Page 59 of Heart of Winter
Erik nodded. “Thank you.”
A silence descended, one full of old, remembered sadness, and, on Oliver’s part, sympathy, but it wasn’t an awkward one.
Finally, Erik drew in a deep breath, and resettled his shoulders with an air of moving on. “I came because I wanted to say, formally, that, when you’re well enough, I think it’s time we started discussing our alliance in earnest.”
Oliver felt his brows go up. “How forward-thinking of you.”
“Hm.” The glare he got was mostly smile, a playful sort of warning that sent a thrill through Oliver’s belly. “Yes, well. It’s been pointed out to me that I might have been a little–”
“Ridiculous?”
“Less than even-handed about the idea so far. If Tessa is to marry my nephew, then it’s time we sorted out the particulars of such an arrangement, you and me.”
“It just so happens that’s the reason I’m in your bloody cold country in the first place,” Oliver said dryly, and earned a wider, truer grin for his efforts. His reaction to which couldn’t be good for his poor overtaxed heart.
“Good.” Erik stood. “Rest up, then, and we’ll talk soon.”
When he turned to go, Oliver felt suddenly bereft. As bad as it was to be smiled at and flirted with and confided in, it hurt much worse to think of all of that getting up and walking out of his room. Oliver hated himself for such weakness. What they had, this rapport they’d developed, was so unexpected, and so wonderful – it was priceless all on its own, and could shatter like dropped glass if he pushed things too far. Even if Erik had, as his sister had said, affections, they weren’t the sort that could be acted upon. Not given their social standing; their fortunes; their responsibilities. Not given who they were in all ways. It didn’t matter if Revna was encouraging – there was a whole world out there that wasn’t, and Olivercould notruin his family’s chances for sustainability over a flutter of butterflies in his stomach.
Knowing all that, his traitorous mouth still said, “Your majesty,” when Erik was at the door.
Erik paused, glancing back over his shoulder as Revna had done earlier, though his expression was entirely different.
“Thank you,” Oliver said, and that was all he said, his throat closing on him, suddenly.
A long beat passed, before Erik’s own throat bobbed. His voice was a little rough when he said, “My subjects call me ‘your majesty.’ I’d like you to call me Erik.”
Oliver took an unsteady breath. “Thank you. Erik.”
“Sleep well, Oliver.” Then he was gone.
16
By Friday, Oliver was out of bed and on his feet.
More or less.
Revna had shown up with sturdy, warm Northern clothes, all of them taken in and hemmed to fit his smaller frame, all of them in the noble house colors. He knew they’d all come from Erik, or Leif, or Rune, and he found that he didn’t mind that, even if he did draw some startled glances from the merchants and nobles having breakfast in the great hall. Tessa walked at his side, her arm looped through his, and he hated that it wasn’t just for show, that she was providing a considerable amount of support.
His knees threatened to give out every other step, and his legs felt weak as water.
“It’s not too late to go back to your room,” Tessa whispered.
“Oliver!” Rune shouted, standing up from his table, and waving enthusiastically with both arms.
“I rather think it is.”
They got settled on the bench across from Rune, with Oliver notquitefalling in the process.
Rune pushed his empty plate aside and leaned forward to put his elbows on the table. “How are you feeling?” he asked, excitement giving way to notch-browed worry. “You’re pale, still.”
“Yes, thank you, Rune, I’d noticed,” Oliver said, but couldn’t help but smile. “I’m feeling much better.”
Rune tilted his head, doubtful. “Are you sure?”
He chuckled. “I’m conscious. And upright – mostly. I’ll be fine.”
Rune beamed – and traded grins with Tessa, his dark eyes going momentarily soft. “Are you hungry?” he asked Oliver.
