Applause followed, but unlike before, it was hesitant. More than a few nobles caught the subtle barbs woven neatly into Ragnar's words.
Since the king offered no comment, neither did anyone else.
Hairan's glare burned into Ragnar as he returned to his seat, but the banquet resumed regardless, music swelling once more as if nothing had happened.
Hours later, with the festivities finally drawing to a close, Ragnar led Circe by the arm out of the hall toward their waiting carriage. The cold night air seeped through layers of clothing as the palace grounds buzzed with departing nobles, their voices blending with the creak of carriage wheels and the stamping of restless hooves as servants hurried to and fro.
Ragnar held the carriage door open as Circe climbed inside, gathering her skirts with practiced ease. Just as he was about to follow her in, a voice called out behind him.
"Your Highness."
