Free Web NovelChapter 105: Chapter 105
"Have you seen my wife?" Ragnar asked as he approached Nieah, who was still engaged in quiet conversation with one of the maids.
The maid, startled by his sudden presence, instantly dropped into a respectful bow. Nieah followed suit before dismissing the girl with a flick of her hand, certain Ragnar would not appreciate a third presence in the discussion about to unfold.
The sound of the maid’s brisk retreating footsteps echoed softly against the stone corridor, punctuating the silence that followed.
"Not personally, no," Nieah replied smoothly, her tone measured. "But a few of the maids mentioned seeing her heading toward the gardens. None of them knew what she was doing there at such a late hour, and they felt it wasn’t their place to ask." She added the last part when Ragnar’s eyes narrowed at her initial response, as though already impatient.
He turned without a word, his broad frame shifting toward the gardens, clearly intent on seeking Circe out. But Nieah called after him before he could take more than a few steps, halting his progress.
"I don’t think it’s wise to go to her now," she warned gently. "The maids who saw her said she looked upset."
Ragnar hardly needed the reminder. He had already guessed she was upset, her storming away from him that morning had made it painfully obvious, as had her staunch efforts to avoid him the rest of the day.
She hadn’t even come to the stables for their usual riding lesson, which was so unlike her.
He replayed the memory in his head, the way her expression had twisted before she stormed off. He had examined and re-examined the conversation that had seemingly sparked her anger, dissecting every word, and still he could not pinpoint exactly what he had done wrong.
Yet everything about her behavior pointed to him being at fault. And for Ragnar, that alone was reason enough to seek her out and attempt to mend what was broken, at least as much as she would let him.
It was almost absurd to him, trying to fix something when he had no clear idea of how he had broken it in the first place.
There were moments when Ragnar found himself longing for the days when his greatest worries revolved around drafting efficient battle strategies, securing victories, and staying alive long enough to care for his household.
Things had not changed much since then except now, Circe was part of his household. A woman who despised him for the role he had played in tearing down her home.
He belatedly realized that Nieah was still speaking, her voice pulling him from the spiral of his own thoughts.
"—best you don’t see her,"
He only caught the tail end of her statement.
Normally, Ragnar valued Nieah’s input in matters most times, but tonight was not one of those nights. His face and stance must have revealed as much, because Nieah let out a soft, resigned sigh.
"Just... try not to make it worse," she murmured, knowing there was no stopping him.
Ragnar gave no reply. He had none to offer. Instead, he turned and strode down the corridor, his long steps carrying him toward the gardens where he knew, or at least hoped, Circe was waiting.
The grounds were not small, and it took him a while to comb through the torchlit paths and flowerbeds when he did not find her in the main garden as expected.
Despite the scattered lanterns and flickering flames lining his path, the night was thick with shadows, pockets of darkness the light didn’t quite reach.
At last, he found her.
Circe sat alone on a wooden bench not far from the ornate fountain. The steady rush of water filled the stillness, its sound almost loud enough to disguise his approaching footsteps.
She looked at him only briefly when he wordlessly lowered himself onto the bench beside her, before turning her face away from him, dismissing him without even a single word.
How long had she been sitting out here? He couldn’t help but wonder.
The air was growing colder with each passing night, and her attire was far too thin to shield her properly from the chill.
"Is there a reason you are out here in the cold?" he asked gently, his voice softened as though he were trying not to spook a skittish creature. "I haven’t seen you all day."
"Are you my warden?" Her reply came flat and lifeless, without the faintest trace of emotion.
Ragnar did not flinch at her tone. If anything, he looked faintly amused.
"I always assumed it was the other way around. You confirmed it yourself back in the palace."
The dim light of a distant lantern revealed the way her lips tightened at his words.
" You are the one that makes it a habit to seek people out, not me." she said.
Ragnar studied her profile. She still refused to look directly at him, only glancing his way for a heartbeat before withdrawing into silence again. The lamplight traced the edges of her face, every line, every delicate feature outlined in muted gold.
His gaze dipped and he noticed that she still wore the necklace he gifted her. She was also wearing it that morning as well. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
"I wish you would." The words slipped from his mouth before he had thought them through, but he did not regret saying them. They were true. He wished for a time when she might willingly seek him out, as he so often found himself doing with her.
"This relationship is beginning to feel very one-sided," he added, his tone quiet, almost wry, as though softening the sharper edge of his earlier admission.
"I don’t want to speak to you." Her words were cold, but still she did not rise to leave.
"You are upset," he said matter-of-factly.
Circe remained silent.
Ragnar’s next words came more tentatively, as though he were testing fragile ground.
"Earlier, while we were sparring... Did I somehow offend you?"
He felt, more than saw, the way her body stiffened beside him.
"And if you had?" she asked, still refusing to meet his gaze.
"Then I apologize."
She heard him, but her mind did not linger on the words alone. Instead, it drifted, summoning memories of her father and her brother, Torben.
They had never apologized. Not for the cruel things her father forced her to do at such a young age, the neglect from her older brother or even for the fact that she had to raise Rowen on her own.
And yet beside her now sat a man she loathed, offering her an apology he had not even been prompted to give, for a transgression he barely understood.
She did not know how to feel about it. Should she scream at him? Should she curl into herself?
An apology from him felt like pressing a bandage over a severed limb. It did not heal, it did not restore, it only concealed, momentarily smoothing over a wound that still bled beneath.
"Are you apologizing to me?" she asked at last, her lips twisting with something between scorn and disbelief.
She turned to him despite herself, meeting his gaze once more. For a fleeting, breathless second, the night seemed to pause around them. The air grew thick, and the distance between them on the bench shrank until it felt almost nonexistent.
If he leaned forward, their noses would touch.
"It’s hardly the first time," he murmured.
He was right. It wasn’t.
Circe turned away again, unwilling to give in to the pull of his closeness.
"It bothered me when you suddenly stormed off," he said, his voice low and soft, confessing.
Minutes stretched by in silence that neither of them were willing to bridge.
"I would like it if we could be more civil with one another," Ragnar added finally, the faintest note of hope lacing his words. "Maybe even... friends."
