Free Web NovelChapter 82: Chapter 82
The atmosphere shifted noticeably when the string quartet transitioned into a slower, more delicate melody, its gentle notes weaving through the air like silk. The music acted as a beckoning call, drawing couples onto the dance floor, where hands met and arms wrapped securely around their partners’ waists.
A faint, knowing smile tugged at the corners of Ragnar’s lips as he turned to Circe, extending his hand toward her once more.
"It would look rather strange if I didn’t dance with my wife," he said, his voice lowered as he leaned in slightly so she could hear him better over the hum of conversation and music. "They’re all still watching. What do you say we give them something to gawk at?"
Circe regarded his outstretched hand as though it were a coiled viper, poised and ready to strike. Suspicion and reluctance warred in her expression.
"I’m not here to impress anyone—" She stopped herself abruptly, the rest of the sentence dying on her lips. She swallowed the words she had been moments away from saying.
The small falter only made Ragnar’s smile widen.
"One dance, Princess. Who knows? You might actually enjoy it," he said, goading her now. It wasn’t only because he found her resistance amusing, but also because irking her had become his most effective way of holding her attention.
Ragnar wasn’t exactly sure when it had started, but he had grown to crave those rare moments when she was focused solely on him. Those moments were few and far between. Her eyes almost always turned elsewhere, her thoughts seemingly anywhere but on him and perhaps that was why it had become so addicting. She was elusive, and he found himself chasing that flicker of connection more often than he wanted to admit.
Yet he dared not examine the reasons too closely. Whatever strange pull he felt toward her, he told himself it would pass. It had to. Their situation was temporary. Once the novelty wore off, once her trust was earned and his goals secured, this odd stirring in his chest would fade.
He told himself to stop entertaining thoughts of her and the only way he saw of that ever happening was if he began to put distance between them, which wouldn’t do when his plan involved making her comfortable enough to trust him.
His reminded himself that he should not be enthralled by her sharp features and even sharper wit. He should not be craving her attention the way he had begun to. She was his leverage and nothing more. But if that was the case, why then did he take another step towards her, his warm gaze meeting her cool ones, his hand still outstretched.
" Take my hand, Circe," The words were low and yet Circe heard every gruff edge of it.
For the second time that evening, her hand slipped into his. When he pulled her toward him, she didn’t resist. She followed willingly. His free hand settled gently against the small of her back as he began to guide her through the opening steps of a waltz. Together, they twirled and glided in time with the music, their movements fluid and elegant. Around them, other couples mirrored the rhythm, but Ragnar kept his gaze fixed entirely on her face.
With each passing moment, the weight of the stares around them seemed to grow heavier and more invasive. The curiosity in the room was palpable. Whispers flitted behind paper fans and lingering glances followed their every step.
Ragnar was used to attention, especially the negative ones. He had attended Lady Maelis’s balls before, and his presence never failed to cause a stir, yet tonight felt different. The eyes weren’t just on him, they were on them, as a pair. As husband and wife, as something people couldn’t quite figure out.
Eventually, the tempo of the music picked up, signaling the conclusion of the dance. As the final notes echoed through the room, Ragnar gently guided Circe off the floor. The moment they came to a stop, she pulled her hand from his grasp.
"That should be more than enough for the night," she said curtly, turning slightly to observe the other dancers still moving across the floor.
A moment later, Lady Maelis approached once more, a tall man trailing behind her.
"Your Highness, allow me to introduce my second son, Ansel Hawthorne," Maelis said to Circe, gesturing toward the man beside her.
Ansel bowed deeply in greeting. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," he said with a gentle smile.
Ansel had kind eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled just like his mother. That was the first thing Circe noticed about him. The type of eyes that had the ability to put everyone around him at ease. He was also undeniably handsome with a sharp jaw and angular facial features.
From the corner of her eye, Circe noticed Lady Maelis tapping Ragnar’s arm, and the silent signal that passed between them. They shared a brief, quiet exchange with their eyes before Ragnar turned to Circe.
"I’ll be back in a moment. Wait here for me," he said and without waiting for a reply, he rose to follow Maelis through the crowd.
His departure should have brought her relief, it normally did. And yet, Circe found herself more aware of the guests’ stares now than when Ragnar had been beside her. His absence left her feeling unexpectedly exposed, vulnerable in a way that made her spine stiffen.
Just then, the quartet began another familiar melody, slower and more melancholic than the last.
"May I have this dance?" came a voice beside her.
She turned to see Ansel still standing nearby, his hand extended, a gentle smile on his face as he waited patiently.
Circe hesitated, glancing around the room. More couples were heading back to the dance floor, the soft lull of music drawing them forward. She turned back to Ansel, who remained unmoving as he waited for her answer.
"Alright," she murmured at last, placing her hand in his.
It wasn’t her first time dancing with a stranger, and there seemed no harm in it. At least it would occupy her while she waited for Ragnar and Lady Maelis to return.
****
Circe was dancing with another man.
The words repeated themselves in Ragnar’s mind in a dizzying loop. It hardly mattered that the man in question was someone he had known for years. All Ragnar could see was her—his wife—dancing with someone else.
And smiling.
The smile she gave Ansel was soft, genuine. The kind of smile she had never once directed at him.
He had only been gone for a few minutes. If she’d wanted another dance so badly, couldn’t she have waited for him a little longer?
A bitter feeling crawled through his chest as he stood there, watching. Jealousy was an emotion he didn’t entertain often, he never had reason to and yet, he could feel it blooming now, sharp and unwelcome.
Why did it matter? Why did she matter? She was his leverage, nothing more. A pawn in his strategy.
And still, he hated the way her eyes lit when she looked at Ansel. He hated that it wasn’t him she was smiling at. He hated how much that realization bothered him.
Before he could sink deeper into that feeling, one of the attending lords stepped into his line of sight and bowed low.
"Your Highness," the man greeted. "Are you enjoying your evening?"
Ragnar barely held back a scowl. "Yes," he replied stiffly, the word sharp-edged and clearly forced.
If the man noticed the tension, he gave no indication.
"Your presence tonight was quite the surprise for many of us."
That much was true. Ragnar rarely attended social events unless he had a very specific reason for doing so and there were only a few nobles in Lamora he actually tolerated.
"And it seems your wife has become the center of attention." The man added. freewebnovёl.ƈom
Ragnar said nothing in response.
He was too busy clenching his jaw, watching the dance floor over the man’s shoulder, watching her, with another man’s hand on her waist.
