It took two male staff mbers to lift the large trunk that the seamstress had brought along with her from the carriage into the house. Circe stood in the foyer, watching as the n maneuvered the hefty load through the doorway. When they finally set it down with a heavy thud, she stared at the trunk with a skeptical look, arms loosely crossed over her chest.
How heavy was this thing that it required two grown n just to carry it inside? And why was it so enormous?
When Ragnar said he would be paying for a few dresses, she had imagined perhaps three or four modest pieces, not an entire trunk full of them.
The large container looked more suited for a week-long royal expedition than a simple dress delivery.
"My lady," the seamstress said with a respectful bow as soon as she caught sight of Circe waiting by the stairs. "Are you ready for the dress fitting?"
Circe blinked. "Ah, yes... but before that—" she gestured at the trunk with a flick of her hand "—can you please explain to what all this is?"
The seamstress lowered her gaze modestly. "My staff and I have been working tirelessly at the shop to complete the clothes on ti," she said. "I even hired additional help to hasten the process. What you see here is only the first batch. I believe the rest will be ready within a week or so."
Circe’s brows lifted in disbelief. Her thoughts ca to a screeching halt.
"The rest?" she repeated, trying not to gape. "There’s more?"
"But of course, my lady," the seamstress replied with a proud smile. "This is only half of the order. The prince has been most generous."
Circe’s lips parted, but no words ca out at first. She stared at the trunk again, this ti with a mix of suspicion and discomfort.
"It certainly seems that way," Circe murmured. Her tone was polite, but her mind raced. She didn’t trust this sudden act of kindness from Ragnar. There was no way he had done all of this simply out of the goodness of his heart. He was not the type to do sothing like this. No, there had to be sothing in it for him. A hidden motive, and she found herself curious about it.
Whatever it was, she intended to find out.
Before she could question the seamstress further, she heard the soft footsteps approaching where they stood, followed by a familiar voice.
"Ms. Dalilah. It’s good to see you again so soon," Nieah said as she ca into view.
"Thank you. You’re too kind." A light blush tinged the seamstress’s cheeks as she offered Nieah a warm smile. "I’m here for Lady Circe’s dress fitting and to note any adjustnts that may be needed."
Nieah’s lips thinned slightly at the incorrect way Circe was being addressed. Her mouth opened to speak but she decided at the last second that it was best to keep her words to herself. Circe must not have found the mistake offensive since she was standing right there and still hadn’t said a word to correct the seamstress.
"I’ll inform the prince that you’ve arrived and prepare a room for you both to use," Nieah said instead.
Dalilah gave a quick nod. "Yes, that would be most helpful."
Without another word, Nieah turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving Circe alone with Dalilah once more.
****
A soft knock echoed at the door of Ragnar’s study. He sat behind his desk, in the process of breaking the wax seal on a letter he had received from Lady Taryn the day before.
"Enter," he said without looking up.
The hinges creaked, and the door opened slowly. Nieah stepped inside and closed it gently behind her. She offered him a graceful bow before speaking.
"How is your morning so far?"
Ragnar gave a short, tired huff. "It could have been better."
If she had asked him the sa question yesterday after having breakfast with Circe, he might have had a more positive answer. But today, a storm cloud had taken residence above his head, and it showed no sign of lifting. He refused to look too deeply into the reason for his sour mood, because deep down, he already knew the answer, and if he allowed himself to acknowledge it, he would find Circe nestled at the very center of it all.
"The seamstress has arrived for the fitting," Nieah inford him. "And they’ll need a space to work. I suggest unlocking one of the guest rooms."
"That won’t be necessary," Ragnar said without hesitation. "Let them use my chambers."
Nieah blinked. "Are you sure about that? Ms. Dalilah is practically a stranger. I don’t think it’s wise to let her into your bedchambers."
"I’m sure," he replied firmly. "Just be in there with them while they work."
He didn’t want to unlock a guestroom. Not for Circe. Doing so would only plant false hope in her heart, that perhaps one day, with enough ti or persuasion, he might give in and allow her to sleep elsewhere. But he wouldn’t. And if he eventually locked the room again, it would only deepen her bitterness.
It was better to avoid that path entirely.
After Nieah left, Ragnar remained in his study for a while before eventually making his way toward his bedroom. He had co to retrieve a ledger he needed, or so he told himself. He could have easily sent one of the maids to fetch it, but sothing compelled him to go personally.
It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Circe was inside. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself.
Ragnar stood outside the door, unsure how long he had been hesitating. This wasn’t like him. He was a man who made decisions quickly and acted on them without second-guessing. Yet here he was, unmoving, debating whether to enter.
Finally, he raised his hand to knock.
Before his fist could reach the door, it swung open. Nieah stood on the other side, clearly startled to find him there.
"Your Highness—"
"I ca to pick up sothing," Ragnar said quickly, cutting her off before she could ask any questions.
Instead of clearing up confusion, the quick response only made him sound more suspicious, like he was guilty of sothing.
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