Page 13 of Heart of Winter
Oliver took a deep breath and continued. “I’d wager you know more about the war with the Sels than I do, at this point, but what I do know is that the crown prince of Aquitainia is dead, and a number of great lords have fallen. A child of eight now holds the title of Duke of Aberforth.” He couldn’t stop the jump of his brows, the same way they’d jumped months ago when he’d first heard the news of that unfortunate turn of events.
“My uncle, father, and cousin fell in battle this summer,” he pressed on, striving not to linger on thought of them, on John’s ready smile, and strong hand always ready to clasp Oliver’s shoulder in friendship. Holding the king’s gaze made it easier, somehow; it was difficult to allow emotion to intrude when locked in place by that glacial stare. “Lady Katherine holds her own well, because she is a fierce woman, but the duke is dead, and his only heir with him. I’m a bastard, and cannot inherit. My cousins – the girls…” How could a man look so implacable? So…cold and closed off? It stoked at the dormant, carefully-kept anger in Oliver’s chest. Stirred up an honesty better left unsaid. “One of them should be duchess,” he blurted. “They should. Amelia should take the mantle from her father. But she can’t. It isn’tfair, but that’s our society isn’t it? Not fair in any way.”
“Ollie,” Tessa whispered again, more urgently.
“When the ceasefire ends, because surely it will end, the king’s forces cannot hold the Sels at bay for any great length, our enemy will sweep across the plains of Aquitania like the breeze flowing down a valley. We are already allied with the other duchies; a marriage alliance will not save us, everyone is already stretched too thin.
“Winter is upon us and we will not survive it if we can’t hold Drakewell. It was a bountiful harvest year, and our stores are laid up, but we can’t protect ourselves, not this time. The king can’t protect us either. So Lady Katherine sent us to you.”
“With her daughter as offering,” Erik said, voice low, tone unreadable.
“A daughter whose hand would make you not just King of Aeretoll, but Duke of Drakewell as well.”
Low murmurs of surprise from the rest of the table.
“All of Drakewell’s farms, and fields, all its wealth, would be yours.” The last stung his throat, painful to say.
Bjorn started to speak – but Erik stayed him with a single raised hand, gaze never moving from Oliver’s. He tilted his head a fraction, so that, for a moment, the blue of his eyes flickered gold in the candlelight. “And why wouldIbe singled out for this honor?”
Oliver thought he sounded mocking. “Because you have a reputation for prowess in battle. For ruthlessness,” Oliver said, with some satisfaction; it felt good to lay insults at the king’s feet…though he probably thought them to be compliments. “Because you’re the sort of man who wouldn’t turn away a free offer of wealth and a pretty maiden. And because you were allies with my uncle, once. You shook hands with him in a battlefield tent, a pledge to remain allies in the future.”
The king’s brows lifted an unimpressed fraction. “This is what your aunt told you?”
“This is what I saw. I was there, that day. I remember the way the glow of the brazier caught on your rings.”
Surprise blanked the king’s expression a moment. He sat back in his chair, blinking. And then he scowled. “You were there? How old were you?”
“Seven. And believe me, it was my stupid father’s idea. Uncle wasn’t happy about it.”
Alfred had ridden back to Drakewell for more troops, and in an impulsive moment lifted Oliver up to sit in front of him in the saddle, wanting to take him to the treaty-signing, so he couldstart learning to be a man. William had nearly struck his brother, he’d been so angry.
Oliver remembered hiding in the back of the tent, peeping between men’s legs, and around the corners of trestles. Remembered the young Aeretollean king, resplendent in furs and jewels, his long, wild tangle of back hair, silver gleaming in his many braids. He remembered how he’d stood taller than Uncle, how his hands had been bigger, his wrists cased in engraved leather braces, his knuckles adorned with spiked silver rings. He’d seemed a wild thing, an animal on its hind legs come out of the forest, breath steaming in the chill air of the tent, eyes so vividly sky blue when they shifted toward the faint noise and scurried movements of a boy hiding in the back of the tent.
Oliver watched Erik remember it. Watched the way his jaw tightened, and his throat moved as he swallowed; the way his eyes grew faraway with memory, a moment.
He ran absent fingers down the length of the braid tucked behind his ear, played with the fat bead at its end. “I was newly crowned, then,” he said, gruffly, then cleared his throat, sat up straighter, and smoothed his features. “If you remember that so well, Mr. Meacham,” he said, all of sternness again, “then you’ll know that we agreed to be allies and friends, but I never agreed to marry any of the man’s daughters – and I won’t.”
Revna sighed.
Beside Oliver, Magnus hummed a low, sympathetic sound.
Birger made a soothing gesture toward the king. “Now, Erik–”
“No.” He locked gazes with his advisor, and some silent communication passed between them that had Birger nodding and sighing. “It’s as I said before: if Leif wishes, he and the girl may marry, and Leif can receive the title of Duke of Drakewell.”
“Tessa,” Oliver said through clenched teeth. When Erik glanced back at him in question, he said, “She is notthe girl. Her name is Tessa, Tessa Drake, and she’s sitting right here.”
Erik held his gaze a moment, then nodded – then caught Tessa’s eye. “Lady Tessa, would you rather marry me, or my handsome nephew?”
Under different circumstances, Oliver would have laughed at the way Leif choked on his wine and had to be slapped on the back by his brother.
Tessa – who’d long since given up all pretense of eating – knotted her hands together in her lap and said, “I – I don’t…” She held the king’s gaze, but pressed her lips together, face so white Oliver feared she’d swoon.
He covered her hands with his own, stilling their nervous movement.
“Maybe they should decide that for themselves,” he said.
Erik’s black brows gave another little jump of acknowledgement. “Agreed. Get to know one another.” He gestured between the two young people with an imperious sweep of his hand. He didn’t sound encouraging. “If you agree to it, we’ll have a spring wedding.”
