Free Web NovelChapter 76: Chapter 76
That night, Ragnar found Circe tucked away in one of the hidden alcoves near the servants’ quarters. She was fast asleep, and she barely stirred as he approached her. She didn’t even twitch when he crouched down beside her.
She lay on her side on the cold stone floor, knees drawn close to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around herself in a protective curl. The dim glow from the nearby sconces cast a gentle light across her face, softening her sharp features and giving her an almost ethereal look. For a moment, Ragnar simply stood there, watching her. Her expression was peaceful, unguarded. It was such a rare sight that it tugged at something deep within him.
He shook his head and let out a low breath.
"Stubborn, infuriating woman," he muttered, though the corners of his lips betrayed him by lifting into a reluctant smile. Even curled on the floor like that, she looked more at ease than she ever did when awake and scowling at him.
Instead of waking her, he lowered himself onto the floor across from her with a tired grunt, leaning back against the cold wall. He told himself it would only be for a moment. It was going to be a brief pause while he sat and rested from the fresh hell she put him through that night. It had taken him longer than usual to find her tonight. She was getting better at hiding, which annoyed him more than he cared to admit.
He tried looking elsewhere, anywhere except at the sleeping woman in front of him. He fixed his gaze on a tiny crack running along the ceiling, then on the flicker of the flame in the sconce, anywhere that wasn’t her face or the soft skin he remembered all too well from the time he’d hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.
But tonight, his eyes had a will of their own. They drifted back to her, drawn by an invisible thread and lingered longer than they should have on the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the delicate rise and fall of her chest.
He exhaled a quiet groan and tipped his head back against the wall.
Something was definitely wrong with him.
He should leave and go back to his chambers where his bed was warm and his head wouldn’t be filled with thoughts he had no business entertaining. The manor was safe, heavily guarded, and there was no real danger lurking in the shadows tonight. Circe would be perfectly fine if he left her here to sleep undisturbed. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com
And yet... his legs didn’t move. His body refused to obey the logic in his head. He remained rooted in place, weighed down by something he couldn’t name. The thought of leaving her there, alone and cold, made something inside him twist in protest.
The nights had been growing colder, and they would only get worse as winter drew nearer. He pressed the back of his hand to the stone floor. It was cold and Circe was lying directly on it without a blanket or even a cloak to ward off the chill.
His brow furrowed as a frown formed on his face. The fabric of her clothes was too thin to offer any real warmth.
She might claw his eyes out if he tried to wake her, but that wouldn’t stop him from picking her up and tossing her down on his bed where she wouldn’t freeze to death. He shifted, preparing to do exactly that.
But just as he moved, she stirred.
A pained sound slipped from her lips. It was soft and almost inaudible, but it sent a jolt through him.
He froze, her name caught in his throat.
She twisted restlessly, her brows knitting together in distress, and then without warning, she jolted upright. Her hand clutched her chest as if to steady her heartbeat, and her breath came in ragged gasps. Her eyes were wide, her gaze shifting frantically. She looked disoriented.
Ragnar watched her, his expression clouded with concern. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her wake like this, looking so shaken and breathless, like she had just witnessed something terrible. He waited until her breathing slowed before speaking.
"Nightmares?"
Her eyes snapped toward him in surprise, as if she hadn’t even noticed he was there until he spoke.
"You never had them when you were with me in the palace," he added quietly when she didn’t respond.
Her chin lifted defensively, even as her voice trembled. "I fail to see how that is any of your concern."
Ragnar noticed the flush climbing up her neck and into her cheeks. He ignored the sharpness in her words and continued as though she hadn’t spoken.
"When did it start?"
She looked away.
Her lips thinned. Even when she looked away, she still watched him from the corner of her eye.
Silence stretched between them like a taut wire.
Then finally, she spoke, choosing not to answer his question but to deflect instead.
"You look wretched," she noted. "And tired."
Ragnar blinked, unimpressed. " And whose fault is that?" he asked flatly. " You are the only one that makes me wander around the manor tirelessly each night."
"I never asked you to do anything," she snapped, throwing him a scathing look. "You’re the one who won’t leave me alone."
"Did you think I was jesting when I said I would always find you and drag you back to my room if I had to?"
Frankly, she had thought he was bluffing when he first said those words. She assumed it was one of his many attempts to rattle her, to force her compliance through intimidation. Now, as she stared at him seated calmly across from her, the shadows of candle light flickering over the strong angles of his face, she realized with growing certainty that he wasn’t bluffing. He never did.
Now she was sure that he had well and truly gone mad.
