Page 18 of Edge of the Wild

“Thank you, Bjorn,” she interrupted, forcing the words past the lump in her throat. “For your confidence.” She whirled away before the burning in her eyes could become true tears.

~*~

It was nearly dinner time before Ingvar and Askr finally stopped asking questions and Birger was able to break up the meeting with a few diplomatic comments about the king having responsibilities. He walked with the lords down the hallway, after, which left Erik and Oliver alone with the day’s kingsguard: two stern, broad, bearded warriors whose names Oliver needed to learn.

Slanted, early evening light slanted butter-yellow through the windows they passed, and Oliver couldn’t stop a jaw-cracking yawn that he shielded with a hand. “Let it never be said again,” he said, afterward, feeling another yawn begin to threaten, “that Northern lords aren’t just as fussy and stuffy about the daily running of a kingdom as Southerners.”

Erik chuckled, quietly; a low rumble of sound that traveled no farther than the two of them. It had the hair on Oliver’s nape prickling pleasantly. “With a few notable exceptions, ruling is ruling. It’s the fashions and table manners that always stymie negotiations, in my experience.”

“True.” They turned a corner and headed toward the main gallery. “Though, given how worried your lords are about it, I can only assume the fashions and table manners arequitedifferent out in the Wastes.”

“Quite,” Erik agreed, halting.

Oliver drew up as well, and turned so they faced one another. An incoming shaft of late sunlight fell across Erik’s chest, highlighting the threads of silver in his hair, making his eyes seem to a glow a dazzling, translucent blue, like fresh water.

“There are no lords among the clans,” Erik said, manner shifting to a serious one, as if he wasn’t at all aware that he was standing there in his fur and jewels, with his hair, and his eyes, and hisface, gorgeous as a work of art. Oliver endeavored to actively listen. “There are clan leaders – chiefs – and they have their favorites; there are hierarchies amongst their people…but there aren’t blood rights. Aren’t inheritances. Respect is earned through bloodshed; if a leader proves weak, he’s cut down by his own men and replaced.”

“How reassuring.” Oliver fell short of the sarcastic tone he’d aimed for.

“They do respect the crown. To a point.”

“Even more reassuring.”

Erik took a step forward, expression painfully earnest. “I’m not trying to scare you.”

“You’re not. I’m not scared.”

Erik’s head tilted, his smile fond.

“No more than usual,” Oliver relented. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not the bravura warrior, unlikesomepeople.”

Erik snorted. “How did your lesson go?”

“Better once I stopped running right at Bjorn like an idiot with my knife in plain sight. Lord Náli had some helpful insights.”

Erik’s smile dropped away. “Náli?”

Oliver gave himself an entire second to enjoy this unexpected flare of – jealousy, he thought. More likely concern, but, in a small, unproud part of his heart, it felt nice to be coveted, just a little.

“Yes,” Oliver said, playing innocent. “He has to use his wiles when he’s fighting, and it seemed a good approach for me.” He lifted his brows. “Is that a problem?”

“No – no, no, it’s not.”

Oliver bit back a grin. “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“Náli is…” Erik frowned. “Young.”

“Yes, quite young. Too young for me.” The smile finally slipped through. “Though I dare say he’s quite popular with all the young ladies.”

Erik stared at him a moment, and then his frown deepened. “You think I’m jealous.”

Oliver laughed. “I think you have the potential to be, and that’scute. But rest easy: if beardless, teenage lords were to my taste, you and I wouldn’t currently be having this conversation.”

Erik seemed to realize then what sort of face he was making, and his frown melted into a rueful smile. “I’m – ah – not usually so…”

“The word I used wascute.”

“Petty and short-sighted,” Erik finished, color flaring in his cheeks.

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