The sound of clashing swords cut through the morning air, drifting up to where she stood at her bedroom window overlooking the vast courtyard below. From her vantage point, she could see Ragnar and Casilo locked in an intense sparring match, their movements sharp, and fluid as they met each other's strikes with precision.
If anyone were to ask why she was watching so intently, she would claim it was simply to observe their technique, nothing more. It certainly had nothing to do with Ragnar's current state of undress, or the way sweat traced the lines of his bare torso, glinting under the afternoon sun as muscles flexed and coiled with every strike he parried with his sword.
"It just doesn't make any sense," Circe muttered under her breath, a faint crease forming between her brows as she watched the scene unfold.
