Page 103 of Heart of Winter
Erik sighed, but nodded. “Fine.” He turned to Oliver with an apology in his eyes.
Oliver stood. “I’ll be off, then.” He offered a tight smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Ragnar.”
The smirk returned. “It could be, if this one fails to satisfy.” He jerked a thumb toward Erik.
Who scowled and waved his cousin back. “Go on. We’ll go to the dining room. Bjorn?”
The big man turned away from a conversation down on the floor, brows lifted in inquiry.
“See that Mr. Meacham returns safely to his rooms.”
Oliver didn’t sigh, and kept his face carefully neutral. But when Ragnar caught his gaze, the wolf-shirt winked at him.
22
In general, Erik had no great resentment for his role as king. He liked to keep busy – to be useful – and, despite his initial misgivings when he’d first been crowned, he’d found that he had a head for all the many numbers and organizational minutiae that came with running a nation.
But sometimes, he just wanted a bit of peace. A moment of privacy.
A night to lock his door against kingship and slowly undress a pretty, copper-haired Southern boy.
He plucked a candlestick up off a table as he passed and led Ragnar out of the great hall, down the corridor, and into the private family dining room. It was shut up for the night, the hearth cold, tapestries drawn over the window glass. Erik used the candle he held to light the candelabrum on the table, and on tall iron stands on either side of the fireplace.
As the soft glow swelled and filled the room with the scent of beeswax, he set the candlestick on the table and turned to face his cousin, who stood leaning back against the closed door, arms folded, seemingly at his leisure.
The sight of him struck Erik as an obstacle. Ragnar was the thing keeping him from Oliver right now – physically barring the way out, holding him here in the cold room, away from his warm bed and the wine-warm skin of his would-be lover.
As if he knew this – and of course he did, with all his smirks, and winks, andtouching Oliver’s hair; Erik had seen that, and only Birger’s murmured “steady now, lad” had kept him in his chair and away from throttling his cousin on the spot – Ragnar grinned. “Wishing you were elsewhere, cousin?”
“If you have business to discuss, then discuss, it,” Erik growled. “Otherwise, you can go get drunk with everyone else.”
Ragnar’s grin lingered a moment longer, then fell away as if it hadn’t been there at all. His grin, Erik had always thought, was more dangerous than most people even knew – when it dropped, it revealed just how shrewd and calculating his pale gaze was; offered a window into a mind far sharper than he was ever given credit for.
He pushed off the door and took a few aimless steps forward, expression thoughtful. “You really like this one.”
“You act like I’m some sort of whoremaster.”
The grin returned, less flashy this time. “Quite the contrary. I didn’t think you had any room for affection in that cold heart. It’s nothing but serving, and ruling, and brooding for you. Loving is a foreign concept – but then.” His head titled. “So is he. Fitting, I suppose.”
“Ragnar,” Erik warned, hands curling into fists at his sides.
“Fine, fine, I won’t keep you. But.” He grew serious – truly serious this time, and sat down on the edge of the table, one booted foot swinging. “The Beserkirs are getting restless, Erik.”
Erik’s impatience evaporated at once. “That’s what I gathered from the one cooling his heels in my dungeon.”
Ragnar’s brows shot up. “You have one here? As prisoner?”
“Caught him picking the lock on the north gate. He seems to think I’m in league with Aquitainia, and that I want to march on the mountains and claim their lands as my own. They know about Tessa and Oliver,” he said, arching a brow. “That they’re here, and that Tessa is to marry Leif. My question is: how could they know such a thing?”
Ragnar shook his head, bewildered. “Your guess is as good as mine. They’re crafty; they could have spies implanted.”
“Amongst my guardsmen? Or my kitchen staff?” Erik asked, mocking. “I have interviewed most of them, and all of them have been with us for years, or are the children of well-respected Aeres residents.”
Ragnar shrugged. “Can never be too careful. In any event: they’re rumbling about you. And they’re rumbling about everything. They’re feeling left out – they want to be important.”
“Then maybe they should stop raiding caravans like common highwaymen and act like civilized human beings,” Erik said, noting the savage note in his voice.
A pause.
