Free Web NovelChapter 104: Chapter 104
Blades clashed against one another in a dangerous symphony. Both men rounded one another, weapons held at the ready.
Ragnar’s sword cut through the air with a sharp arc, movements heavy and swift, but Casilo parried the attack and sent one of his own, which Ragnar easily evaded.
Their movements were almost too quick to keep track of, focus locked solely on each other, anticipating the nature of their next strike. So fast that Circe tried not to blink, scared of missing what came next.
Their attacks were better suited for the battlefield, not for a mere friendly sparring, or whatever they insisted on calling it.
She had known Casilo was skilled when she watched him train with Kostia almost each morning, but it was nothing compared to what she was witnessing now as he went up against Ragnar.
She had never seen Ragnar spar with anyone since they returned from the capital, and she had also never seen Casilo struggling while sparring, but here she was, both things happening right in front of her, and it was quite a sight.
She had seen trained soldiers in action back home, and none of them ever moved like that.
The tension ratcheted higher with every second that passed, the sound of clashing swords echoing around them. Ragnar was skillfully backing Casilo into a corner with a series of well-timed blows, and Casilo responded by swinging wildly, coarse and jarred attacks that were the opposite of Ragnar’s clean strikes.
He must have seen the direction the match was heading in and was desperately trying to salvage his chances of winning. But it hardly mattered a minute later when he tripped and fell on his back, his sword skidding away from his reach.
"Each day I’m thankful I will never have to meet you on the other side of a battlefield." Casilo chuckled as he gripped Ragnar’s proffered hand and allowed him to help him back onto his feet.
Even with Ragnar’s entire attention honed on the match, he could still sense the weight of Circe’s eyes on them all the way from the stone bench she was perched on.
Her brother wasn’t with her this time, and with the way she was so focused, she looked like she was about to pull out a quill and parchment to note and criticize his movements, and the way he gripped his sword.
He shouldn’t have been surprised that the ferocious creation he shared a room with each night would find a vicious display like that entertaining.
But when he turned, he noticed that her focus had shifted and was now on Casilo, who was in the process of peeling off his sweat-soaked tunic over his head, exposing inches of toned flesh.
A thick film distorted Ragnar’s vision and right then he was more than tempted to strike his friend in the head with the pommel of his sword for careless disrobing the way he would back in the barracks, here in the presence of his wife.
Circe, on the other hand, wasn’t doing anything to make the situation any better.
Ragnar saw not even a hint of lust or desire in her gaze, her expression blank like she was staring at something as unremarkable as a bland wall. Which would have assuaged the ugly emotions that were stirring inside him if not for the fact that she wasn’t looking away.
She was unlike the noble ladies Ragnar was used to, who would avert their gazes at the flash of exposed male skin.
She sought to push him to insanity with her antics, one day at a time.
The ugliness rushed through him fast, spreading in his chest and ribs like dark sticky tar. Jealousy wasn’t an emotion he often caught himself feeling, yet around her she managed to evoke it along with other forbidden emotions without even lifting a finger.
He pushed past Casilo, who wisely didn’t linger after using his tunic to wipe sweat off his skin.
Ragnar went to where Casilo’s sword lay discarded and picked it up. Without giving himself enough time to rethink his decision, he offered it to her, hilt first.
"I’ve always wanted to see Hakon’s killer in action." Ragnar said. It was just the two of them now.
Circe blinked down at Casilo’s sword before slowly dragging her gaze up to his face, looking as relaxed and uninterested as he had ever seen her.
"Why? Haven’t the rumors painted a clear enough picture?" she asked, still not moving to take the sword.
"Indulge me this once." He stood in front of her and his frame cast a shadow over her, shielding her face from the sun.
"I prefer not to." She huffed but took the sword from him, running her gaze along its still length.
She could stab him with it right here, she could do it right now.
Ragnar was somehow able to read the very thought as it fleeted through her mind. The glint in her eyes as she tested the weight of the sword must have given her away. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com
Instead of snatching the weapon back, he merely smiled, a sharp grin that resembled a wild animal bearing its teeth. It would have evoked a semblance of fear in many, she was sure, but not in her. And on anyone else, the expression would have been intimidating, but not on him.
Stabbing him would surely come with its own consequences, like the executioner’s block she managed to evade till now, and then Rowen would be left alone. Moreover, if she stabbed him, who would guide her through horse riding while he recovered?
"You can try." He said calmly. "But like so many others, you won’t succeed."
His words were like sparks tossed on dry kindling.
Circe took it as a challenge. She stood up quickly and swung, but he managed to dodge just in time, jumping away from her line of attack with a laugh.
She didn’t seem to like that very much. He had to block her next strike with his sword when she swung at him again, this time with enough force to make a person stumble.
He managed to push her back, but she was rushing back at him with her sword raised the very next second.
Every swing, every parry, made one thing clear. She was as vicious as the flames of Marzen, and Ragnar found himself in awe of her, this harpy of a woman.
He let out a bark of startled laughter when her blade almost grazed his side.
"Oh, you really do want to stab me." He said, noting the rapid rise and fall of her chest with every breath. "I do not think I know a woman that wields a blade like you do. Is it very common for women to train like soldiers in Westeria?"
Her instinct was to ignore the question like she always did whenever he asked her anything about her kingdom. But the answer poured out of her before she could stop the truth from slipping through.
"No. I am the exception to the rule, not the norm. My father decided that I would be more useful to him this way." The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but it was the truth.
This was the most she had ever revealed about this side of her life, and she was still actively trying to maim him.
Her father only started paying attention to her after he learned of her strange ability to discern lies, and he made sure she remained quiet about everything as he did everything in his power to exploit it. It was an ability she didn’t fully understand the origin of to this day.
It hadn’t mattered to him that she was just a child at the time. And just like that, she had accidentally torn open old wounds.
When she focused back on Ragnar, she found that his expression hadn’t changed, open and honest, so different from the disapproving looks she often received from some of her father’s council members.
Circe gritted her teeth as the fight went on.
"I swear I will run you through with this sword if you don’t stop going easy on me." She sneered.
Ragnar effortlessly dodged her next two strikes. "Why do you think I’m going easy on you?" freewёbnoνel.com
"I have eyes and they work just fine. I’m not a dolt." She glared, visibly annoyed. "Fight me the way you would an opponent on the battlefield."
So that when she stabbed him, she might feel vindicated, and then she wouldn’t have to admit that a man she had vowed to hate had treated her better than many others in her life.
Her last words roused the memory of the day of the invasion, the way soldiers protecting her home had fallen one after the other, and the unforgettable screams of the castle staff as they met their ghastly ends at the hands of Ragnar’s troops.
That was what she should be focusing on, not his honest eyes and his kindness towards her. She needed to remember that, now more than ever.
Whenever she found herself getting comfortable in his presence, she had to remind herself of all she had lost.
It now felt far more than just a simple challenge or a sparring match. There were unforgotten hurt lingering beneath the surface along with bleeding wounds and she wanted to take it out of him. To make him bleed.
"You wouldn’t like me on the battlefield." He said seriously, without a hint of humor. He didn’t even like himself on the battlefield if he was being completely honest.
"That will hardly change anything, given how much I already dislike you now." Where did this anger come from? Hot and violent.
Why did he try so hard to be the opposite of the villain he was in her mind?
By fighting her seriously, as he would on a battlefield, her violent action would feel like a justifiable response to his brutality, thereby vindicating her hatred and her view of him.
But he somehow knew not to take the bait.
With an angry huff, she let the sword clatter to the ground and stormed off.
