Page 56 of Blood of Wolves

Percy breathed in, and out, his eyes blinked shut, and he turned away, seemingly satisfied. The bond in the back of Oliver’s mind flared withacceptance, and even a hint of liking. Percy slanted him a look that seemed to say,Well, if you like him, I suppose I can as well.

Not just like – love,Oliver returned.

Percy snorted.

“I was trying to let you sleep a little longer,” Oliver said, when Erik reached him.

A single black brow lifted. “And you thought to do that by leaving without a goodbye?”

“No, I’m notleaving.” His face heated, and he fought a childish impulse to fidget. Erik hadn’t caught him sneaking around, but that’s what it felt like. “I wanted to – practice. A bit. Before we departed.”

“Before Náli dragged himself out of bed and appeared to make fun of you, you mean.”

Oliver frowned.

Erik reached to cup his cheek, a quick, but warm, caring touch. Then he offered up what he’d been carrying. “If you’re going to wear armor, you should complete the suit. And I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you do wear the armor.”

Oliver flapped his arms, showing off the gear he’d already put on. “Have to insist?”

“I’m your king, aren’t I?” Erik sounded a touch flustered. “Here. Try it on.”

It was a helmet – an old one, based on its lines. Narrow, and long down the sides, two swooping panels of hammered steel that would hang nearly to his shoulders. A fluted nosepiece and arches over the eyes; a slotted visor on hinges that could be worn up or down. Oliver had seen its like in books: an old calvary helmet from Aquitainia: from the Crownlands calvary, specifically. It was a little dented in places, and in need of a good polish, but the long, bleached horsehair plume on the crest looked to be in good condition, still; it hung down over Erik’s arm and fluttered in the breeze.

Oliver took it from him, surprised by its heft. “Where on earth did you get this?”

“Oh, that was in the armory here,” Snorri said. “We’ve got all sorts of odd bits and bobs floating around.”

The mental image of Erik up to his elbows in dusty equipment, digging for something special, put a smile on Oliver’s face that had Erik immediately suspicious.

“What?”

“You’re cute.”

Erik blushed. Cleared his throat. “Put your helmet on and have your practice, then.”

“So long as you stand there and continue to be cute.”

“Ollie.”

Snorri didn’t try to hide his laughter.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Oliver assured.

The helmet was cold, and heavy, but well-padded. He buckled it beneath his chin and turned his head side to side, trying to get the hang of his newly-limited visibility. “Shit,” he murmured. He’d never worn a helmet before – never had a need to. Sickly bastards didn’t ride to war. Didn’t…

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Oliver,” Erik said.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Percy’s back was higher than that of any horse, and so a secondary stirrup had been fixed down low on the girth. Oliver put his foot in it, gathered up the reins, and scrambled less than gracefully up into the saddle before he could think better of it.

He took a moment to settle; to stare down at the ground far below, and to find the stirrups with his feet. To feel the swell of Percy’s ribs beneath his calves as he breathed. He searched for fear and couldn’t find it; inquired to Percy, and met only acceptance and eagerness. This wasright. They were meant to fly together.

Erik stepped in close and gripped the snow-dusted toe of his boot. “All right?”

Oliver nodded. He didn’t know if he ought to hold the reins differently, so he secured the oiled leather under his thumb and between his last two fingers, as if he was mounted on a horse. “All right.” He reached down to lay a gloved hand on Percy’s neck. “You might want to step back for this part. We’re just going up and coming right back down,” he assured, when Erik tipped a franklylostlook up to him.

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