The door creaked open just as Circe pulled the lid over to close the box, and both she and Nieah turned toward the sound. Ragnar lingered by the doorway for only a second before sauntering inside without a word.
Nieah imdiately inclined her head in greeting.
"Your Highness," she said smoothly before Circe could even form a word. Then, with that sa knowing smile from earlier, she added, "I’ll take my leave."
Without waiting for a reply, she slipped out, closing the door behind her and leaving the air charged with unspoken tension.
Circe wished Nieah had lingered a mont longer.
Soti between when he was still outside and now, Ragnar had managed to cover up, donning a plain linen shirt. Yet even with him now fully clothed, Circe couldn’t shake the image of his bare torso from her mind, the taut lines of muscle, the effortless power behind every movent. The vivid mory clung stubbornly to her unruly thoughts.
She scolded herself each ti her mind dared to wander. After all, she was the one that forced this distance between them.
And yet the traitorous thoughts always returned.
What would it feel like to touch him, to trace those sa lines her eyes had followed with her fingertips? To close the distance between them, close her eyes, and simply feel him, without the weight of hesitation, without worry or second-guessing herself all the ti.
She had co so close to doing that before, before her own words had shattered the fragile mont between them that night and now, that mory haunted her almost as much as the sight of him did.
Ragnar’s gaze fell on where she sat perched on the bed, giving her form a slow, unhurried perusal that felt far more intimate than the action ought to be.
It sent a flutter through her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her stomach tightened.
It was ridiculous how easily a single look from him could unravel her composure, how every inch of her had begun to respond to his attention before her mind could even protest.
The heat that flared beneath his scrutiny was sudden and unwelco, curling through her stomach until she had to avert her gaze, pretending to fuss with the ribbon from the gift box.
She wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose. Everything Ragnar did felt intentional. His movents, his words, even his silences, but there was also sothing so effortless about it that it made her pulse quicken despite herself.
When she dared to glance back, his eyes had already shifted to the small box in her hands.
"What is that?" he asked, pointing a finger at it.
Circe was grateful for the distraction. She lifted one of the earrings and held it against her ear.
"They’re pretty, aren’t they? Lady Mina sent them," she said, smiling faintly.
Ragnar’s answer ca without hesitation. "They would look even prettier on you."
The honesty and conviction in his words let Circe stunned and more than a bit flustered.
Then, after a short pause, he added more casually, "That was very kind of her. You must have gotten along quite well at the luncheon."
Circe nodded, willing her heartbeat to settle. "Yes. She was quite friendly. A delightful company, actually,"
Ragnar’s eyes softened as he considered her, a plan forming quietly in the back of his mind.
Perhaps this was exactly what she needed, ti among other won, people she could relate to. Soone at least who could make her smile when he couldn’t.
Even after being here for months, Lamora was still so foreign to her, and he knew it was his own fault to a degree. He had wanted to ensure her safety by keeling her close, but he ended up confining her within the estate.
At first, he planned to gradually introduce her to high society by bringing her along with him to balls and other social events. But after Lady Maelis’s ball, after the attack and the near-drowning, he had beco even more cautious, perhaps overly so. And she was right when she called him overbearing.
It only took a conversation with his prisoner to finally put things into perspective. He knew that one day, Circe would have no choice but to navigate the intricacies of Lamorian high society, to stand among nobles as a princess of Lamora, and—if his father’s statent were to be believed—eventually as his queen. She would need allies, friends who could support her, people who understood her and had her best interests at heart.
Ragnar allowed himself a brief smile at the thought of Lady Mina. If their friendship blossod, it would give Circe a gentle introduction to the world she would soon be expected to command. She would have ti to learn, to gather companions, and to grow accustod to even that ca with being a royal in Lamora .
"I’m glad to hear that." he said finally, and he ant every word. "You should spend more ti with her if you want to. Mina is almost impossible to dislike. It will do you good to have more friends here, soone you can talk to outside of all this." His gesture vaguely encompassed the estate.
Circe blinked, caught off guard. She almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This was sothing that had cause many argunts between them and here he was, offering it up without her even asking.
Ragnar went on, his gaze still on her but distant now, as though his thoughts had turned inward. "Lamora can be difficult to adjust to. I know it hasn’t been easy for you. But Mina’s a smart woman who is well-connected, and thoughtful. If she’s chosen to befriend you, it ans others will start seeing you differently too."
She tilted her head, curious. "Differently how?"
He smiled faintly, a rare and gentle thing. "As soone who belongs here."
Circe’s fingers brushed the earrings again, feeling the cool tal beneath her finger tips.
***
Ragnar had barely shut his bedroom door behind him when Casilo ca rushing toward him, his usual easy smile replaced by a tense, stony expression that made the air around him seem heavier.
"Your highness, there is a situation that demands your imdiate attention," Casilo said, the words coming out before he even fully halted.
Ragnar frowned. He was accustod to urgent requests like this in both his role as Prince and his duties in the army. Each day seed to bring so new problem demanding his attention.
But it was the foreboding expression on Casilo’s face that raised Ragnar’s hackles.
"What is it?" Ragnar demanded but as the words left his lips, his mind was already churning with thoughts of what it could be and of all that could have possibly gone in such a short amount of ti.
"Your highness, your brother is here. He wishes to have a word with you," Casilo replied.
Ragnar’s frown deepened even further.
"Which one? Have you forgotten that I have three of them?" he asked sharply.
To anyone else, having three brothers might have seed a blessing, but for Ragnar, it was a minefield. He barely tolerated two of them, and the third actively despised him and would rather see him dead than anything else.
A pang of unease hit him at the thought of it being Hairan. He was as bad as his mother, the queen, maybe even worse. Both of them were so filled with hate.
Ragnar did not want that sadist anywhere near Circe, not even close enough to see her, let alone lay a hand on her.
"It’s Prince Jayran, your highness," Casilo said.
Ragnar’s tension eased slightly, though the caution he felt still lingered.
"Where is he?" he asked, already moving, his long strides carrying him down the hall toward the main entrance to where he expected Jayran to be waiting.
Casilo followed from behind for a while, before falling into step beside him.
When Ragnar finally spotted Jayran, he was in the process of dismounting from his horse.
Jayran’s posture was relaxed, almost casual as if the weight of his sudden appearance didn’t matter at all.
But Ragnar had never believed this act that Jayran was so bent on playing. He didn’t trust anyone who went to such lengths to conceal their true personality.
Ragnar left Casilo standing a little distance away and stepped closer to Jayran, his tone firm and asured.
"Why do you always show up at my ho uninvited?" Ragnar demanded, his eyes narrowing.
Jayran’s grin did not falter. If anything, it widened. He leaned closer, letting his voice drop into a low, conspiratorial tone.
"Is that any way to welco your favorite brother? Don’t tell you aren’t pleased to see ," he said, clearly enjoying the irritation flickering across Ragnar’s face. He took a deliberate step closer, closing the space between them, his grin never leaving, and added, "After all, I seem to recall you owe a massive thank-you for the valuable information I so easily provided you. You can start by letting inside."
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