Free Web NovelChapter 361: Chapter 361
The carriage rolled to a gentle stop before the wooden gate. For a moment, neither of them moved, as if the world itself had paused around them, reluctant to leave their little bubble.
Then Ragnar stepped down first, his boots sinking into the fallen snow that lined the path. Cold air rushed around him, sharp and biting, filling his lungs with the kind of clarity that only winter could bring. He turned at once and held out his hand, a satisfied smile curving his lips.
Circe only briefly noticed the look on his face. Her gaze was fixed entirely on the cottage in front of them.
She placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her down, but the instant her shoes touched the ground, her attention drifted from him completely. The clearing was quiet, wrapped in a tranquil hush that felt so peaceful.
The stone walls of the cottage were dusted with frost that somehow softened its roughen texture, adding to the charm of the place. Smoke rose lazily from the chimney, curling into the air in thin, swirling tendrils. The red door stood bold against the pale landscape.
Her eyes had widened as he knew it would and her lips parted in silent awe.
It was beautiful. Not grand in the way palaces were grand. It was quaint and beautiful in a way that felt intimate.
The trees formed a natural barrier around them, their branches heavy with frost, enclosing the space like protective arms and shutting out the rest of the world.
When at last she tore her gaze from the cottage, she found Ragnar already watching her.
There was no mistaking the look in his eyes. He wasn’t even looking at the house. He was studying her, watching every flicker of wonder across her face, every small shift in her expression—as if she were the true marvel here. To him, she was the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her throat went dry. She licked her lips without thinking, and his eyes followed the motion intently.
"This place is so..." she trailed off, searching for the adequate words and failing. No word she reached for felt large enough to describe the feeling swelling in her chest. "It’s breathtaking."
His grin widened, openly pleased with himself, and the expression made her chest flutter in a way only he could.
"Who lives here?" she asked, still turning slowly, as if afraid it might all vanish if she looked away for too long.
"For the next few days, we do," Ragnar replied.
Behind them, the footman began unloading their luggage from the carriage, the soft thud of trunks against packed snow the only sound breaking the stillness.
"Do you like it?" he asked. The question came out lightly, but there was a hint of something beneath it. Ragnar was rarely uncertain. He carried himself with confidence even in rooms filled with enemies. Yet now, as he stood before her in the quiet clearing, he waited, almost boyishly eager for her answer.
He wanted her to love it. He wanted to make the next week something she would never forget. It was, after all, the first leisurely trip they had taken since their wedding. They didn’t have the best start to their relationship and he was intent for them to do all the things that they should have done had things been different. He was determined to reclaim what they had never gotten to enjoy. This journey, with just the two of them, was the first step.
After the king’s trial—after standing so close to execution that he could almost feel the executioner’s blade hovering over his neck—Ragnar had come to understand something with painful clarity.
Nothing was guaranteed. Not his careful schemes against the queen. Not the fall of the rebellion. Not even the promise of tomorrow.
He had been meticulous with everything he did. Careful and calculated. And still, he had nearly lost everything. His titles. The lands he had fought to secure. His very life, standing in that throne room with iron shackles biting into his wrists while the court watched and judged him.
He would not allow his days to be consumed entirely by strategizing and his plot to claim the throne. Circe had once told him she wanted to see more of the kingdom, more of the world beyond the walls of her home in Westeria that had once confined her. So why wait?
The queen’s games would not dictate how he lived. And living, for him, meant making his wife happy.
Circe stared at him for a long moment. Then her expression broke open into a wide, delighted smile.
"I love it," she said, and there was no hesitation in her voice. "It’s beautiful."
Relief moved through him, loosening something tight in his chest. He extended his hand again, this time to lead her forward. She slipped her gloved fingers into his without thought.
"Why haven’t you ever told me about this place?" she asked as they walked toward the front of the cottage.
"Because," Ragnar said, pushing the wooden gate open and guiding her through, "I would much prefer to show it to you instead." ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
He glanced at her as he spoke, giving her hand a small squeeze.
Ragnar pushed the front door open and stood aside to let her enter first. Warmth met them immediately, wrapping around them like an embrace. The hearth was already lit, flames crackling softly as they devoured the stacked logs. The air smelled faintly of burning wood and something clean and calming—lavender, perhaps—left behind by whoever had aired the rooms in preparation for their arrival.
Circe stepped inside slowly, turning in a full circle as though afraid to miss anything.
The living space was spread out before them, modest in size but carefully kept. Thick rugs softened the hard floors, their woven patterns rich with color. A sturdy table stood near the hearth. Shelves lined one wall, filled with well-worn books and small decorative pieces that suggested the cottage had been cared for and properly maintained.
