The carriage rolled to a gentle stop before the wooden gate. For a moment, neither of them moved, as if the world itself had paused around them, reluctant to leave their little bubble.
Then Ragnar stepped down first, his boots sinking into the fallen snow that lined the path. Cold air rushed around him, sharp and biting, filling his lungs with the kind of clarity that only winter could bring. He turned at once and held out his hand, a satisfied smile curving his lips.
Circe only briefly noticed the look on his face. Her gaze was fixed entirely on the cottage in front of them.
She placed her hand in his and allowed him to help her down, but the instant her shoes touched the ground, her attention drifted from him completely. The clearing was quiet, wrapped in a tranquil hush that felt so peaceful.
