Free Web NovelChapter 136: Chapter 136
Nieah groaned quietly from her side of the carriage.
"Children in noble clothing," she muttered under her breath, returning her gaze to the passing scenery as though the trees were far less exhausting company.
When they finally reached their destination, the carriage slowed to a stop along a neat cobblestone street.
The air was alive with the sound of chatter and the clatter of wagon wheels. Shops lined both sides of the street, their open fronts displaying bolts of fabric and hanging trinkets.
As soon as the door swung open, Nieah stepped out first, clutching her coin purse.
"I’ll just be a moment," she said quickly, not waiting for a reply before hurrying toward a linen shop across the street, skirts brushing against her ankles as she disappeared into the flow of people.
Ragnar descended next, his boots striking the cobblestone with a muted thud. He turned back toward the carriage and extended his hand to Circe.
For the briefest moment, she hesitated, not because she didn’t trust him, but because she knew that taking his hand like this in public would feel so much different now than during their riding lessons.
Still, she placed her fingers in his. His palm was warm and his hold steady, the kind of warmth that traveled up her arm and lingered beneath the skin long after contact ended.
When she stepped down, he didn’t release her immediately. Their eyes met, and a silent pause seemed to stretch before he finally let go.
"Shall we?" he asked, his tone even, offering the crook of his arm.
Circe blinked, glancing between his arm and his face. "Do you always escort people into town like this?"
"Only the ones who might try to slip away from me," he said dryly, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
Her lips pursed, but she didn’t refute his statement.
After a heartbeat of hesitation, she slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. The gesture felt deceptively simple, yet far more intimate than it should have.
Their strides soon fell into rhythm. The noise of the market surrounded them—vendors calling, coins clinking, the scent of baked bread and roasted nuts mingling with perfume and dust.
Ragnar’s presence beside her was quiet but palpable, grounding her in the midst of it all.
As they walked, his thumb brushed lightly against the side of her wrist. Once, twice. Subtle and rhythmic.
It almost felt accidental.
But when it happened again, she began to notice the pattern. Each time their steps aligned, that faint touch repeated, soft and deliberate, as natural as breathing.
She told herself to ignore it. To focus on the stalls, the bright fabrics fluttering in the breeze, the gleam of copper pots in the sunlight. But her body betrayed her, aware of every fleeting brush of his skin, every inch of space — or lack thereof — between them.
Their surroundings came alive in color and sound the further they walked. Children darted between stalls, their laughter mixing with the bartering voices of merchants. Somewhere nearby, a musician plucked a tune on a stringed instrument, the melody threading through the hum of conversation. freēwebnovel.com
Ragnar stayed close beside her, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with quiet vigilance.
Most people gave them a wide berth, but when a group of townsfolk passed too near, Ragnar’s hand came to rest protectively on the small of her back.
Circe froze. Her first impulse was to move away, to defensively remind him that she didn’t need anyone to guard her through the streets, not him, at least.
But something in the weight of his touch made her pause. His hand wasn’t possessive; it was anchoring, an unspoken assurance that she never thought she wanted or needed.
Her mind told her to step away from him immediately. freeweɓnovel.cѳm
She didn’t.
And despite herself, she realized she didn’t want to.
She could feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric of her dress, and she could still feel it even after he withdrew.
Ragnar didn’t say a word, but his eyes did, cold and sharp whenever someone’s gaze lingered on her too long.
Nieah eventually returned, her arms laden with folded linens and small parcels, which she dropped off in the carriage before joining them again.
A satisfied smile curved her lips. "I’ve got everything," she told Circe happily. "We could stop by another merchant or two before heading back."
Circe nodded, and the three of them began their stroll again.
The afternoon sunlight slanted across the shopfronts, catching on the glass windows and gilded signs. The street had grown busier as people turned to look as they passed, some were curious, some cautious, while others whispered quietly behind gloved hands.
For once, Circe couldn’t tell which gazes were harmless and which carried the weight of something else.
As they passed a jewelry stall, her gaze flickered for just a heartbeat to a delicate hairpin shaped like a crescent moon. Its jeweled surface glimmered faintly as it caught the light, boldly standing out against the array of trinkets.
She quickly looked away, feigning disinterest, but Ragnar noticed the pause.
Without a word, he turned back and beckoned the merchant forward before handing him a few coins and picking up the hairpin.
Circe frowned as realization dawned. "You didn’t have to do that."
He stepped closer, holding it out to her. "Then think of it as something I wanted to see on you."
His tone wasn’t teasing. There was no smirk or amusement on his face, only quiet sincerity.
Her breath caught.
Slowly, she reached out and took the hairpin from him, her fingers brushing his in the exchange. The touch was brief, but it felt like it lingered all the same.
"You’re insufferable," she murmured, though the words lacked their usual harshness.
"And yet you still let me come along," he replied.
Circe turned away quickly, pretending to study a nearby display. But the corners of her mouth betrayed her, curving into the faintest of smiles, the action causing her chest to flutter strangely.
