Page 31 of Edge of the Wild

He thought, but did not say:Revna needs you here. Bjorn would have to find that out for himself, if Revna would ever admit it.

When no response appeared forthcoming, Erik sat back and said, “I of course can’t force you.”

Bjorn sent him a flat look. “Bollocks.”

Erik smiled. “I don’t want to, though.”

Bjorn stared at him a long moment, still guarded – then his shoulders lifted and slumped on a huge exhale. “Fine.”

“You’ll stay here, then?”

He pointed at Erik with his cup. “So long as you don’t go get yourself killed without me.”

“I’ll endeavor not to.”

~*~

“I’m beginning to think that the real reason you do this is because it’s rather…hypnotically relaxing,” Oliver said, leaning subtly into the strong fingers plaiting fresh braids behind his ears.

The fire crackled; the candle flames, reflected in the uncovered glass of the window, glinted off the array of beads and gems Erik had laid out on the table beside their bench. Oliver had a cup full of strong, hot tea in his hands, and a swarm of nervous butterflies in his stomach. He watched the fire, and breathed the sharp pine scent of the oil Erik was using on his hair. They were set to depart in a few hours, and both of them should have been sleeping; but, lying in the dark, facing one another, each had realized that the other was awake, eyes gleaming in the firelight, and, when Oliver had realized he was trembling, Erik had dragged him out of bed and tackled his hair.

“Hm,” he hummed now. “A benefit to be sure.”

“What sorts of beads are these?” Oliver asked, stealing a sideways glance at them. The lover’s beads he recognized, now, but there were a few new round ones set with rubies.

Erik let a beat pass; plucked a bead off the table and secured the end of a braid with it. “Before – before Rune woke up – you were asking me about a title.” He sounded almostnervous, Oliver thought, with an inward grin – one that faded quickly as his own nerves fluttered up into his throat.

He said, “I was.”

Erik finished securing the braid, but didn’t move on to the next. Let his hands fall instead to Oliver’s shoulders, squeezing lightly. “It’s not unheard of, in the North,” he said, voice low, “for a lord to take a consort instead of a wife.”

“But it isn’t common.”

Another squeeze. “That doesn’t matter. There is nothing common about you, and for that I am grateful.”

Oh. Oliver’s next breath ached.

“If times were different,” Erik continued doggedly on, “I would have done things more slowly. I don’t want to rush you, or force you, or - or–”

Oliver leaned back, on sudden impulse, so that his back was flush with Erik’s strong chest. He turned his head, catching a glimpse of one shocked, wide blue eye. That sight, Erik’s plain surprise in the glow of candlelight, his seemingly-constant expectation that Oliver might not want him somehow, send warm fondness rippling through him. And a deep, all-too-familiar sadness: a sadness he’d felt himself, his whole life, since he was old enough to understand his lack of worth – to his family, to his duchy, to the weight his legitimate cousins carried.

“You,” he said, completely unable to keep that warm fondness from his voice, “are so incredibly sweet.”

He felt the subtle jump of Erik’s body against his own. “That’s…not something I get accused of.”

Oliver chuckled – and when he did, Erik’s arms slid around his waist, holding him close and tight. “I think,” Oliver said, “that, for the most part, I’ve made it plain that I don’t give a fig about normal. I will admit that…” Here, courage failed him. He swallowed. Erik’s hand settled over the thumping pulse in his chest, silent encouragement. “I tend not to expect good things to happen. I never thought that…” Oh, this was hard to say. There were words he wouldn’t allow himself to think: words likelove. It was too soon, too big, too impossible.

He cleared his throat. “What matters, I think – the only thing that matters – is if you want to declare me your consort.”

Erik took an unsteady breath. His voice had a suppressed quality, when he spoke, as if he were forcibly holding himself in check. “I wouldn’t announce something like that if I thought – if I thought you didn’t want to stay. I don’t wish – wish to bind you to me, if it isn’t what you want.”

It was so easy, here like this, to picture the boy he’d been, once. Uncertain, but trying his hardest; full of love and loyalty, but of doubt, too. He’d dedicated all his energy to becoming a good king, so afraid, all the while, that he might not deserve love; the personal, unwavering devotion of a lover.

Oliver twisted, so he was all but lying on top of him, and hooked an arm around his strong neck. “Do you think that I have ever, for a second, wanted anyone the way I want you?”

At another time, Oliver would have laughed. Erik looked like he’d been struck over the head.

“Where else would I go? Where else would I want to be, but at your side?”

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