Page 75 of Heart of Winter
“Spoken like a true son of our line,” Erik said, toasting him with a quick lift of his cup.
Leif smiled, though it looked reluctant. “I do like her. But I won’t force her into a marriage if she doesn’t want it – just as you wouldn’t.”
Erik nodded. “That is honorable.”
Beyond the windows, the night had begun to pale; the sky shone a faint, pearlescent gray, the hint of a sunrise to come. It was to be a busy day, full of the bustle of arriving nobles, and the last preparations for the feast. Erik would be pulled into hugs, into huddles, into meetings, into long conversations about the state of his kingdom.
For now, though, he had these last moments of quiet with his nephew.
He set his cup aside. “Do you have ties and beads for your hair?”
Leif lifted his head, looking almost startled, then nodded, and reached into the inside pocket of his unfastened tunic. “Yes.”
Erik spread his legs and patted his knee. “Come here, my heir, and I shall make you ready to meet our people.”
Leif smiled at him – a small, warm smile brimming over with emotion – then he stood and moved to sit on the rug at Erik’s feet, between his spread knees, his back to him. Over his shoulder, he offered leather laces and beads on an outstretched palm.
Erik took them from him, and set them on the table. Then he raked his fingers through his nephew’s hair, gathering it into bunches, and began a series of intricate plaits that he knew well, by now. The plaits of a prince; of an heir; of a beloved son of a beloved sister.
When dawn broke pink and bright through the window glass, the horn at the gate sounded.
19
Oliver leaned his elbows on the ledge of the open window and gazed down at the road, shivering against the early morning breeze that funneled in around him. Feast guests were arriving by the dozens, in caravans of horse-drawn carriages and, mostly, reindeer-drawn sleighs. Horses whinnied, reindeer snorted, and harness bells jingled – so many, and so loudly that it sounded like a chorus of angelic voices. The lords of Aeretoll had arrived for the Yuletide Feast.
Shivering against the cold, Oliver stepped back and drew the window closed. Tomorrow night, he would dress in finery, put beads and sapphires in his hair, and join the king at his high table, as his special guest.
Today seemed like a good day to lose himself in books.
He managed, for the most part, listening to the palace grow steadily louder and louder beneath him, a cacophony not previously heard as guests filled the great hall, exclaimed in wonder at the décor, and were shown to their rooms. He skipped meals, despite the ever-growing hunger, his stomach too tight with nerves to manage eating. He knew that Revna was keeping Tessa busy with preparations all day, and so his plan was to sneak down at supper, grab a plate, and retreat to his rooms.
But then…
“Oliver!”
He glanced up from the book he had only been half-reading and found Magnus in the doorway. It took him a moment to realize the guardsman was dressed in a casual tunic, trousers, and boots, rather than his usual crimson and blue uniform. He carried a basket under his arm, and shot Oliver a wide grin.
“Hiding, are we?”
“No.”
Magnus chuckled. “I don’t blame you one bit. It’s mad down there. Lady Kenningar doesn’t want to room next to Lady Hylli, and the Lady Revna’s trying to get them sorted, and Lady Kenningar’s wean is squalling something fierce.” He tapped his ear with a wince. “It’s a miracle we can’t hear it up here.”
People moved past him in the hallway, a cluster of hurried voices, a flash of fur and fine gems. Oliver had heard the foot traffic all day.
“I think I might skip supper,” Oliver said, though his stomach was already growling a protest. It was bad enough he would sit at the high table tomorrow; interacting with all the guests beforehand sounded like the quickest way to damp palms and indigestion.
“No need for that.” Magnus patted the basket he carried with his free hand. “I’ve got food enough for plenty, and strict orders from Lady Revna to make sure you go down and have a proper bath before tomorrow.”
To his credit, Magnus didn’t turn the statement at all suggestive. But Oliver felt a low thrum like a plucked chord in his belly. Save for when he was sick, he’d never appeared about the palace in a less-than-clean state. He could make himself perfectly presentable with a little hot water from the ewer, or, if he was lucky, a copper tub.
But the idea of Revnaorderinghim to have aproper bath…That spoke of things to come. Of certainexpectationsfor him.
Or, more likely, it spoke of Revna wanting him to appear at his absolute best when he joined the family before all the lords and ladies of Aeretoll.
He took a careful breath. “If you’ll recall, the last time I went down to the baths, it didn’t go so well.”
“Aye, well, you’re not feverish this time, right?”
