Ragnar descended the carriage steps first, then turned and extended his hand up to her to help her down. It was a simple offer and he waited patiently for her to accept it. Circe placed her hand in his without a moment's hesitation.
The world tilted faintly when her feet touched the ground, her knees not fully recovered from what had transpired inside the dim carriage. She had never let anyone touch her like that, never let anyone know her that intimately. Before Ragnar, her experiences had been little more than shy, forgettable kisses stolen in gardens or behind pillars at balls, sweet, but hollow compared to the fire he had coaxed from her.
