Ragnar gazed down at the sparring match between Kostia and Casilo from his place by the open window of his study. The clash of swords echoed faintly up to him, their footwork graceful yet precise. It should have captivated him. On any other day, it would have. But today, something else had managed to snag his attention.
Not something. Someone.
Circe.
She was the current, unrelenting pain in his side.
He still couldn't comprehend how one person could be so infuriating, so endlessly combative, and yet so damn intriguing. Her anger was a force of nature, raw and undiluted, like a tempest that refused to be tamed. Her temper had a life of its own, sparking like fire whenever she looked at him.
But every time she glared at him or lashed him with her sharp tongue, he felt that same strange pull toward her. She fascinated him in a way that left him bewildered.
