Why? Was this just another one of her gas? Another attempt to provoke him, to unsettle him for her own amusent?
Heaven knew she had done worse in the past.
She knew precisely how much her presence affected him. Whenever she sensed that he was reasonably alone, she would appear, cornering him for no other reason than to remind him of what she had done to him. To dredge up mories he had buried deep, to tornt him with the echoes of a past he could never truly escape.
Ragnar was not her only victim.
But he was her favorite. The one she took the greatest pleasure in harassing.
Ti and again, she had gotten away with it, shielded by her position as the queen’s chief lady-in-waiting, a title that, for the longest ti, had made her untouchable in the eyes of others.
Rage surged through him, rising too fast, too violently. It bubbled and seethed beneath his skin in ways he could no longer control. His vision blurred at the edges, his pulse roaring in his ears.
Still, instead of lashing out despite how desperately he wanted to, Ragnar turned away. He was intent on leaving before his restraint shattered completely.
"You and the Westerian girl looked very close tonight."
The words stopped him cold.
Ragnar froze mid-step, his shoulders stiffening as Irah’s voice coiled around him.
"Does she know about us?" she continued smoothly. "Have you told her?" She watched him closely, drinking in the way his jaw clenched and his hands curled slowly into fists at his sides.
"So you haven’t," she went on, satisfaction lacing every syllable. "What do you think she’ll make of that? Of you keeping such a secret from her?" A soft, mocking hum escaped her. "I always thought she seed so aggressive. I’m not sure she’d be very understanding if she knew."
Ragnar turned back to her then, his restraint snapping.
"There was never an us, Irah," he snarled. "I was a child and you took advantage of . I trusted you, and you spat on that trust."
The rage clouding his vision was suffocating, his control hanging by a thread. But her next words severed it completely.
"Is that what you tell yourself now?" she laughed, the sound sharp and grating. Confident in the fact that he had never been able to do anything against her. "It’s been over twenty years, Ragnar, and I still rember you being very willing."
Sothing inside him broke.
His shadow slipped free at once, spilling across the stone floor like ink. The darkness surged forward with a mind of its own, lashing out before Ragnar even realized he had released it.
The shadows seized Irah by the throat and slamd her hard against the nearest wall. The impact echoed sharply. It repeated the action once. Twice.
Then a third ti.
It happened so fast. Irah wheezed as the inky tendrils coiled tightly around her neck like a noose, cutting off her airflow. The shadows hissed and writhed, snarling as they pinned her in place, fueled by the fury Ragnar had kept caged for far too long.
They did the one thing he had never allowed himself to do.
"Release ," Irah rasped, her voice broken as the pressure around her throat tightened.
Ragnar stepped closer, his expression dark, his voice low and lethal.
"Is this how it felt when you used your power against those you deed beneath you?" His eyes burned into hers. "You felt invincible at the ti, didn’t you?"
A sharp gasp cut through the air.
Ragnar stiffened. He had been too distracted to sense anyone approaching.
He whipped his head toward the sound and found Circe standing a short distance away. Circe, whom he had explicitly told to remain in the carriage.
He didn’t know how long she had been standing there, but she was close enough to have heard everything. The words. The accusations. The truth he had never ant for her to learn like this.
Though the area was relatively secluded, anyone could still walk through at any mont.
Ragnar felt all emotion drain from his face, leaving behind nothing but a hollow, empty husk.
This was not how he had wanted her to find out. He might not have had much control over what happened to him years ago, but he should have had control over how and to whom he told about it.
With a sharp breath, he called his shadows back. They obeyed instantly.
Irah collapsed to the ground in a heap, coughing violently as she clawed for air, her lungs burning from the prolonged deprivation. She retched and gasped, her once-proud posture reduced to sothing pitiful and broken.
Ragnar did not spare her a glance.
His focus was entirely on Circe.
He turned toward her fully, taking in her wide, stunned eyes and the way her lips trembled slightly, parted in shock.
She had heard everything, he knew this with every fiber of his being.
Circe had not expected to walk into such a scene.
It was true that Ragnar had asked her to stay in the carriage but ti had dragged on, and the once-bustling stream of departing guests had dwindled to a sparse trickle. He still hadn’t returned as he promised, and her unease had grown with every passing mont.
Her mind had raced, spiraling into darker possibilities.
Had Ragnar’s pointed words to Hairan earlier sohow offended the queen?
Had she ordered him detained in retaliation? Was that why he had been gone for so long?
Circe knew, at least rationally, that she was most likely worrying for no reason. She was well aware of her tendency to let her thoughts spiral. Yet that knowledge did nothing to still the restless unease twisting in her chest. Her fingers fidgeted as she sat alone in the carriage, the oppressive silence pressing in on her from all sides.
That small hint of dishonesty she had sensed from the guard earlier refused to leave her mind. It lingered, festering, feeding her growing distrust and anxiety until sitting still beca unbearable.
It was late, close to midnight, if she were to guess. Through the carriage window, she could see the palace grounds illuminated by rows of flickering torches, their flas casting long, distorted shadows across the pathways.
Her resolve hardened. Before she could second-guess herself again, Circe reached for her sword where she had stashed it beneath the seat, feeling the familiar weight of it in her hand. She pushed open the carriage door and stepped down onto the stone path.
Then she hesitated.
What if she was right, what if Ragnar truly was in trouble? And if so... then what? All she had was her sword and stubbornness. Neither would be enough to win against the queen in any aningful way. Still, the thought of remaining seated in the carriage, ignorant and helpless, felt far worse.
"His Highness said you were to remain put and wait for his return." The footman said the mont Circe’s feet touched the ground. She turned sharply toward him and found that he had moved to block her path, his posture rigid, his expression carefully neutral.
She had no intention of responding until he stepped closer.
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