Page 118 of Heart of Winter
“Friendis an interesting word for it,” Erik drawled, but the softness of his gaze told Oliver that he understood – that there was friendship between them, along with the more heated desires and emotions.
“I’ve never had a friend,” Oliver admitted, too honest, a sudden lump forming in his throat. “Not ever. Not until I came here.”
The hand at his belt shifted to his waist, squeezing. “You have them now.”
“I know. And I am – so grateful for that.” Oliver left off petting Erik’s hair so he could frame his strong jaw in both palms. “I’m coming to the festival with you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that I’m on your side – on your people’s side. And Rune will get better, and Leif will be duke, and you’ll be stupid with summer wines and silks, then, what with all the free trade.” He knew his attempted smile wobbled with emotion, but he didn’t feel like he had to hide that. “Now. Will you do me a favor?”
“Anything,” came the immediate answer.
“Will you be honest when I ask you how you’re doing right now?”
Erik lifted a brow.
“You’ve just killed a man.”
“I’ve killed lots of men,” he said, winding both arms around Oliver’s waist and pulling him down to straddle his lap. He glanced toward the fire, while Oliver continued to stroke his beard. Quietly: “It’s easier in battle, though. Executions are…intimate.”
Oliver shivered, and turned Erik’s face back toward himself so he could look into his eyes, full of so many things, least of all regret.
“I didn’t want to have to do that,” Erik admitted.
“I know.” Oliver kissed his forehead. “You can always tell me that sort of thing, you know. You don’t have to be the king when you’re alone with me. You can just be you.”
Erik hummed a noncommittal response; then tangled a hand in Oliver’s hair and brought their mouths together for a kiss. Slow and soft and aimless. It felt like seeking comfort.
After, Erik rested their foreheads together. His breath was warm across Oliver’s lips, his arms tight around his waist, his warmth bleeding slowly into Oliver’s body in every place they touched.
A log shifted in the grate.
The muted sounds of a busy palace drifted up from below.
But here now, it was only them, and this peace they’d found, impossibly, against all odds, in one another.
“Three days?” Oliver asked.
“Three days.”
Oliver took a deep breath. “I’ll be ready.”
“And you won’t be alone,” Erik assured. “Not again.”
A trip awaited them, political maneuvering. There was a marriage contract to write, lords to charm; the Sels still occupied the Crownlands, and Rune lay now fighting for his life. So much was uncertain.
But here now, with the fire crackling, holding one another, Oliver felt – for the very first time – not like a bastard, or a disgrace, or a sickly disappointment…but like someone who was wanted. And maybe, he thought, with the faintest stirring of hope, he’d finally found the place where he belonged.
THE END
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