The bedroom doors clicked shut behind them as Ragnar stepped farther inside. The silence of the space was thick and pressing, wrapping around them like a second skin. Several candles flickered on the mantle and tables, casting long shadows against the walls and bathing the room in a golden, wavering glow.
"Put me down," Circe said quietly.
This time, Ragnar listened.
He set her gently on her feet, handling her as though she were made of glass and might shatter if he let go too quickly. Her soaked gown clung to her body, heavy with pond water and he couldn't help but notice the way she trembled, not just from the cold but from what had just happened.
Without a word, he crossed the room toward the cold hearth. Crouching low, he arranged fresh logs into a careful pile before striking a flame to ignite them. As the fire crackled to life, warmth slowly began to seep into the room room.
