Free Web NovelChapter 183: Chapter 183
Ragnar’s hand tightened reflexively around the envelope, the parchment crinkling softly between his fingers.
For a moment, he forgot to breathe.
Circe’s reflection stared back at him in the mirror, wide eyes, parted lips, as her dark hair tumbled loose down her shift that was pushed down to bare the smooth slopes of her shoulders and the upper curves of her breasts.
He had touched this body only through a layer of clothing, but had never truly seen it. Not like this.
Heat rushed through him so quickly it felt almost like a blow. He knew he should look away, avert his gaze like a gentleman. Perhaps even apologize and retreat but his muscles refused to obey. He remained where he was, rooted to the threshold, pinned there by the sight of her.
Circe heard the door, her head whipping toward the sound. She was clearly prepared to see a maid.
Her eyes landed on him instead.
Startled, her eyes widened, as if her mind needed a heartbeat to accept that it was Ragnar standing there, filling the doorway. The room seemed to hold its breath with her.
For half a second, he expected her to jerk the fabric up, snatch her dress from the floor, turn away, do something to hide herself. She did none of that.
Circe’s hand did not move to cover her exposed skin. She simply stood there in front of the mirror, shoulder bared, the tops of her breasts lifted against the thin linen, and held his gaze. That almost unwavering look that was like a wordless permission for him to look his fill, for his gaze to wander as he pleased and he did just that.
His eyes swept slowly from her face down the long line of her throat, then lower, over the soft curves pressed against the shift. Every measured inch of that journey sent a slow, dangerous tingle along her spine and tightened something low in her belly.
Her skin prickled, feeling his gaze like a caress.
She knew, somewhere in the rational part of her mind, that she should be embarrassed. A proper lady would have shrieked, turned away, reached for her discarded dress with frantic hands. She should have flushed scarlet and scolded him for barging in without knocking.
But there was no panic. No shame. Only a strange desire to be devoured by his scorching gaze.
"Why didn’t you lock the door?" Ragnar asked at last, his voice roughened, as if the words had scraped their way up his throat. It came out lower, gruffer than usual, and he had to clear it softly after.
"I asked a maid to ready a bath for me," Circe replied, her tone steady despite the racing of her pulse. "I was waiting for her. That’s why I left the door unlocked."
Ragnar’s stare, which had finally torn itself away from the neckline of her shift, drifted higher, only to freeze again when it caught on the mottled skin of her shoulder.
The bruise stood out starkly against her flesh, an angry bloom of red and deep purpling beneath. His expression shifted in an instant. The heat in his eyes cooled, sharpened, his jaw tightening as worry pushed aside the haze of desire.
He stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him with a quiet click, the sound oddly loud in the silence.
"How did you get that bruise?" he asked, the question tight with barely leashed concern. He moved from the door, each step controlled as though restraining the urge to reach her in a single stride.
Circe tracked his approach with her eyes, watching the way his shoulders stiffened, how his fingers had curled faintly around the edge of the envelope. He stopped a few paces in away from her.
"I tripped on a tree root and fell," she said honestly. freewebnσvel.cøm
"In the woods?" he asked.
She inclined her head, the shift slipping a fraction lower on her shoulder with the movement, revealing a bit more of the bruised skin.
"Yes. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was stepping," Circe continued.
His brows drew together. "Did you land on anything else? Your wrist, your ribs—?"
"Just my shoulder," she assured him. "It looks worse than it feels."
"That is not reassuring," he muttered under his breath, his frown deepening.
Despite herself, a small, breathy laugh escaped her. The sound seemed to loosen something in his chest. He exhaled slowly.
Ragnar opened his mouth, a question already forming, when a soft knock sounded against the door.
"Your Highness?" A woman’s voice, smooth and deferential, filtered through the wood. "We are here to prepare Her Highness’s bath."
Circe did not look away from Ragnar.
"Enter," she called.
Ragnar stepped slightly to the side, enough to clear the path. A moment later, the door creaked open and three maids slipped in, each balancing a bucket of tepid water.
They bowed their heads respectfully as they passed, their gazes dutifully lowered. If they noticed Circe’s state of undress or the prince standing near her with a slightly too-intent expression, not one of them let it show. Their footsteps were quick and light as they crossed the chamber and disappeared into the adjoining bathing room.
The faint splash of water against porcelain drifted back into the bedchamber.
It was only when the maids vanished from sight that Ragnar seemed to remember the envelope still in his grasp. He looked down at it, as if surprised to find it there at all, then extended it toward her.
"It seems you made a good impression at Lady Mina’s luncheon," he said.
Curiosity nudged aside the last of Circe’s lingering awareness of her bare skin. She dropped her hand from the edge of her shift, letting the fabric rest where it was.
She glanced down at the envelope. It looked very much like the last invitation she received from Mina.
Circe hesitated for a heartbeat, then reached out with her uninjured arm and took it from him. Their fingers brushed lightly in the exchange, a brief skimming contact that sent a small, unwelcome spark dancing along her nerves.
Still, she did not pull her hand back too quickly.
Ragnar’s gaze dipped to that point of contact.
She turned the envelope over, noting absently that he had already broken the wax seal. It made opening it easier. Her shoulder protested with every movement, and she did not relish the thought of working through hardened wax on top of that.
She slid the card free and unfolded it. Elegant loops of ink caught the light.
She read it twice, the first time to understand the details, the second time to savor the intent behind them.
"Is this something you would be interested in?" Ragnar asked when her silence stretched on.
Circe looked up from the letter and saw that he was watching her closely,
She let her eyes drop to the invitation once more, then back to him.
"Yes, I would love to go." She said with a small smile that managed to brighten her entire face.
The effect on Ragnar was immediate. A single thought rose in his mind before he could stop it.
Beautiful.
And he realized that it wasn’t wrong. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.
"Then it’s settled," Ragnar said, his own lips curving into a warm smile he did not bother to restrain.
His smile faded slightly when his attention drifted back again to the bruise on her shoulder.
The maids reappeared from the adjoining room. They walked straight through the chamber, heads bowed as they moved quickly toward the door to fetch more water.
"You should apply some ointment to your bruise after your bath," he said once the door closed behind the maids again. "If it stiffens, it will trouble you for days."
Circe folded the invitation carefully and laid it on the nearby dresser, mindful of her limited range of motion. "I was planning to," she replied. "There’s a jar in one of the drawers."
He nodded, relieved she had already thought of it, though it did nothing to ease the restless urge to do something more.
"If the pain worsens, send for the physician," he added. "Or for me."
She arched a brow faintly. "You are not a physician, Ragnar."
"No," he conceded. "But I am marginally more useful than a jar of ointment."
The unexpected dryness in his tone made her smile widen even further. "Only marginally?" freēwebnovel.com
He scoffed. Then he seemed to remember himself and glanced away from her swiftly.
"Circe..." He began but the words trailed off. "I should let you bathe," Ragnar said, though the depraved part of him resisted the idea of leaving her, even for something as simple as a bath. "The maids will be back with more water any moment."
Circe nodded, though a small, unexpected pang tugged at her at the thought of him walking out. "You must have duties to return to."
He hesitated, then inclined his head. "I’ll send for a fresh salve in case the one you found is old. And I will inform Nieah you will be attending Lady Elara’s garden party, so she can see to anything you might need."
