Applause followed, but unlike before, it was hesitant. More than a few nobles caught the subtle barbs woven neatly into Ragnar’s words.
Since the king offered no comnt, neither did anyone else.
Hairan’s glare burned into Ragnar as he returned to his seat, but the banquet resud regardless, music swelling once more as if nothing had happened.
Hours later, with the festivities finally drawing to a close, Ragnar led Circe by the arm out of the hall toward their waiting carriage. The cold night air seeped through layers of clothing as the palace grounds buzzed with departing nobles, their voices blending with the creak of carriage wheels and the stamping of restless hooves as servants hurried to and fro.
Ragnar held the carriage door open as Circe climbed inside, gathering her skirts with practiced ease. Just as he was about to follow her in, a voice called out behind him.
"Your Highness."
Ragnar turned to find one of the palace guards standing a short distance away. The man bowed low in greeting before straightening, his posture rigid. His expression was respectful, but he still possessed the sa cold countenance that was common among the palace guards.
"Your Highness," the guard said, "a few of the nobles wish to speak with you before you leave. Lord Tomar is one of them. He wishes to have a word with you in private."
Circe felt her spine straighten at once as she listened. A faint, unwelco prickle crept along her senses. There was a hint of dishonesty in the guard’s words. Most of what he said was true, yet there was a lie woven sowhere between the truths. It was the sa sensation she had felt earlier when Laheir Tavish delivered his speech—a tight knot of half-truths and deception so intricately bound together that separating them felt nearly impossible.
"Who is Lord Tomar?" she asked, her voice calm despite the unease curling in her chest.
Ragnar’s gaze drifted back to the carriage, to where Circe sat partially hidden from the view of the passing nobles. Even from a distance, she could read the reluctance etched across his face. His jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening as though the very thought of leaving her there, even briefly, set him on edge.
It struck him then that she had never t Falein Tomar.
"He is my forr father-in-law," Ragnar replied.
Circe frowned faintly at that. "Then I don’t see why you shouldn’t go if he wishes to speak to you," she said, before turning her attention to the guard. "Is there a reason Lord Tomar could not et His Highness by himself?"
The guard lowered his gaze to the ground beneath his boots. "Lord Tomar is currently engaged in discussions with other nobles. Close associates of his, I believe."
Circe humd softly, her eyes narrowing the slightest bit, as though she could see straight through him. "Is that so."
She searched his words again, probing for any further deception but found none, a fact that only confused her more.
Ragnar weighed the guard’s explanation carefully. Lord Tomar was not a man given to frivolous requests, nor one to seek Ragnar out without purpose. If he wanted to speak, it was unlikely to be over sothing trivial.
After a mont, Ragnar nodded, more to himself than to anyone else. "Stay here. I won’t be long," he said to her. Then, lowering his voice so only she could hear, he added, "Do you have your sword in the carriage?"
Circe nodded once.
People moved all around them, and there were far too many witnesses for any open attempt on her life. Still, the knowledge did little to fully ease Ragnar’s unease.
Knowing she was ard offered him a small asure of comfort, but it did not quiet the dread coiling in his chest.
Before leaving, Ragnar moved to the front of the carriage and addressed the footman directly.
"Look after her," he said sharply. "Make sure she remains inside the carriage."
"Yes, Your Highness," the footman replied without hesitation.
Ragnar then turned back to the guard who still stood a few steps away. "Where is he?"
"He is near the banquet hall, Your Highness. I can escort you, if you wish," the guard offered.
Ragnar lifted a hand in dismissal. "That won’t be necessary."
Without another word, he turned and headed back toward the palace interior. The palace was vast, its corridors long and winding, and it took him so ti to reach his destination. With every step, his thoughts returned to Circe, alone in the carriage, and he found himself hoping that whatever Lord Tomar wished to say would be brief.
The trek there was anything but straightforward, interrupted again and again by nobles who either bade him farewell on their way out or lingered to claim a mont of his ti in brief, unwanted conversation. He indulged only a few of them, and even that proved too much. By the ti he moved on, irritation gnawed at him.
Circe was still waiting.
When the banquet hall was finally only a short distance away, Ragnar turned a corner and nearly collided with soone.
He stumbled back a step, and froze when he realized who stood before him. Of all the people he could have encountered, it had to be her. The woman he despised above all others.
Irah tilted her head as Ragnar instinctively put more distance between them. Her gaze lingered on him as she watched the scowl darken his features. The corner of her mouth twitched upward in quiet amusent.
"Move," Ragnar said, his tone sharp.
His eyes burned with hatred and disgust, a toxic concoction that churned violently in his stomach the longer he looked at her. Every instinct urged him to shove her out of his way, but the very thought of touching her made his skin crawl.
Irah did not move. The look she gave him was openly taunting, her lips curling ever so slightly as though she savored his discomfort.
"I was actually surprised when you ca," she said lightly. "The guard must have done his job properly then, which is strange, given the fact that most of them don’t."
The aning of her words struck him a second later.
The guard had lied. Lord Tomar had not summoned Ragnar at all. This encounter had been orchestrated entirely by Irah from the very beginning.
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