Free Web NovelChapter 106: Chapter 106
"Friends that occasionally dislike each other." freёwebnovel.com
The suggestion was laughable to her, almost insulting in its absurdity.
"Except I dislike you at all times, not just occasionally." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. They would have been entirely true just a month ago, but now... now she wasn’t so sure anymore.
He had been kind to her. Gentle. Honest. Patient. He was the very opposite of the enemy she had sworn to despise.
A man she had vowed never to trust should not speak to her in such a tender voice, nor treat her comfort as something more than an afterthought.
His behavior unsettled her in ways she did not want to examine. It was as if he had taken a battering ram to the carefully built fortress of her hatred, smashing her defenses without even realizing it.
She was left standing in the ruins—annoyed, confused, and more conflicted than she had ever been.
Those were the three main emotions that caused her to lash out like she did earlier that day.
If she were to guess, the shift began after he saved her from drowning in the pond.
The memory was still sharp in her mind: the strength of his arms hauling her to the surface, the steadiness of his hand on her trembling back, the quiet reassurance in his voice.
He had cared for her then in a way no one but her mother ever had.
She wanted so desperately to hate him. A stubborn, burning part of her still did.
"Not true. You like me well enough during riding lessons," he said lightly, as though stating a fact he had carefully researched and confirmed.
Circe fought the powerful urge to roll her eyes. She wasn’t even sure why she continued to indulge him in this ridiculous line of conversation.
"Then you are gravely mistaken. I only like the horses and they just happen to belong to you."
She could not simply bury the long history of enmity between their peoples. A friendship with him was impossible. And yet, the rational side of her understood why he would make such a request.
They were married. To him, that meant a lifetime bound together, for better or worse. The very thought of sharing a lifetime with someone who despised him must have been unbearable to him, so he was trying awkwardly and stubbornly to salvage what he could by asking for a truce.
Friendship.
But to Circe, their marriage had never felt real or permanent. It always had an expiration date in the back of her mind and it hinged desperately on when she was finally able to flee Lamora.
Her heart clung on to the silent vow she made to herself on the night her home was attacked. She would protect Rowen at all costs and the only form of safety she could trust was one that was found outside the Lamorian borders.
Ragnar merely smiled at her sharp reply, undeterred.
"There are many benefits that come with keeping me as a friend," he said, his voice tinged with amusement.
Circe let out a derisive scoff.
"And what exactly are those benefits?"
she asked dryly. For the second time that night she questioned why she hadn’t ended this absurd exchange already.
"Am I to list out my qualities like a cow being sold at auction?" he countered.
Her shoulders lifted in a light shrug. "How else am I to learn of these benefits you speak of?"
In truth, she knew well enough what those benefits were. Friendship with a man of his rank, a prince and a revered soldier, was no small thing. There were people who would have traded away everything they had just to be in her current position.
But Ragnar was not the type of man she could ever be friends with. Even if she agreed, she wouldn’t know the first thing about being his friend.
She had never had a true friend in her life, not one that wasn’t her little brother. Every person who had ever tried had done so only to curry favor with her family.
A cold breeze swept across the courtyard, ruffling strands of her hair and making her shiver.
"We should head inside now," he said softly, his keen eyes immediately noticing her discomfort.
She turned toward him and saw that he wore far more layers than she did.
For once, she did not protest. She disliked him but she disliked the thought of catching a cold even more.
She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around herself as she rose and began walking toward the manor. Ragnar followed at a measured pace, slightly behind her.
They settled into a silence that was thick with many unspoken words and unchecked emotions.
It was Ragnar who finally broke it as they crossed into the grand foyer, the warmth of the house seeping into her stiff fingers.
"I received a letter from Lady Taryn yesterday," he said casually. "She intends to spend the winter in Amris with her children."
Circe paused mid-step, brows furrowing. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because they may choose to visit while they’re here. I wouldn’t want you to be caught unaware if they simply arrived one day." He spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
But it wasn’t obvious to her. Not at all.
"Why would that matter?" she asked coolly, refusing to meet his gaze. "This is your estate."
"Yes, but you live here as well and that is reason enough. It’s only prudent to inform you, since I doubt they will be coming solely to see me."
He was closer now. She realized with irritation that he had kept moving even after she had paused, drifting into her space without her noticing.
Circe frowned. A man of his towering size should not be able to move so silently. It was unnatural.
She ought to fashion a bell around his neck for how many times he managed to sneak up on her.
"How do you do that?" she demanded, gesturing down at his boots, then back at his face, all while choosing to ignore their proximity to one another. "Walk without making a sound?"
She looked like she was about to point her finger at him and accuse him of sorcery.
"Ah, that is my best kept secret," Ragnar replied smoothly, his lips twitching with the beginnings of a smile.
Circe’s eyes narrowed in return. Now that she knew he was doing it intentionally, she wanted to know how he was doing it even more so she could stop him from catching her off guard again.
"But you would tell a friend, wouldn’t you?" she asked without realizing the trap she had just stepped into.
Ragnar leaned closer, his voice dropping low. "So you agree. We are friends."
Her eyes became slits. She wanted to shove him, and her palms itched with the need to do just that when it was clear that her glares did nothing to deter him.
So she did. She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed until there was enough distance between them for her to breathe without inhaling the intoxicating scent of sandalwood and leather that clung to him.
He moved back easily, and she knew it was only because he allowed it.
"There. Stay there." Her voice was sharp as she jabbed a finger toward the spot where he now stood.
He smirked, deviously.
Seconds later, her palms still tingled from the contact with the hard planes of his chest. She quickly folded her arms over her chest, glaring to cover the unwelcome heat rising inside her. ƒгeewebnovёl.com
"Answer my question."
"You have the skills of a seasoned interrogator." he said.
Her expression faltered. His words had struck too close to a memory she had tried long ago to bury. For a heartbeat, her mask cracked, but she quickly smoothed it over. He could not be allowed to see how much his last words affected her.
"It’s one of the first tricks I learned as a child," he continued, giving her the distraction she needed. "I would use my shadows to cushion my footfalls when I snuck up on chickens at the farm where I was raised."
That was before the king learned of his existence and had Ragnar brought to the palace, curious about the half-demon spawn he created.
Ragnar used that trick so often that it became second nature and he found himself sometimes doing it without thought.
Circe’s mouth fell open slightly. Of all the responses she might have expected, this was not one of them.
"You lived on a farm?" she asked incredulously.
"For the first seven years of my life, yes. My mother left me in the care of farmers who had offered her refuge during her pregnancy." His voice softened with a rare fondness.
Ragnar always looked back fondly on the time he spent with the family that took him in. They welcomed him as one of their own and never treated him differently because of his abilities, so unlike his experience in the palace.
Circe stared at him, still trying to reconcile the image of this formidable man with the idea of a farm boy chasing chickens.
Just like her, Ragnar also had a wooden chest full of secrets. The only difference between them was he didn’t seem defensive about them at all.
He seemed so unashamed of his past. It was strange to her. Most aristocrats she knew would rather die than admit to anything that was not the absolute pinnacle of wealth or refinement. But Ragnar spoke freely and fondly of it.
And his unabashed honesty was, to her frustration, strangely endearing.
