It was still quite early in the morning when Ragnar took one of the horses into town to run a few errands. He would usually have left such tasks to his footman, but this time he wanted to go himself. Back in Amris, he had ridden most mornings without fail.
Those solitary rides had given him space to think, time to reflect without the weight of expectation pressing against him. Since coming here, he had not afforded himself that same luxury. Each dawn had found him tangled in the warmth of Circe, her body pressed against his in bed, clinging onto him in a way that made it difficult to rise.
That morning, however, he had slipped free before she stirred awake.
