Circe hesitated only a moment before lowering her gaze to the open catalog.
The pages were thick and faintly perfumed, each sketch rendered in careful ink strokes. The first page featured dresses with high collars trimmed with lace, fitted bodices that flared into sweeping skirts, and delicate evening gowns that pooled like liquid at a woman's feet.
Ragnar turned the pages slowly, watching her rather than the drawings.
"I like that one," she murmured after a moment, touching the edge of a day dress with modest sleeves and a fitted waist.
He hummed in acknowledgment.
She selected another piece. Then an evening gown with a modest neckline.
"That is only three," Ragnar noted evenly.
She glanced at him. "It is more than enough for now, considering all the ones I already have at home."
"It is not. Choose more." He insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"Ragnar—"
"Pick more," he repeated calmly, though there was amusement in his eyes.
