" Oh." Circe felt herself deflate under the weight of his words, all the sharp retorts balanced on the tip of her tongue instantly crumbling to ash.
She had suspected that the incident on the Hawthorne estate was the reason Ragnar was so adamantly against taking her along, but hearing him finally voice it aloud was entirely different.
His words dragged her back into the memory of that night. The icy water closing in, her body trembling and weak, the iron grip of her attacker holding her down, stopping her from reaching the surface.
Her chest had burned, her vision had blurred, and even now, the thought of it tightened her throat.
" Circe." Ragnar saying her name jolted her from the memory and reminded her that she had fallen silent. His voice was steady, deliberate, but still as gentle as always. " The ball is to be held in the capital, and I would rather you have nothing to do with that place."
