The manor had been bustling with activity since the break of dawn, servants moving with practiced urgency as they packed Circe's and Ragnar's belongings. Clothes, along with other personal items, and everything they would need for the journey ahead. Small trunks were hauled from their chambers, and shouted instructions echoed through the crisp morning air.
Circe followed them outside, skirts gathered in her gloved hands as she watched the staff drag the final box across the foyer and toward the waiting carriage.
The horses snorted impatiently, their breath fogging the cold air as snow crunched loudly beneath her shoes.
Ragnar stood off to the side, observing it all with a sharp, discerning eye as he inspected the progress being made. His hands were clasped behind his back, posture straight and commanding, and for a moment he looked less like a prince preparing for travel and more like a war general surveying his regiment before battle.
