Page 48 of Heart of Winter
“I’m worried about him,” Tessa said as she and Revna started down the grand staircase side-by-side. “He doesn’t like to admit when he feels poorly, but I know that he does now. I don’t want him to hole up somewhere and deny it if he needs help.”
“There’s plenty of places to hide here,” Revna said. “It seems to go on forever sometimes – but I know all the best hiding spots. We’ll find him,” she assured.
They’d already checked his chamber and the library. Tessa had set out to ask him down to supper, after having spent most of the afternoon with Rune, talking to him until his dark mood seemed to have lifted and he’d begun to smile again, and even laugh, trading childhood stories. He’d grown tired, though, she could tell, and Revna had decreed that he needed rest – and, if Olaf approved, a night of complete sleep without having to be awakened every hour.
As they descended to the great hall, the usual clatter of meal preparation was underway – and then was suddenly broken. A hush fell, followed by a smattering of whispers and hisses and soft exclamations. Tessa glanced up, and saw why.
King Erik strode toward them, his stride ground-eating, his expression all clenched jaw and blazing blue eyes. He was only half-dressed, in boots, trousers, and a simple tunic, unlaced. His guards hurried to keep up with him, one on either side.
It took a moment of staring in incomprehension before Tessa realized that the white-wrapped bundle he carried in his strong arms was her cousin.
She gasped. “Ollie!” She lifted her skirts and ran down the last few steps, straight toward Erik. Who nearly collided with her, pulling up at the last second. This close, she could hear the harsh, fast rhythm of his breathing; could see, when she glanced toward his face, the suppressed panic shining in his gaze.
She turned her attention to Oliver. He was swaddled in towels, but, based on a glimpse of arm, and throat, and the sight of his bare feet, he appeared to be naked beneath. His auburn hair was dark and damp, plastered to his neck and forehead. His eyes were closed, shifting restlessly beneath the lids, and his face was unmistakably flushed.
She touched his cheek, shocked by the intensity of his fever. “Oh,Ollie. No.”
“He was in the baths,” Erik said, roughly. “Gods knows how long he was in there. He roused a little – babbling nonsense.”
One of the guards spoke up, his expression worried – she thought his name was Magnus. “I thought he was just a little sore from last night. If I’d thought he was sick…” He shook his head.
“It’s the marsh fever,” Tessa explained. “He’s had it since he was a boy, and it flares up now and then.”
“It’swhat?”
Erik’s voice snapped her head back, and she was shocked by the intensity of his gaze.
“Marsh fever,” she said. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Yes. Of course.” But his gaze flitted wildly down to Oliver’s slack face. “But I didn’t know – know that he–”
To her surprise, Tessa felt a sudden urge to comfort him. “It’s frightening, but he always pulls through it. He needs rest, and time. Our physician always made him a feverfew tea.”
Revna bustled over. “Oh, he looks terrible.” She glanced up at her brother, and Tessa saw their gazes lock – saw, for one wild moment, the way Erik looked nothing like a king, but like a frightened boy.
Revna’s jaw firmed. “Come on,” she said, gently, “and let’s put him to bed.”
~*~
Tessa might have been young, and she might have been physically innocent, and she could acknowledge that she was naïve about certain matters. She was sixteen, that was only natural.
But she wasn’t stupid.
And she was observant.
Oliver had never said it outright, but she’d noted the direction of his gazes, on occasion; had watched his face twist with regret, and shame, and a hollow sort of longing that spoke of repression. She knew in which direction his amorous feelings lay, though, if he’d ever had his heart outright broken by an affair, he’d kept that information tightly guarded.
Upon their arrival, she’d noticed two things straight off: one, that Oliver thought King Erik a pompous, heavy-handed prick. And two: that he was, probably against his will, attracted to him. He masked it well, but he had her eyes, the Drake eyes, and she’d seen the faint spark of want in them, hastily tamped-down.
It was only to be expected, she supposed. Erik was a handsome, powerful, striking man. Too old for her, but older enough to be thrilling for someone her cousin’s age. She understood.
But she wasn’t at all prepared for what she was witnessing now. For Erik’s shocking tenderness and worry.
He carried Oliver all the way up two flights of stairs, despite the guard’s offer to take him. When they reached Oliver’s room, Tessa folded down the covers and watched, fascinated, as Erik laid him gently down, a hand cupped behind his head at the last, before surrendering him to the pillow. He didn’t draw away, after, but remained, one hand pressed to Oliver’s chest, the other palming over his forehead, checking his temperature.
“Is it normally this bad?” he asked Tessa, glancing up at her from beneath knitted brows. The way he was bent over the bed put them on eye level – she’d never imagined a king in such a position, especially not over a visiting emissary.
(Oliver’s not that, she thought.Not anymore.)
