By the latter half of their journey, Ragnar could no longer endure the distance between himself and his family. The separation gnawed at him relentlessly, stripping away his patience until nothing remained but urgency to return ho.
Unable to bear another mont away from her, he finally broke from the group. Mounting his horse, he rode ahead, leaving behind the survivors and the n escorting them, comfortable in the knowledge that his n were all capable and the job will be done properly with or without him present.
His path was set firmly toward Amris. He urged his horse forward, riding as fast as it could take him. The mory of Circe nearly collapsing in his arms within the cave burned vividly in his mind, fueling his need to reach her.
When he finally arrived at the estate, he barely slowed. He swung himself off his horse in one fluid motion, thrusting the reins into the hands of a waiting stable boy without so much as a glance before striding toward the manor with singular purpose.
The grand doors had barely closed behind him when Nieah approached, moving swiftly to intercept him and gently halt his hurried advance.
"Welco back, Your Highness," she greeted, lowering into a respectful bow.
Ragnar hardly registered her words.
"How is my wife? Where is she?" he demanded at once, his voice tight with urgency.
Nieah straightened, eting his anxious gaze with calm assurance. "Her Highness is in your chambers. She returned three days ago, utterly exhausted, but after a long rest, she has fully recovered."
The effect was imdiate. Ragnar exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging as though a crushing weight had just been lifted from them.
With that reassurance, his movents lost their earlier sharpness. Though still driven, he ascended the grand staircase with a steadier pace, each step bringing him closer to the mont he had been longing for. He pushed open the chamber doors and found Circe seated at the edge of their bed. She looked rested but there was sothing distant in the way she stared into the far corner of the room, as though her thoughts were sowhere far beyond.
The soft click of the door drew her attention, and she turned her gaze toward him.
"Circe." Her na left his lips in a breath thick with longing. He crossed the room without hesitation, drawn to her as though by an unbreakable tether.
She rose to et him, turning fully as he approached. A smile touched her lips, but it lacked the warmth he had co to know. It did not reach her eyes, eyes that now seed troubled.
Ragnar pulled her into his arms without another word, holding her tightly against him. This was what he had craved through every mont of their separation, to feel her warmth, to know she was safe in his embrace. He wanted to lose himself in her presence, to remain like this for as long as ti would allow. Because he knew it would not be long. Soon, the king would summon him to discuss the rescued people, perhaps even call him for a formal appearance before the court.
But until then, he allowed himself this fleeting mont where nothing else mattered but her. This intense need was partly because of the severe bond, his mind and body urging him closer to her so he could nd that which was broken.
After a mont, he pulled back just enough to look at her, only to lean in again, capturing her lips in a deep, fervent kiss. She responded by kissing him back just as passionately. It has been quite so ti since he indulged in his hunger for her like this and she tasted just as he rembered, her lips as addicting and intoxicating as the sweetest wine.
When they finally broke apart, Ragnar cupped her face gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks.
"Gods... I missed you so much," he murmured, his voice low and raw. "I nearly lost my mind out there. I’m sorry I couldn’t return sooner."
He pressed soft kisses to her forehead, then to the tip of her nose, lingering as though reluctant to pull away.
But when he finally looked into her eyes, the anxious look within them did not escape him. His expression shifted imdiately, concern knitting his brows together.
"What’s wrong?" he asked quietly. "Did sothing happen while I was gone?" A flicker of worry crossed his face. "Is it Rowen? How is he?"
"He is fine." Circe placed a comforting hand on his forearm, her touch gentle, ant to reassure him. But her gaze lowered almost imdiately, her composure faltering as she hurriedly added, "It’s just that, since we ca back, I have been at a loss on what to do about the situation with my mother. He doesn’t know her. I don’t even know how to tell him that the mother he thought died days after he was born has been alive all this ti. How do I explain everything that happened to him? How do I tell him that the mother he will et is completely different from everything he has been told in the past? How do I tell him that I am not what he thinks I am?"
Circe had been turning those very thoughts over and over in her mind, each question circling endlessly, tightening like a noose around her neck. Now, she felt as though she might crack beneath the sheer weight of them. Rowen had been her responsibility from the mont it beca painfully clear that their father wanted nothing to do with him. For eight long years, she had cared for him as best as she could, protected him and yet, she had never felt more lost than she did now.
She had hoped to find her mother since she first discovered that she was still alive. But now that she had accomplished the very thing she had yearned for, she found herself unmoored, caught in a storm of confusion and doubt. All she had ever wanted was to protect and care for Rowen, to give him stability in a world that had denied him so much and now it seed as though she did not even know how to do that properly anymore.
She was overwheld. Her hand trembled where it still rested on Ragnar’s forearm, the faint quiver revealing the turmoil she could no longer keep contained. She drew in a deep, steadying breath, hoping to soothe her frayed nerves, but it did nothing to quell her tumultuous emotions.
"I don’t want him to resent for keeping this from him, but he is still just a child, Ragnar. How do I make him understand? I—I don’t know what to do. I—"
Her words faltered, cut short by the sudden intensity in Ragnar’s gaze. He lifted his hand, brushing his thumb gently over her cheek, and when he pulled back, the pad of his finger ca away damp.
Startled, Circe reached up, her fingers brushing her skin, only to find it wet with tears. She had not even realized she had been crying, not until that mont. The realization settled over her slowly, almost distantly, as if the tears belonged to soone else. The worry, the fear, the crushing sense that everything was slipping through her grasp—it all made it difficult to notice anything else.
It had been so long since she had shed a single tear and yet now, here she stood before him, unraveling in a way she did not fully understand, crying for the first ti in what felt like a lifeti. So when Ragnar pulled her gently into his embrace, she did not resist.
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