The dungeons were nothing like Circe had imagined them to be. But now that she was here, her slippered feet carried her across cold stone floors without pausing.
Ragnar would not have approved. She knew that. She had known it even before she had made up her mind to come here, had felt the phantom weight of his disapproval pressing down on her shoulders from the moment the thought had first taken root in her mind. He had only just left for the capital that morning.
She had stood at the window and watched him go and told herself she would wait. That she would be patient. That she would do the sensible thing and remain in her chambers and rest the way everyone seemed to insist she needed to.
She had lasted all of an hour before the questions had begun to gnaw at her again, the way they had every single day since she had learned what Mirelle had done.
She couldn't wait any longer.
