Free Web NovelChapter 138: Chapter 138
Circe sat on a patch of soft grass in the open field, quietly watching the sun make its first slow descent beyond the horizon. The waning light bathed the world in a dreamy haze of pink and burnt orange, streaks of color rippling through the clouds like fire melting into the sky.
She had just concluded her riding lessons with Ragnar for the day, and their horses grazed a short distance away, tails swishing lazily as they nuzzled at the grass.
Circe’s body ached with exhaustion, the kind that settled deep into her bones. So she hadn’t thought twice before lowering herself to the ground.
Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as she tried to catch her breath, feeling the pleasant burn of effort thrumming through her muscles.
Ragnar joined her a moment later, dropping onto the grass beside her. For a while, neither of them spoke. They simply sat there, shoulder to shoulder, both staring ahead at the slow, beautiful bleeding of colors across the sky.
The soft brush of their arms went unacknowledged, even though both were acutely aware of it.
If Circe minded their closeness, she gave no sign of it.
There was that familiar intensity in her expression again, the one Ragnar had come to recognize as a look that said her mind was elsewhere, tangled in thoughts she was yet to voice.
He could always tell when she was wrestling with something. Her eyes would narrow slightly, her lips press together, and her posture would go rigid with quiet resolve.
"You’re thinking too loudly," he murmured at last, his tone laced with dry amusement as he cast her a sidelong glance.
Circe scoffed softly. "Then cover your ears."
He smiled faintly at that.
Over the months of their marriage, she had learned many things about him, one being that nothing could truly deter him once he set his mind to something. Not even her sharp retorts or the flashes of irritation she sometimes threw his way could deter him.
Lately, it seemed as though he’d made it his mission to get her accustomed to his presence, so that whenever they were close like this, it wouldn’t feel strange and she wouldn’t feel the urge to put distance between them.
Circe was a fiercely independent soul, one who recoiled at the slightest hint of being pressured.
Ragnar had learned that if he wanted to reach her, he needed to approach gently. Be firm when it came to her safety, yes, but otherwise remain patient. He doubted many people had ever shown her gentleness before she came to Lamora.
"Do you want to share your thoughts?" Ragnar asked quietly after a moment, his voice low enough to blend with the whisper of the breeze around them.
Right then, he would love nothing more than to learn what went on inside her head.
"Why should I?" she replied, still gazing at the horizon. "It’s not like you would be of much help."
Her tone was guarded, the way it often was when she tried to keep her walls intact but he could tell that something was bothering her deeply.
A formal invitation to Lady Mina’s luncheon had arrived the day after their excursion into town, stamped with a wax seal and written in the kind of graceful script that reeked of aristocratic elegance.
It had sat unopened for hours on her dressing table until Nieah coaxed her into breaking the seal. That was three days ago, and Circe’s mind was still stuck on it, caught between curiosity and dread.
"Try me," Ragnar said softly. It sounded both like a challenge and a plea.
A stray lock of hair slipped loose from Circe’s bun, falling across her face.
Without thinking, Ragnar reached over to tuck it behind her ear. His fingers lingered for just a heartbeat longer than necessary, lightly brushing the curve of her cheek.
Circe turned to look at him, surprise flickering in her eyes. There was a small crease between her brows, but that was all.
There was no hint of distrust in her expression, no sharp retort waiting on the tip of her tongue.
Their gazes met and held, and for once, neither looked away.
"I’m not sure I remember how to behave around polite society," she admitted finally, her voice quieter now, almost uncertain. It was rare, hearing uncertainty from her.
It wasn’t just that she thought she could no longer handle the many rules of polite society, but after being away from it for this long, she didn’t think she wanted to return to it anymore.
She imagined that when she and Rowen escaped Lamora, they would find peace in some distant corner of the world and settle down in a quiet town far removed from the aristocracy.
Even in Westeria, she had never fit neatly into the expectations placed upon her. She wasn’t the kind of princess poets sang about.
She was too blunt to charm, too bold to flatter, and far too restless to sit still and smile prettily for hours. Her dry humor was too sharp-edged, and her temperament was like that of a bucking bull.
They always said that she behaved "masculine," for lack of a better word. But that wasn’t quite true either.
Circe had always existed somewhere in between, not feminine enough for the nobility, yet not masculine enough to be respected in her father’s council.
She belonged nowhere, and trying to mold herself into something acceptable had been exhausting.
So why then was she still considering Lady Mina’s invitation?
"Is this about Lady Mina’s luncheon?" Ragnar asked.
Circe blinked, her lips parting in mild surprise.
Ragnar chuckled under his breath at her expression.
"It wasn’t difficult to guess," he said. "I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about you attending. After everything that’s happened lately, I have grown perhaps a little paranoid."
"A little?" she shot back dryly.
He ignored the jab, as he often did.
"But if it troubles you this much, and you truly wish to go," he continued, his tone softening, "then I can make an exception."
She studied him, searching his face for any trace of deception, but there was none. He always approached their interactions with full honesty, which she had come to recognize as one of his many traits.
Her mind ticked through the familiar list of traits she had unknowingly gathered about him.
Ragnar was infuriating, witty, protective, overbearing and most especially, he was honest.
The silence that followed thickened, charged with something unspoken. The air between them seemed to hum, fragile and electric.
Circe wasn’t sure who moved first, him or her, only that suddenly the distance between them had disappeared.
He was close enough now that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. Her heart gave a small, uncertain lurch.
Warning bells rang faintly in her mind, but for once, she ignored them. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
He could hear the sound of her fluttering pulse, that was how loud it was.
Ragnar hesitated, giving her a moment to pull away if she wanted to.
She didn’t.
After the way he behaved with her during their short trip into town, Circe realized that a large, very foolish part of her wanted this moment just as much as he did.
But then a shout rang out across the field, slicing through the moment like a blade.
"Your Highness! The scouts have returned!"
The spell broke instantly. Ragnar turned, his expression hardening as he caught sight of a rider approaching fast, the thundering of hooves scattering the quiet peace that had settled over them.
Circe exhaled slowly, the moment slipping through their fingers like sand, and just like that, the world returned to motion.
