Sinric's eyes suddenly glitters with a grin and the spark of desire.

He says nothing as he rises, helping Ragnar out of tunic and underthings, moving with a slightly cat-like eagerness now. "Shower then. I'll prepare the bath."

He sheds his own over layers, stripping down to a thin white linen shift that hugs his lithe form. He kneels on the edge of the great bath, running the taps and pouring in scented oils and salts.

His back is to Ragnar, showing off his shape.