Page 42 of Heart of Winter
He sipped more cider. “Yes, I suppose so.”
When her eyelids started to flag, Oliver urged to her bed, and then slipped next door to his own room. He shut the door, and leaned back against it a moment, watching the candles flames waver over on the desk. The cider had eased the last of the cold pain from his extremities, but the fatigue had hold of his bones at this point; he could feel the muscles in his face drooping. If he wasn’t careful, he might fall asleep leaning up against the door.
Until someone rapped against it from the other side.
He suppressed a groan and turned to open it – and then open it a fraction wider when he saw that it was Erik on the other side, his guards hanging back farther down the corridor.
Oliver stood up straighter, and tightened the belt of his gown – a movement that Erik’s gaze tracked, quickly, before returning to his face. “Your majesty.”
When their eyes met, a slow, small smile pulled at the king’s mouth. “So it’s ‘your majesty,’ now.”
“It always has been,” Oliver said, stiffly – at least, he tried. He blamed the teasing note in his voice, and the irrepressible tug of a smile, on exhaustion.
Erik’s grin widened. “Is your cousin well?”
“Yes, yes, she’s much better. Only a few scratches and some cold fingers. She should be fine. What about Rune?”
The smile slipped a fraction. “His pupils are retracting as they should, and all his reflexes seem to be in order, but he’s muddled when he’s awake. The physician says it should all be fine. He’s to be woken every hour through the night, and Leif insists he’ll do it, even though he needs to sleep himself. I imagine Revna and some of the lads will spell him.”
Oliver nodded. “Good. Glad to hear it.” He wasn’t able to catch his yawn in time, and had to cover it hastily with his hand.
Erik chuckled, a low, rich sound that, despite the fatigue, had goosebumps prickling down Oliver’s back. “And you, Mr. Meacham? Are you well?”
That question, said in that voice, was very, very unfair.
Oliver managed, “Yes, yes, fine.” Again, he would blame his tiredness, when, in a sudden surge of boldness, he fingered the fur collar of his dressing gown and said, “Your sister made sure I was bundled up nice and warm.”
The smile remained, soft as the fur under Oliver’s fingertips, but the blue gaze above it sparked with – something. Something intense and indescribable, as it shifted down the length of Oliver’s body, and slowly back up. “I’m glad that she did.” Erik dipped his head, and stepped back. “Sleep well…” Quieter: “Oliver.”
“You, too,” Oliver said. He watched him depart with his guards, then shut the door, and pressed his forehead to the cool wood, breathing out a shaky sigh. “Donot,” he scolded himself. “It meansnothing.”
His dreams that night, though, didn’t listen.
~*~
Oliver woke next morning with a pounding head and aching joints. His eyes opened like rusty shutters, almost too heavy to lift, and he lay on his side a long time, blinking at the soft morning light coming in through the window glass, trying to work up the nerve to get up. Exhaustion dragged at him when he sat up, and the throbbing in his head was even worse.
He massaged at his temples, and then the dull pain in the sides of his neck for long minutes, telling himself that this was only to be expected after rushing about on horseback in the cold and dark. Panic often left people feeling ill – this was totally normal, perfectly fine, and nothing at all to get worried about.
When a kitchen boy brought him hot water, he scrubbed his face and hands, combed his hair, and dressed in his warmest clothes – though his bed was well-insulated, he’d begun to shiver the second he was out of it.
In the mirror, his reflection stared back: pale, tired, and wearing dark circles beneath drowsy eyes. Not at all the countenance he wanted to take to the king, because, now that everyone was home safe and sound – he meant to check on Rune first thing – there was the whole business of Tessa having been off in the wilderness with two princes to deal with. Hilda had been with them, and that counted for something; and Erik had assured him that gossip didn’t matter as much here.
Still.
He met Tessa as she was coming out of her room, and she gasped when she saw him.
“You look terrible!”
“Thank you,” he muttered. “I would return the sentiment, but that’s never true.”
Indeed, she looked refreshed and lovely this morning, the color back in her face, her hair clean and shining, braided up like a true Northern girl’s. Astrid was behind her, hands clasped demurely in front of her, and the intricate plaits were clearly her doing.
“Oh, no,” Tessa said, laying a hand on his arm. “I only meant that you look as if you don’t feel well.”
“I’m fine.” He offered his arm. “Shall we go down?”
Breakfast was well under way in the great hall, and despite what Erik had said, there was chatter as they entered the wide chamber. There were looks, and there were hurried whispers across tables, and Oliver wished he could spare his cousin this. “It’s fine,” he said, laying his hand over hers.
