Ragnar had only shown her the lake once, and yet now, as she wove her way through the tall canopies of trees and thick curtains of shrubbery toward that ethereal place he had brought her to weeks ago, she relied on mory alone.
The trek seed longer than she rembered. Every bend in the narrow path felt unfamiliar, every pocket of greenery looked like one she had already passed. Still, she pressed forward, taking ntal note of each turn she made, just in case she needed to retrace her steps and find her way back.
After what felt like an eternity of almost aimless wandering, a string of doubt wound itself around her thoughts. Perhaps she had taken a wrong turn. Perhaps she had missed so subtle landmark, so crooked stone or fallen logs she was ant to recognize from before. If that was the case, she would have to turn around before she lost herself deeper in a part of the wood she did not know.
But just as the first threads of panic began to take root, a faint noise drifted toward her. The sound of splashing water carried gently by the breeze. It ca from straight ahead.
She walked instinctively in that direction. The closer she moved, the louder the sound beca, until at last she pushed past a dense cluster of trees.
The dense foliage opened to reveal a rippling azure pool, frad by tall evergreens standing like sentinels in the waning afternoon light. Sunlight broke through the canopy in golden shafts, casting a warm glow across the water, which mirrored the pale sky and the dark silhouettes of the pines.
Moss and smooth stones lined the riverbank, and the lake moved with a steady, serene calm, so at odds with the turmoil churning inside her.
There, at the center of the pool, a lone figure glided beneath the surface. Ragnar.
When he rose for air, the water broke around him in a loud splash. Strands of his wet hair clung to his face and neck in heavy dark tendrils, droplets rolling slowly down the hard lines of his chest and shoulders. His large body cut through the water with an effortless grace, a kind of fluid elegance she had never seen on anyone before.
He wore nothing but his breeches, which now clung obscenely tight to his thighs.
Circe’s mouth went dry. She didn’t breathe. She pressed one palm against the rough bark of a nearby tree to steady herself, though she made no attempt to hide that she was staring at him.
She wasn’t sure how many tis she had seen him undressed now—more than she ever expected to—and yet she still could not grow accustod to it. The stark, beautiful lines of his body looked like they were carved from marble and it always seed to steal the air from her lungs.
She feared it would never be enough. No matter how many tis she saw him like this, no matter how many tis her hands had traced the solid heat of his skin, it would never be enough to quiet the hunger he had awakened in her.
He stopped mid-stroke when he noticed her. Despite how quietly she had approached, his eyes found her instantly. His expression brightened in a way that stripped years off his face, a wide and unapologetically pleased smile breaking across it. Then he lifted a hand from the water and beckoned her forward.
Circe’s eyes widened at the absurdity of the gesture. She shook her head firmly in refusal.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t swim. She could. But the thought of approaching the water stirred sothing cold and tight in her chest. The last ti she had been near a body of water, she had been attacked. Forced under and nearly drowned.
Her throat squeezed painfully around the mory.
She shouldn’t have co here. She should have turned back the mont she felt lost. She should leave now, return to the manor, and wait for him there.
But Ragnar was here. And he made everything feel different.
But there was sothing about Ragnar being there with her, a kind of security she felt only in his presence that made hard situations feel less daunting sohow. There was sothing about him that blunted the edges of her fear.
It made her feel as though she could step straight into the lake’s depths and trust that nothing would happen to her... because he would never let harm reach her again.
"Co now," Ragnar called, voice warm and coaxing. "The water is perfect. Join ."
He still hadn’t resud swimming. He simply stood there, partially subrged, watching her with that patient, encouraging look of his, as though he had all the ti in the world to wait for her.
And gods help her, it was working.
Her first steps toward him were small and uncertain, the hesitant movents of a creature ready to flee at the slightest provocation. Her gaze stayed locked on his, on the soft expression in his eyes as he watched her approach, on the gentle curve of his smile that sohow unraveled her resolve thread by thread.
Then, with a low chuckle, Ragnar dipped beneath the surface again and vanished in a sweep of bubbles.
The late-morning sun shimred across the lake, scattering flecks of gold and silver with every ripple. A faint chill lingered stubbornly in the air, carrying with it the scents of sun-ward grass, and wet earth.
Circe stood at the water’s edge, arms folded loosely across her chest, staring at the spot where Ragnar had disappeared. A splash broke the stillness, and a heartbeat later he resurfaced, shaking his head like an overgrown wolf, sending droplets arcing through the air.
His hair plastered itself against his cheeks, and he flashed her a dazzling smile, one that imdiately made her suspicious.
"Co in," he urged again, swimming closer to the bank.
Circe glanced down at the daydress she wore. By design, it was simpler and lighter than the gown she had worn to Lady Maelis’s ball but that did not an she was about to leap into the water while wearing it. Not with him watching her so intently.
She took a single step back. "No."
He noticed her hesitation imdiately
"Take off your dress and leave it over there so you can put it back on afterward," he said, pointing toward a soft patch of grass a few paces away.
She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. "Is this a ploy to get out of my clothes?"
"Yes." A slow, wicked glint lit up his eyes, smug, and far too pleased with himself.
He wasn’t even attempting to deny it. It was so absurd she had to fight the urge to roll her eyes and smile at the sa ti.
The admission was ridiculous, and also entirely like him. But it had the intended effect. The tension that had wound tight in her shoulders loosened, and an unwilling smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Circe," he murmured.
His voice dropped to that low, velvety timbre that always made her stomach swoop, the sa tone he used when whispering her na against her skin, offering her the most earth-shattering pleasure. Heat crept up her neck despite her best efforts to keep her expression stern.
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