And yet... every time they were in the same room, it was like something primal ignited between them. She drew out the worst parts of him, the stubbornness, the sarcasm, the need to provoke and push. And whenever that happened, he would hardly be able to remember his plans. It was instinct at this point.

It was her and he didn’t know what to do with that.

She pushed him just as hard, if not harder than he pushed her, and somehow, they always ended up butting heads. It was maddening and infuriating and yet, beneath all that friction lay something else entirely. She made his blood run hot with more than just annoyance. It was a fever he couldn’t shake, headier, more intoxicating than anything he had ever felt. It made his pulse race and his thoughts spiral. He hated it as much as he loved it.

That was why he gave her the freedom to roam the manor as she pleased. It wasn’t just an act of generosity. It was strategic to ingratiate himself to her. A peace offering of sorts. A subtle attempt to win her over, or at the very least, earn her trust. But deep down, Ragnar doubted she’d view the gesture in any favorable light. She was too suspicious, too guarded.

"Did something else happen that I’m not aware of?" Nieah’s voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. Her tone was sharp, inquisitive, and laced with a glimmer of judgment.

Ragnar let out a long, tired sigh. He didn’t bother pretending. Nieah would keep pressing until she got what she wanted. She always did.

"We had another argument last night," he admitted quietly, deliberately avoiding her gaze.

Nieah blinked. There was a beat of silence before she rolled her eyes at him.

"Am I really supposed to be surprised?" she asked, sarcasm dripping from every word. "And let me guess, she was the aggressor again?"

"If you consider the fact that she bit me, then yes," Ragnar said, tone grave. "I’d say she was most definitely the aggressor."

He folded his arms across his chest, eyes narrowing at the vicious woman in question as he recalled the moment. There were things he couldn’t say. What he would never admit to Nieah was that part of him had enjoyed it. Their arguments were like a dangerous dance, a power struggle that thrilled him as much as it exhausted him. Circe was wild and untamable, and that made her irresistible.

Nieah scoffed. "What did you do to provoke her? You don’t expect me to believe you were completely innocent, do you?"

"And why not?" Ragnar frowned, genuinely offended. Of course, she was right. He knew she was. But her blunt assessment still struck a nerve.

She gave him a pointed look. "Because I know you, Your Highness."

He didn’t respond. Instead, his attention drifted out the window, where something had caught his eye.

Circe.

She stood in the courtyard below, her dark hair catching the light as a breeze swept through the air. Casilo approached her, sword freshly sheathed at his side. With effortless familiarity, he stepped in front of her and Rowen, his body angled protectively between them and Ragnar’s gaze.

Ragnar’s eyes narrowed. He leaned slightly forward, his gaze sharpening.

Bits and pieces of their conversation floated up to him. It was faint, and broken by the wind. Nothing coherent. Still, he strained to hear more. It was unlike him to be so curious about someone else’s discussions, let alone Casilo’s. But this was different.

This was her.

He leaned forward farther. If he went any further, he’d be halfway out the window. But then he saw it, the slight upward curve of Circe’s lips. A smile. Soft and fleeting, but real.

Something ugly stirred in his chest.

It was ugly and raw and unfamiliar. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Fury. He couldn’t name it precisely, but he hated it. Hated the way she smiled at Casilo so easily when she could barely exchange two words with him without glaring. What did Casilo say that earned that smile?

His body moved before he could stop it.

He stormed out of his study, pushing through the door Nieah had left ajar. His strides were long and purposeful, his boots hitting the stone floors with echoing finality. He didn’t look back, even as he heard Nieah hurrying behind him, struggling to keep up.

Circe’s smile faded the moment she saw him approaching.

The way it vanished, as if his very presence soured the air around them, made something in him bristle. He clenched his jaw, struggling to keep the scowl off his face. He would not start another argument, not after the fight they’d had the night before.

Casilo turned at the change in Circe’s expression. Spotting Ragnar, he offered a slight bow in greeting.

Ragnar didn’t acknowledge it. His eyes were locked on Circe, whose irritation was plain to see. Every second she spent under his gaze, her annoyance grew. And still, Ragnar didn’t care. Rationality had long since left him.

Nieah finally caught up, panting softly beside him.

Ragnar forced himself to tear his gaze away from Circe and turned to Casilo.

"We’ll be riding into town today," he said stiffly. "It’s time we paid Lady Maelis a visit. The trip is long overdue."

His tone left no room for argument.

"My wife will be joining me," he added, voice firmer now, "and she’ll be riding with me."

Circe blinked, clearly not expecting that. Her mouth twitched as if she were about to protest, but she said nothing. Still, he could see the anger simmering behind her eyes. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

He turned to Nieah without missing a beat. "You’ll accompany us as well. You’ll ride with Casilo."

Nieah opened her mouth to object, but Ragnar was already walking away, his expression unreadable, his stride relentless.

Behind him, silence lingered in his wake. Casilo glanced in Nieah’s direction but the woman was faster, turning away before their eyes could meet.