Page 73 of Heart of Winter
“When has he ever missed a chance to drink our ale?”
The corner of Leif’s mouth twitched upward in a fleeting smile. “That’s true.” He sobered. “He will be angry that we’ve strengthened ties with the South.”
“Then I will explain to him that we’ve strengthened ties with Drakewell – that we’ve conquered it – and not the entire South. That’s language he can understand.”
Leif offered a wry grin, finally glancing toward him. “He’s still sore you wouldn’t marry his sister.”
“And he will continue to be sore, I imagine.” Erik had never offered either of the boys in his stead, as he had with Tessa Drake. He liked to think that he was a stern uncle, but not a cruel one.
Leif seemed relieved. He sipped at his wine and settled back in his chair. Glanced toward the table that had become a holding place for the things Revna had set aside for Tessa and Oliver for tomorrow’s feast. “I saw what Mother set out for Oliver,” he said, tone careful now.
Erik’s belly tightened, fractionally, with sudden nerves. He kept his tone light: “Blue to match his cousin.”
“Ourblue.” Leif’s gaze cut over, keener than Erik gave him credit for being, most times. “And the sapphires for his hair. And thebeads.”
“Tessa will be wearing beads.”
“Tessa is my fiancée.”
Erik took a measured breath – and a long swallow of wine. “Oliver will not be the first man to wear that sort of bead in Aeretoll.”
“No,” Leif agreed, brows lifting. “But he’ll be the first manyou’veput them on. The firstpersonyou’ve put them on.”
Erik frowned – but Leif was undeterred, staring at him with open curiosity. “What of it?” He levered a warning into his voice.Leave it.
It didn’t work. “Uncle,” Leif said, wondrous, “youlikehim.”
“Of course I like him.”
“No, but youcarefor him. Uncle.” He sat forward, eager, delighted. “Those are lover’s beads. You don’t braid them into someone’s hair unless you–”
“Yes, I know whatlovermeans, thank you.”
Leif grinned. Chuckled – the brat. “So, have you and he–”
“That’s none of your business.”
He stopped laughing, but his eyes danced, just like his mother’s did when she was deeply amused about something – in a loving way. “I think he likes you back.”
Erik glared at him…mostly in an effort to disguise the way his stomach flipped. He was like a stupid, moony-eyed little boy again, pulse fluttering at the thought of being liked in return by the object of his affection.
“When we have our meetings in the study, and I’m ready to fall asleep from how boring it is, I’ve seen him look at you. When your head’s down, and you can’t see, he looks at you like–”
“Leif.”
“Don’t you want to know?”
Desperately. “No.”
“Will you make him consort?”
The question didn’t shock him, because, no matter how remote, fanciful, and unlikely, it was a scenario that he had entertained. Several generations ago, the Lord of Wolf Point had taken a man for his consort, creating a mild scandal amongst the rest of the Aeretollean nobility. But a scandal that fizzled out quickly. The consort was a great warrior, with a head for strategy and leadership; he offered his lord and lover wise counsel, endeared himself to his people, and the lord’s nephew inherited, eventually.
Erik had envisioned Oliver wrapped in furs, his hair long, braided, glittering with gemstones and beads, rings winking on his fingers, standing beside the throne when Erik listened to petitioners. He was beautiful already, fine-featured, and soft-skinned, and big-eyed, with a temper like a cornered badger that Erik found impossibly endearing – but robed all in finery, there would be no question to whom he belonged.
“Uncle?”
He’d been silent too long, lost in reverie. Infantasy, because he knew it would never happen. “I doubt very much that he wants that.”
