It came as little surprise to Circe that the very ones who destroyed her home and butchered her kin had built their great cities atop stolen soil. In a way, it felt almost fitting.
The words Circe left unspoken were painted clearly on her face. Revulsion and distaste; they were obvious from her downturned mouth and hard eyes. Now that she knew the grim history behind the mural, it lost all its lustrous wonder.
Nieah remained where she stood.
" Is there anything else?" Circe asked. She found it hard to believe that Nieah came simply to make sure she didn't take the wrong turn.
A second passed without a response.
" His highness wishes for both you and your brother to join him for dinner."
Circe glanced back at Nieah. Her answer came swift.
" No. I would rather starve." The words were as frigid and sharp as a blade fashioned from ice.
" But your highness—" Nieah began but Circe cut her off.
" Tell him I said no. Speak my words as they are, without change or softening." Circe's sleeve grazed Nieah's arm as she walked passed. She crossed the library's threshold, her eyes accessing the dimly lit hall, trying to recall the path she had taken on her way there. The hall forked ahead, leading to two separate directions.
The path all looked the same to her and she nearly screamed out in frustration after taking a wrong turn for the third time in a row. The easiest thing was to retrace her steps back to the library and hoped she ran into Nieah. If she found Nieah, she could ask her for directions back to Ragnar's chambers. But pride had Circe's feet rooted in place.
She had wanted to explore but had gotten lost instead. How was she to plan her escape when the halls confused her? She didn't know where each turn led, she didn't even know where the exits were or how many there were.
But there wasn't any rush to get back. It wasn't like she looked forward to being in the midst of that horrid man anytime soon.
It took her far longer than it should before she finally stumbled into a familiar looking space. Circe walked the full length of it, her pace quickening on each step until she reached familiar heavy doors. She almost collapsed on them but she forced herself to remain upright. Relief swept through her.
Her eyes locked with Ragnar's the moment she pushed through the door. He lounged on the high-backed armchair positioned to afford whoever sat on it an uninterrupted view of the door. In his hand was a small leather-bound journal which he promptly flipped close upon her arrival.
The relief she felt seconds ago soured like curdled milk at the sight of him. She hoped for some time alone before she had to deal with the displeasure his presence brought.
" It's good you're here. Follow me, you are joining us for dinner." Ragnar said.
He didn't scold her for wandering around his home or asked where she had been. Had Nieah gotten here first and told him already? His choice of words didn't escape her notice. Who else was he dining with?
His eyes remained on her even when she averted her gaze, cold and assessing. Having Ragnar's entire focus on her was akin to being watched by a wild animal, in turn raising her hackles.
She wanted more than anything to spin on her heels and flee. There was something about Ragnar that wasn't natural. Her emotions felt heightened around him. Rage, fear, sadness; Circe felt them all so acutely, she could almost reach down and tug on the strings that held the emotions together.
She sensed it the first time she met him back in her father's throne room, every moment she spent with him making it glaringly obvious.
" I told Nieah to inform you that I won't be joining you." She straightened her spine, the air around her taut with defiance, when rather than outrage or confusion, her refusal was met with a wicked curl of his lips, like a shadow smiling beneath moonlight.
" If it was a request, I would have phrased it like one." His voice was smooth velvet. " Join me and I may reconsider our sleeping arrangements tomorrow."
His words were intended for persuasion. She shouldn't heed them but the offer, the promise of separate chambers and reprieve from his watchful eyes, was too tempting to resist.
Sharing a meal with him, surely Circe had endured worse.
Soon Circe found herself silently trailing behind him through the same maze of halls she struggled to navigate.
Light from the sconces dimmed whenever they passed. She was too busy trying to commit every turn they took to memory, it took her a while to notice what was happening. Now it was all she could focus on.
A cold breeze caressed her skin as the shadows crept closer the more they walk, closing in around them.
Circe blinked and the shadows dispersed. She quickened her steps to match his long strides. She stared at the unscarred part of his face, looking for any sign that he noticed what was happening around them, that it wasn't all in her head.
Nothing. Not even a twitch in his cheek.
A long, heavy wooden table dominated the dining room, flanked by intricately carved high-backed chairs. Above, a wrought iron chandelier cast a warm glow. Candlelight from the silver candelabras perched in the center of the table, danced and flickered with every little breeze. The walls were adorned with vibrant tapestries and a large patterned rug lay beneath the table.
The two men that accompanied them on their journey were already seated. Rowen sat quietly next to Casilo. The sight of her little brother nestled between two vampire soldiers sent icy dread skidding down Circe's back. Before she could move to retrieve her brother, a thick arm grabbed her by the waist and plopped her down in the seat next to Ragnar.
Outrage colored her cheeks a deep shade of crimson. Ragnar brought his face closer to hers.
" Your brother doesn't look uncomfortable to me. Let him sit wherever he wants." Ragnar whispered.
Circe was so incensed, she wanted to grab the candelabra from the center of the table and beat him with it. No one in Westeria would ever dare to touch her in such a careless manner.
But when she glanced around the table and caught her brother's gaze, she didn't see any obvious signs of discomfort reflected in his eyes. Instead of quivering cheeks, Rowen's lips widened into a smile. A smile just for her.
Ragnar's nearness unsettled her, as though the very air thickened in his presence, denying her a full breath. Servants laid out trays of food, each containing bowls of stewed vegetables paired with roasted venison.
Rowen glanced at her as everyone else around them began eating. He was just as hesitant as she was about eating any foods they were offered.
It wasn't the fear of poison that stilled her hand, it was a habit. Ingrained since childhood. Back in Westeria, she and her siblings never touched a meal unless it was prepared by the king's own cook. That wariness had become second nature. But in Lamora, such caution had little place. The longer they remained, the more they were forced to abandon those old safeguards. Still, a strange comfort lingered in knowing that the Lamorians were far too brutal for poison. They preferred the elegance of a blade, the intimacy of spilled blood.
She gave her brother a small nod. An encouragement. When he still didn't reach for his plate, Circe took a bite from the food to show him it was safe. Rowen smiled and dug in.
" Any new correspondence from our allies?" Casilo asked, his gaze trained on Ragnar.
Circe's attention was piqued. Her eyes fixed on her plate, feigning disinterest.
" I received word from Lord Tomar. Hairan is whispering in the ears of the lords and ladies of the court again. He's trying to turn them against me." Ragnar answered.
Circe's face was a blank canvas, devoid of expression. It shocked her how freely Ragnar and Casilo spoke about such sensitive matters. Were they not wary of her? Did they not fear she might wield their secrets as weapons? Perhaps it was simply that they saw her as little more than a captive. Powerless, insignificant and unworthy of true concern.