Page 8 of Edge of the Wild

In a gentler voice than expected, Reginald said, “If your mother – if anyone – finds out you’ve taken a lover below your rank, you’ll be dragged through the mud.”

She snorted, and turned to rest her elbows on the railing. “Isn’t that just the way of things? A war on, strange happenings, winter here and hunger settling across the country, but my bedroom antics would set the tongues wagging.”

“They’re fools,” he said, lightly, moving a few steps closer and mirroring her position. “But there’s no changing them.”

“You don’t think so?”

“It would take something catastrophic.”

“Like a war?”

He huffed a laugh. “Until it gets to their doorsteps – until it’s dragging them out by the jewels, raping them…hanging them…” He didn’t finish, and she didn’t press.

“What you said about the Strangers, before,” he ventured, a moment later. “It’s true?”

“What cause would I have to lie about it?” A sideways glance proved he was studying her, brow furrowed. “Yes, it’s true,” she relented. “They’ve always pestered travelers and merchants – it’s a case of entering the forest at your own risk – but the raiding is new. Something’s driving them to it. Desperation – or fear.”

“Fear of the Sels?”

“Fear of something.”

His gaze sharpened. “Now you’re being enigmatic.”

“Isn’t that a sought-after quality in a lady?”

He snorted, and glanced out across the lawn. “What will you do, Lady Amelia, if you do not marry?”

“Same as anyone: whatever I can.”

1

If someone had told him six months ago that he would be spending his days at a king’s table, and his nights in a king’s bed, vaunted guest, lover, and confidante all rolled into one, Oliver would have laughed in their face. And yet, here he was, said king a very large, warm, verynakedpresence beside him beneath the covers; with only two days until their departure for the Midwinter Festival, and a host of worries to juggle until then, Oliver didn’t have time to marvel over the arm thrown over his chest, or the deep, even breaths rustling in his ear. He could only squint against the light now falling across the bed, spit a bit of Erik’s – frankly ridiculous – hair out of his mouth, and croak, “What is it?”

A few more blinks revealed the hulking shape that had pushed aside the window tapestry as Bjorn, already dressed and groomed for the day, his hair braided tightly so that, given the tremendous fur ruff of his coat, his head looked almost too small for his body.

“Time to get up, little drake.” The captain of the guard saidlittle drakein an entirely different way than Erik. He also threw Oliver’s wadded-up dressing gown onto the bed. “You’ve got practice.”

“Practice?” Oliver sat up, dislodging Erik’s arm so that it fell across his lap. He rubbed at the grit in his eyes. “What sort of practice?”

“Fighting.”

A startled laugh bubbled up in Oliver’s throat. “Fighting?”

Beside him, Erik took a huge breath, stretched – his hand cupped more snugly around the point of Oliver’s hip – and, without opening his eyes, said, “Yes, you need to learn how to protect yourself properly, should the need arise.”

Oliver looked between the two of them. “You’re joking.”

Eyes still shut, Erik said, “I never joke about fighting.”

“Oh no, of course not,” Oliver muttered. “Well. That’s a nice offer, thank you, but I’m sure Bjorn has better things…” He made the mistake of meeting Bjorn’s gaze. “…to do. You don’treallywant to work with me,” he pressed. “I’m terrible.”

Bjorn’s lips twitched into the barest smile, and he grunted. “You’re useless with a sword, from my understanding” – Oliver shot Erik a dark look which he couldn’t see, lashes still lowered – “but your liege there is insisting, and I have to agree.”

“My liege,” Oliver parroted. “Canmy liegenot teach me himself?”

“I have very many kingly things to attend to,” Erik said, and, in the midst of all the chaos around them, it sent a pleasant shiver through Oliver’s blood to hear him placid and teasing like this; to hear him soundlight. Then one blue eye cracked open, finally, and an entirely different sort of shiver stole through him. “Besides. I would get too distracted.” Even with his face half-smashed into a pillow, his quick perusal of Oliver’s bare torso managed to be promising.

Oliver ignored the way his face heated and scowled down at him. “Be that as it may.”

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