Free Web NovelChapter 317: Chapter 317
For a moment, Circe could only stare. Emotion swelled in her chest—surprise, disbelief, and a sudden, aching nostalgia all tangled together until speech deserted her entirely.
Noticing her silence, Ragnar stepped in smoothly, his presence steady at her side.
"Mirelle has served in several noble households before," he explained. "She is experienced, discreet, and capable. I reviewed her records thoroughly, and her previous employers had nothing but praise for her." He paused, glancing back at Circe with quiet assurance. "She will serve you well."
Mirelle bowed again, deeper this time. "I will do my absolute best, Your Highness."
"Very well. That will be all for now," Ragnar said. "Kostia, take the lady’s maid to the servants’ quarters. Nieah will show her around and instruct her of her duties."
Kostia nodded and moved at once. Mirelle followed him without a word, her steps light and composed, and soon they disappeared down the corridor.
When they were alone at last, Ragnar turned to Circe, studying her expression with a knowing look.
"Come," he said gently. "From the look on your face, I know you have much to say. We might as well do it in our chambers."
She nodded, still dazed, and followed him up the stairs and down the familiar hallway that led to their room.
The moment the doors closed behind them, Circe spun around. She didn’t give him time to speak. Crossing the space between them in two quick strides, she rose onto her toes and crashed her lips against his.
The kiss was wild and unrestrained
—hungry, and desperate. He responded instantly, arms coming around her as he returned the kiss with equal fervor, deepening it.
Ragnar lifted her effortlessly around the waist and carried her toward the bed. She bounced softly against the mattress as he laid her down.
A second later, he was above her, his broad frame braced on either side as she struggled to steady her breathing.
"My, my, Princess," he murmured with a grin. "Your ferocity makes me weak in the knees. Had I known this was the reward awaiting me, I would have done it far sooner."
"She is Westerian, Ragnar," Circe said, the words tumbling out as though she still needed to hear them spoken aloud to believe them.
"I know, my love," he replied, his grin widening. free𝑤ebnovel.com
"You knew before you employed her," she said, searching his face. freewёbnoνel.com
He nodded. "I did."
She sank deeper into the pillows, shaking her head slowly. "There can’t be many Westerians in Lamora. A few hundred at most, perhaps even fewer. How did you even find her?"
Ragnar’s expression softened, all teasing fading away.
"I love you," he said simply.
Her brows creased. "You employed her because you love me?"
A quiet laugh escaped him at the disbelief written across her face.
"Yes. That is what it comes down to. I would do anything for you, even the impossible because I love you."
He didn’t say the rest aloud: that he had wanted to give her back a piece of home, something familiar in a land that was still so foreign to her. And what better way to do it than to give her a companion she can truly relate to in ways he and she could not. A helper and he knew that Mircelle was just what Circe needed.
She knew what to say in return. The words rushed up her throat and sat at the tip of her tongue but she could bring herself to say them, not yet.
Ragnar saw it in her eyes anyway. His gaze softened with quiet understanding, choosing not to press her for the words he was desperate to hear.
"You are a good person," Circe said at last, smiling. "And a wonderful husband. Truly the best any woman could ask for. If you don’t stop, I’ll become the envy of every woman in this kingdom."
"Really?" He leaned closer, his voice low and amused. "Do go on, my love. Indulge me."
"Why would I stroke your ego," she murmured, her smile turning wicked, "when I can stroke something far more rewarding?"
Heat flared instantly between them. The air itself seemed to hum as Ragnar’s gaze darkened, his attention sharpening entirely on her. Slowly, his fingers slid to the laces at the front of her gown. He held her gaze as he worked them loose, one by one.
"You, my dear wife," he said softly, "will be the death of me."
Ragnar loosened the final lace, and the fabric parted slowly, He eased the bodice down her arms, letting it slide lower before slipping the sleeves free entirely. Cool air brushed over her newly bared shoulders and collarbones, drawing a small shiver from her.
He felt it beneath his palms and smiled, already knowing he would never tire of the way she reacted to his touch.
He didn’t rush. Instead, he braced one forearm beside her head, caging her in, and used the other hand to drag the heavy skirt and shift downward, inch by deliberate inch, until the fabric bunched around her hips. Circe lifted for him without being asked, allowing him to strip the rest of her dress away. The garments slid off the edge of the bed and landed somewhere on the floor.
Now she lay completely naked beneath him, her skin flushed. Ragnar sat back on his heels for a moment, simply looking. He took in the quick rise and fall of her breasts as she struggled to steady her breathing, the way her nipples had already drawn tight in anticipation, the faint gooseflesh prickling along her arms and stomach despite the heat building between them. His gaze lingered longest between her legs, where she was already visibly wet, slick and glistening, a silent confession of how badly she wanted him.
He leaned down again, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the underside of one breast. His tongue dragged in a slow, teasing circle that made her shudder. Circe’s back arched instinctively, her body chasing the contact. He denied her for a heartbeat longer before finally closing his lips over the nipple and sucking, teasing the sensitive peak with his tongue in a way that tore a gasp from her throat.
