" You're riding with me, Princess." Ragnar's deep gruff voice cut through the haze of thoughts Circe was slowly drowning in.
She looked in his direction to gauge his expression and blinked at him when she found him staring back with a cold, serious gaze. Her fingers fisted and bunched the fabric of her brother's woolen coat, pulling him closer to her side as though it would shield him from Ragnar's cold wavering gaze. He was once again dressed in a black long sleeve shirt and dark breeches. His hair had been pulled back and tied up into a bun on the top of his head to keep strands of it from touching his face as they rode.
" I can ride on my own." She argued. She met his stare with a belligerent one of her own. Circe couldn't help it. She was as stubborn as she was brash and had never taken well to people ordering her around, and the fact that it was the vile killer she called a husband that was dulling out the orders, only made the flames of rebellion within her to burn hotter.
For the first time in her presence, his lips widened into something she could only describe as a vicious smile. The action pulled at the slightly raised scar on the left side of his face, spanning the distance from his brow down to his cheek.
" I don't doubt that. But you will do as I say regardless." Ragnar said, turning away from her with that as though the response on the tip of Circe's tongue meant very little. With his back turned, Ragnar couldn't see the incensed look on her face as she glared at him.
He swung his leg over the saddle of the huge black horse next to him and once he was firmly seated, he beckoned her over with a callous wave of his hand.
Circe remained where she stood. Her feet were tightly rooted to the spot. Ragnar seemed to be wary of her and her penchant for inciting chaos wherever she went. His fears weren't unfounded. All Circe truly needed was a horse of her own, with Rowen's arms wrapped securely around and she would be gone before they knew it. Heading far away from the spiraling palace grounds, with its tall jutting spires soon nothing more than a tiny bleep in the distance.
Ragnar had somehow anticipated it, had probably seen her plan of escape gleaming in her eyes.
Rowen blinked up at her, a question in his eyes. Circe subtly shook her head in response. Her brother was still too young to fully understand the battle of wills that was happening right in front of him.
" Your brother will ride with Casilo so don't trouble yourself. You will be with me throughout the journey so hurry up and get on my horse and stop wasting our time. I would hate to repeat myself."
She wished he hadn't said that, it only made her want to defy him even more. Circe's lips parted to speak but she was cut off when Casilo spoke.
" We best be leaving now." Casilo wind pass the space between Circe and Ragnar's horse. He caught her gaze. In his eyes was a stern warning. Circe pursed her lips.
Casilo reached out and grabbed Rowen by the arm.
Jolted by the foreign touch, Rowen looked up at her. A different question now shone on his small face. Should he go with him? Was it safe?
Circe didn't truly know the answer but she nodded regardless because doing so was better than telling Rowen that she was just as clueless about their situation as he was. She thought back to last night, to the assassin and how Ragnar had jumped in to protect her from him without a thought. Circe wasn't under the illusion that Ragnar chose to save her out of the goodness of his chest. She didn't even believe a man like him even had a heart.
She was important to him in some way— it was the one thing she understood from the whole ordeal. Her life was valuable to him. She didn't know in what capacity, she only hoped that the protection he offered would also extend to Rowen.
The grip she had around Rowen loosened, allowing Casilo to easily pull him towards his steed, a brown horse just as big as Ragnar's.
She took slow steps towards Ragnar's mount. Try as she might, Circe couldn't keep a snarl off her face as she approached where he waited. His horse gave an inpatient snort, stomping a heavy hoove on the dirt floor.
" Do you need help mounting as well?" Ragnar asked. It sounded like a taunt.
Big as a shire horse, with thick powerful muscles and hooves like great, iron-shod rocks, Ragnar's horse was intimidating. Just like its rider. The top of Circe's head barely reached its withers. And that mouthful of very large teeth seemed quite capable of taking off Circe's hand with a single chomp.
Circe gritted her teeth. Placing one foot on the stirrups, she flung the other over the horse and landed on the saddle with a practiced ease. She sat in front of him on the horse, her back to his chest. It was either that or seating behind him and having to hold on to him while they rode and she knew how fast his horses traveled from the last time she rode with him and his troops.
He touched his heels to his mount's side, and it seemed to jolt beneath them. Hooves clattered on the courtyard cobbles. They didn't exchange a single word as they exited the stables, rays of morning sun washing over them as the stallions covered the distance through the switchback road and through the palace portcullis.
A man Circe had never seen before rode on the third horse trailing behind. Ragnar's horse rode in front and moved as quickly as a whip. Faster than anything she had ever experienced.
Strands of hair escaped her bun, whipping wildly in the wind. Circe clung on with everything she had inside her. She feared if she didn't, she might end up being tossed off the saddle.
Soon they were out of the capital and riding closer to Jireh. She hadn't paid much attention when she and Rowen had ridden through on the day of their arrival, but as this was the closest village to the castle, she intended to become very familiar with it.
The buildings were constructed of stone and wood with sharply angled roofs. Scores of stone chimneys rose towards the sky, fragrant wood smoke rising from each one. Tufts of grass grew out of the cracks on the cobblestone roads. Only a few people milled about as they rode past, traders carrying their wears to market to sell.
They were hours into their journey, and Ragnar had no intentions of slowing. Circe ached from the prolonged jostling and friction from her thighs rubbing against the horse's flank. Dawn had turned to mid day when they reached Amris, a small town Ragnar called home when he wasn't attending to his princely duties. A few minutes longer and they reached his Manor located just at the outskirts of town.
It was a gothic-style stone mansion with steeply pitched roofs, ornate gables, and arched windows framed by intricate stonework. Twin staircases rise through a lush garden to meet at the arched double doors, flanked by manicured topiaries and wrought-iron lanterns. A rounded turret with a balcony, delicate balustrades, and ivy-kissed walls. Surrounded by mature trees and a meticulously landscaped path, the house was secluded and closed from the public, as though encased in nature's bubble.
The others began dismounting from their horse but Circe remained still. Her eyes drank in every inch of the Manor's exterior. Words couldn't begin to describe how beautiful it was. She was so distracted by it that she momentarily forgot that Ragnar still sat behind her. Without the presence of the lashing winds, she could feel the warmth of his body permeating into her skin. Sitting so close to him, Circe caught a whiff of his scent.
He smelled of sandalwood and leather with the undertone of something spicy.
" Where is this place?" She asked. The horse moved slightly as Ragnar dismounted as well.
" This, Princess, is home."