t find a way to release the storm inside him, he would march back to the Hawthorne estate and tear the place apart. He would demand answers, demand to know how an armed assassin had slipped past their patrols unnoticed. Even under the veil of night, someone should have heard the struggle. Someone should have seen the splashing water. But no one had.
He wasn’t stable like this, not in this state. His shadows were too close to the surface. They hissed in his ears, clawed at the edges of his control, snarling with every step he took.
It had been Circe who nearly lost her life tonight, and yet all Ragnar could think about was Luria. Luria, lying in a pool of her own blood. Luria, on a night that should have been beautiful. Her eyes growing distant, her skin losing color as life bled out of her with every heartbeat. The memory of his first wedding night twisted together with tonight’s events, forming a bitter concoction of grief, rage, and self-loathing that threatened to choke him.
If he went to the Hawthorne estate now, he wouldn’t leave peacefully. He would kill someone and if he did that, if he unleashed the part of himself he had fought so long to bury, it would only further vilify him in the eyes of the nobles in attendance. To them he would no longer be a worried man who was left shaken from watching his wife almost die, he would become the heinous monster that can’t keep his vile shadows in check. freewebnøvel.coɱ
Ragnar didn’t even realize where he was until he stopped walking. He stood before Casilo’s door.
Without hesitation, he raised his fist and knocked three times on the heavy wood.
A moment passed, and then the door creaked open. Casilo stood in the doorway, taking one look at Ragnar’s face before stepping aside silently to let him in.
"You’re home earlier than expected," Casilo remarked as he closed the door behind them.
Ragnar didn’t answer right away. His gaze locked onto a spot on the wall as he spoke, his voice low and raw. "Someone tried to kill Circe tonight. The attacker tried to drown her in Lady Maelis’s pond."
Casilo’s eyes briefly widened, but his expression quickly settled into something unreadable. "Does Lady Maelis know what happened?"
"No," Ragnar replied. "But she’ll find out soon enough." He turned toward Casilo then, his expression dark. "Circe killed the man. His body is still on the property."
Casilo’s brow furrowed. "How is she faring? That’s a horrific thing to go through."
"She’s shaken but unharmed," Ragnar said. "At least physically. I didn’t find any wounds on her but I can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t random. I think the first attempt on Circe’s life and this one are connected."
Casilo stepped closer, lowering his voice. "What about you? How are you doing?"
Ragnar hesitated.
"I’m not the one who almost drowned," he said finally.
"No," Casilo agreed quietly. "But you are the one who nearly lost another wife. And this happened just three days before the anniversary of Luria’s death."
The words hit Ragnar like a blade to the chest.
It was the thought that had haunted him since the moment he pulled Circe from the water and now, spoken aloud, it became inescapable.
Sending an assassin after Circe so close to the anniversary of Luria’s murder, it wasn’t just cruelty. It was a message, a taunt. A reminder of what he had lost before and what he could lose again.
