Page 132 of Edge of the Wild

He heard a grunt of pain, a curse, the whistle of a sword passing through empty air.

Oliver went suddenly boneless in his arms.

“Ollie? Ollie!” He couldn’t afford to look at him, couldn’t afford to let his attention slip, not as another of the things poofed into existence a few feet away, and glided toward them across the snow.

He hugged Oliver’s limp body in closer to his chest, and adjusted hi grip on his sword, ready.

Someone stepped in front of him, between them and the oncoming shaman.

Ragnar. He wasn’t panicked, wasn’t wild-eyed. He was frowning.

“What–” Erik started.

“For what it’s worth, Erik, I’m sorry. Truly I am.”

“What are you–”

Pain exploded in the back of his skull. Then all was darkness.

17

Tessa wasn’t too proud to admit that she was avoiding Rune and his mother like the plague. Rune was easy enough, because he wasn’t allowed to walk farther than the solar, Olaf and Revna having taken him to task for making it all the way out into the garden that day – the fateful day of the first kiss, her swoon, and the kisses that had followed – the ones Revna had walked in on. If Tessa glimpsed Revna across the hall, or at the far end of a hallway she was traversing, she either retreated, or ducked into the nearest doorway – which had led to an excruciating afternoon spent doing needlework with Lady Estrid and her friends, because it turned out she still had some pride, and refused to admit she’d slipped into their parlor in an effort to avoid the lady of the palace. Estrid had seemed to know, though, if her small, mocking smile had been anything to go by.

Hilda, whose startled scream was the thing that had drawn Revna, and which Tessa was choosing childishly to blame the whole situation on, didn’t breathe a word of caution or reprimand. But Tessa would lift her head occasionally and find the older woman staring at her with sharp disapproval. The whole thing was exhausting.

And, worst of all, shemissedRune. Because as thrilling and wonderful as it had been to kiss him, she also loved reading to him, and listening to his crazy stories; laughing along with his terrible jokes and witnessing his rare, precious moments of deep thoughtfulness.

Missing him, missing Revna, the social safety and comfort of the royal apartments, she lay awake into the wee hours, watching the moonlight slowly pan across the diamond panes of her window. She’d never been the best of sleepers, waking often in the middle of the night with one thing or another heavy on her mind. Usually, she watched the play of shadows on the ceiling for a while, until she eventually drifted back to sleep again. But not tonight. Tonight, she feltrestless.

With a muttered curse – and she never cursed – she kicked off the covers, donned slippers and robe, and left her room.

There were two guards on duty outside the royal apartments, but if they noted her, they gave no sign of it. She walked away from them, hurrying until she reached the privacy of the stairwell; then she slowed, and finally stopped, berating herself. This was stupid – childish. What good did sulking around in the dark do?

But those were her ingrained manners talking, and she didn’t think her manners could offer a solution to her current predicament.What does theGenteel Ladies’ Guide to Comportmentsay about the aftereffects of kissing a prince stupid and getting caught in the act? While you’re informally affianced to another prince? She nearly laughed, and nearly cried, and kept walking.

The library seemed as good a place as any to end up, its book-loaded shelves dark save a glazing of blue moonlight.

She halted when she saw the silhouette in the window embrasure. A large silhouette. Loose hair shifted as a head turned toward her, but she knew his nose, limned by the moon, stamped against the diamond window pane.

What are the odds…

Rune said, “You couldn’t sleep either?”

She wanted to insist that he be back in bed; to chide him about winding or injuring himself. She said, “No.”

He held out a hand to her, palm full of silver moonlight.

She went to him.

~*~

Dealing with the mundane trivialities of running a kingdom was much more enjoyable from the advisor’s chair, Revna determined, as she braced her elbows on her brother’s desk and stared down at the mess of ledger pages before her. Erik’s chair was a big one to fill, in more ways than one, and it was nearly three in the morning, and the words were beginning to blur. She blinked, and reached for her wine cup. “God, I hate taxes,” she murmured.

Across from her, Bjorn snorted. “Try being the one who pays them.”

She conceded him the point with a tilt of her head. Swallowed. “But look at this bit here. Tax funds were put toward having the royal stone masons reinforce a farmer’s wall. Put to good use, yes, all of that: but wouldn’t it have made sense to allow them to hire a village mason with their own funds, rather than Erik playing the middle man?”

“Do you think taxes are aboutsense?” he asked.

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