Page 117 of Heart of Winter
Oliver saw them both off down the hallway, but didn’t follow, his own steps slowing and eventually halting, as if mired in deep mud. Below, he could hear the palace beginning to stir, the deep, resonant murmurs as if a great machine were at work, people bustling about, lighting fires, starting breakfast, seeing to the needs of all their many guests.
Oliver stood before a window, and he turned his head to look out through the leaded panes, across the smoke-blue fields, and the spiky tree tops of the forest beyond. The sun was just breaking over the mountains in molten golds and pinks, a spill of warm light across a cold, cold landscape.
Each time he blinked, he saw Ormr’s head tumbling across the snow.
When his eyes were open, he couldn’t stop envisioning the look on Erik’s face, afterward.
Doubtless there were even now meetings being thrown together, lords being gathered to discuss what had happened. There would be dozens of people vying for Erik’s attention today, and he probably ought to be down in the great hall now, Birger on one side of him and Bjorn on the other, a reassuring, kingly presence amidst these troubling times.
But some instinct tugged Oliver the other direction, and he made his way slowly toward the royal apartments, instead.
The guard shift had changed, and the two at the door nodded to him in silent greeting, and let him pass between them through the door. The common room was empty, the fire all but burned out. Without pausing, Oliver made his way to Erik’s chambers and, after only a moment’s hesitation, let himself inside without knocking.
The gold-pink dawn light fell on the rumpled bedclothes that gave evidence to their quick departure, the depressions left by two heads marking the places where they’d slept, so close together, only a few hours ago.
Erik sat slumped in an armchair before the fire, bent forward at the waist, forearms braced on his thighs, the curved line of his back one of doubt, and worry.
He glanced over, fleetingly, when Oliver entered, but didn’t speak – only held out a hand, after a moment. A silent request that tugged hard at Oliver’s gut, and had him crossing the room in a hurry. He slid his palm into Erik’s, and with his other hand he tucked a messy, silver-streaked braid behind the king’s ear. Erik leaned into the motion of his fingers, so he kept stroking his hair, smoothing it back from his brow and down the back of his skull.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver said, feeling helpless, not knowing what else to say. “Erik, I’m so sorry.”
Erik took an unsteady breath, his face lined, stripped naked of all the fury and hardness he’d worn in the surgery, and in the yard. He wasn’t trying to hide anything from Oliver, here where they were alone together, and that show of trust was staggering.
“You were right, about his stubbornness.” One corner of his mouth flicked in a poor attempt at a smile. “Rune’s young, and strong, and if anyone can pull through such a thing, it’s him.” He sobered, and his voice grew thick. “And it’s me who should be apologizing to you.”
“Whatever for?”
Erik turned his head to look at him fully now, lookingupat him. His hand tightened on Oliver’s, and the other hooked in the front of Oliver’s belt, holding him still; Oliver sensed it was a grip that was more for Erik’s comfort than his own, given his troubled expression; wide, pleading eyes shifted back and forth over Oliver’s face.
“I’m sorry for what I’m about to ask you, Oliver. My cousin is an asshole, and he’s wrong about many things – but in this instance, unfortunately, I think he’s right.
“I set out for the Midwinter Festival in the Waste in three days’ time, and I must be there, after what I’ve done today. And I must takeyouwith me.”
Oliver let the words wash over him. Tried to absorb them. “What?”
Erik sighed, thumb smoothing back and forth across Oliver’s belt buckle. “By marking you out as special to me, I confirmed what the Waste clans are apparently all thinking and whispering about: that I am, quite literally, in bed with the South.”
Oliver threw a glance toward the rumpled sheets. “Last I checked, it was just you and me in bed together. I didn’t notice the whole rest of the South last night.”
Erik flicked another smile. “I know, but that’s how they see it. Probably some of my own people see it that way as well.”
“But I’m only a bastard,” Oliver said, weakly.
Erik gave his belt a tug, expression firming. “You aremine. And I will not have it said that you are anything less than the highly-esteemed, brilliant, beautiful object of my deepest affection.”
All the air left Oliver’s lungs. “Oh,” he whispered, swaying forward a half-step, so that he stood between Erik’s parted knees.
“I won’t pretend that it isn’t dangerous, and I wish I could spare you such a long, cold trip,” Erik said with obvious regret. “But I fear Ragnar is right: we have to prove that you are not some Southern agent come to whisper in my ear. We have to prove that, whatever my dealings with Drakewell, I am still loyal, above all, to the North and its people.”
Deepest affection.The wild, brilliant thing was that Oliver couldseethat – could see it shining in his blue eyes. He would have agreed to anything in that moment, he thought, and so it was easy to say, “I understand.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do. I can’t very well ask you to defend my homeland with your armies if I’m not willing to defend your honor with my presence now, can I?” He offered a smile.
One Erik returned with one of his own, equal parts soft and concerned. He shook his head, fractionally. “Still, I would ask your forgiveness. I’ve been rash – foolish. No better than my idiot nephews.”
Oh, sweetheart, Oliver thought, chest squeezing. He rasped his thumb along Erik’s short beard. “No. You’ve been a prince. A king, actually” – that earned a widening of Erik’s smile – “and – barring one or two regrettable moments of buffoonery” – that earned a chuckle – “I couldn’t have asked for a more gracious host. Or a better friend.”
