Free Web NovelChapter 117: Chapter 117
The sound of whinnying horses echoed through the manor, carrying from the front gates all the way into nearly every room of the estate. The rhythmic clatter of hooves and the faint grind of carriage wheels over gravel broke through the hush, drawing Circe’s attention instantly.
Curiosity stirred within her, coaxing her upright. But the moment she sat up in bed, a sharp wave of dizziness crashed over her, forcing her to grip at the sheets. The room swayed briefly before her eyes, and she pressed a hand to her temple, waiting for the spell to pass.
When it did, she swung her legs off the bed and moved slowly, her bare feet brushing against the soft rug. Her fingers shot out to catch the bedpost as another bout of light-headedness came over her.
Along with her fever, these dizzy spells had become more frequent. They were unpredictable and exhausting, arriving whenever she least expected them.
Steadying herself with a deep breath, Circe crossed the room toward the tall windows that overlooked the courtyard. The late afternoon sun spilled golden light through the glass, catching the dust motes that drifted lazily in the air. She pressed her forehead lightly to the cool glass and peered down below.
There, a dark carriage rolled into view before coming to a graceful halt in the courtyard. The fading sunlight gleamed along its slick, polished surface. It was a carriage Circe would have recognized even in her sleep.
A footman climbed down from the driver’s perch, his boots crunching against the gravel as he moved to open the carriage door, and from within emerged a tall, broad-shouldered man cloaked in black.
Though the hood of his cloak covered most of his face, Circe didn’t need to see it to know who he was. After all, it was hard not to recognize the man she shared a room with for months.
He was back, though later than he had promised. Four days had turned into five.
Nieah had begun fretting about the delay, whispering speculations of all the possible things that could have kept him longer in the capital.
Another day more, and even Circe might have started fearing the worst herself.
Circe’s eyes followed as Ragnar crossed the courtyard, the footman trailing behind with his luggage. Soon, both disappeared out of view.
A quiet moment passed before Circe heard footsteps outside her bedroom door. The faint noise was followed by the soft click of the handle turning. Her pulse quickened slightly.
She touched the ends of her hair self-consciously, suddenly aware of how tangled it felt beneath her fingers. She hadn’t brushed it properly in days, and though she hadn’t glanced at herself in the mirror, she could imagine that it resembled a bird’s nest. A poorly constructed one at that.
She scrunched her nose, inwardly scolding herself. Why did it matter? She hadn’t cared what Ragnar thought of her appearance the first time they met, when she was covered in Hakon’s blood or when she was clothed in nothing more than the tattered scraps Irah had given her. Why should she care now?
But the door opened and it wasn’t Ragnar.
Nieah stepped inside instead, balancing a medium-sized tray in one hand and a small pitcher in the other. The scent of freshly baked bread and herbs drifted into the room as she set the tray down on the round table at the other side of the room.
When she turned, her expression was already set in that familiar mix of exasperation and worry.
"Your Highness," Nieah began, her brows knitting together, "your fever may have gone down, but your body is still weak. You shouldn’t be out of bed."
Her voice never rose above a calm, measured tone. Nieah didn’t shout, she didn’t need to. Her quiet reprimands carried their own weight, wrapped in a gentleness that made them hard to argue with. She was only a few years older than Circe, yet she fussed over her like a mother hen tending a stubborn chick.
Circe barely managed a guilty look before Nieah sighed softly and shook her head, muttering something under her breath about "hard-headed royals."
It was then that Ragnar appeared at the doorway.
He filled the space without effort, tall, steady, and composed despite the faint marks marring his face. He stepped inside without a word, and Nieah immediately fell silent, bowing her head slightly as he passed.
Ragnar walked straight to Circe, his hood still drawn low. Nieah’s scolding trailed off into nothing as she discreetly backed away, giving them space.
"You aren’t feeling well?" he asked, his tone low and softer than she remembered, laced with concern. With one hand, he tugged down his hood, revealing his face fully. Before Circe could respond, he reached out and brushed the back of his palm against her forehead to check her temperature.
The casual tenderness of the gesture stunned her. For a moment, Circe could only stare, her breath catching slightly as her mind scrambled for what to do. She stood perfectly still, wide-eyed, watching as he studied her expression.
It was then that she noticed the bruises.
"Ragnar..." she murmured, her eyes narrowing as she took in the faint cuts along his cheek and jaw. The purple bruise near his temple stood out even in the dimming light. "What happened to you?"
Most of the bruises were already beginning to fade thanks to the fast healing all vampires were blessed with.
Nieah, sensing their conversation turning personal, quietly excused herself.
"I’ll take my leave," she said with a bow, and slipped out the door.
Once the latch clicked shut behind her, silence filled the room again.
Ragnar looked unbothered, his gaze steady as ever.
"I ran into a wall," he said simply. His voice was flat, deadpan, and Circe could tell he was jesting.
She raised a brow. "It must have been quite the wall to leave this much damage." Her eyes flicked over his face again, lingering on the most prominent bruise.
Before she realized it, her hand had lifted, drawing closer to his face without thought. She stopped halfway, catching herself just in time.
Flustered, she pulled back, her pulse fluttering faster than she cared to admit.
What was she doing? She didn’t touch people. She didn’t even like it when others tried to touch her either. And yet here she was, seconds away from reaching for him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
But Ragnar noticed. Of course he noticed.
He caught her hand before she could withdraw it completely. His fingers, rough, calloused, and warm, wrapped around hers as he guided her hand toward his cheek.
Circe froze as her palm met his skin. His jaw flexed faintly beneath her touch, and for a moment neither of them spoke.
He felt warm beneath her touch, solid and real. freeweɓnovel.cøm
"I should have asked first," she said quietly, her voice smaller than she intended. It was he who had taken her hand and placed it there, yet it still felt like she was doing something she shouldn’t.
Especially when she had been ready to swat him away moments ago for touching her.
Ragnar’s gaze softened as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You are my wife," he said. "You shouldn’t have to ask."
The corners of his mouth curved faintly, a flicker of something tender crossing his face before he added, "I missed you." freēwēbnovel.com
And just like that, the space between them vanished, filled with something quieter, heavier, and far more dangerous.
