Page 62 of Blood of Wolves

Another nod. “Tessa,” she said over her shoulder, “will you help him with his hair? Then come join me after.”

Tessa’s throat bobbed as she swallowed with obvious difficulty. “Yes.”

Revna touched his arm on her way out, a bracing gesture infused with motherly warmth, and he realized that while, yes, his hair needed braiding, she was also giving them a moment alone, in what might well be the last hour of quiet before the storm.

Rune nodded, and moved toward his betrothed.

The door closed softly behind them.

I’m sorry,he wanted to say. Please don’t be frightened. I’ll protect you. I’m so sorry you left one war and found yourself in the middle of another.None of it felt like the right thing to say. Leif, he reflected, would have known just how to approach her right now.

Rune tried to channel his brother as he took both of her small, unsteady hands into his own, and said, “You look lovely in leather.”

Damn it! He wanted to kick himself.

Tessa’s eyes widened – and then she snickered, an ugly little snort he found wildly endearing, and then was laughing in full.

He winced, his own smile threatening. “That was terrible, wasn’t it?”

“A bit.” She dashed at her eyes and smiled up at him – he’d say anything terrible he could think of if it got her smiling again. “But, truly, I think I look silly. This is your mother’s, and it’s” – she plucked at where it gaped a little, high on her chest – “not cut for a soft Southern girl.”

He reached to tuck a lock of fiery hair behind her ear, because he wanted to, and they were alone, and he could. “You’re only soft in all the right places.”

Their gazes met, hers wide again, but this time there was no laughter.

He swallowed. “What I meant, was–”

She reached to capture his fingers before he could draw back, pressing them to her cheek. A gentle smile touched her lips. “I know what you meant. Thank you.” He could feel her blush against the back of his hand, and see it rise up in her cheeks, warm as the colors of dawn breaking outside the window.

As a boy, he’d longed for war, always playing at it with Leif, swearing up and down that he’d best any enemy archer from any kingdom, while the adults at the long trestles looked on and laughed fondly at him. He’d boasted that he would slay thousands, personally, and make his father proud, up in the eternal halls of the Val-Father.

But staring down at the beautiful upturned face before him, he didn’t want war; wanted to crawl beneath a pile of furs with her and know only softness, and sweet, willing kisses.

“Come on.” She turned and tugged him over toward the sofa. “Let’s fix your hair.”

Everything she would need had already been laid out on the table there, someone having anticipated this – Revna, he thought. Oil, comb, beads, leather ties. Rune sat, and tipped his head back into her touch – one that had become surer the more they did this, and one that quickly shifted from shaky to steady as the quiet ritual eased some of her fear.

She combed in the oil first, until it slid like silk through her fingers. Then gathered the hair away from his face and pulled it back at the crown, securing it with a strip of leather before she started the two side-by-side braids that would fall down his back.

“Revna said that you’ll need at least three over each ear,” Tessa said as she worked. “One for your father’s house, one for your uncle’s house, and one for your rank as prince.”

“Yes, that’s right.” The pressure on his scalp threatened to lull him into a doze. His nose was full of the pine of the oil, and of Tessa’s scent, too, the subtle notes of lavender and tea. He could hear the noise of preparation going on above and below them, but it was muted here, a dull roar rather than the distinct shouts of readying guards. “But what of my betrothal beads?”

She paused a moment, and then tied off the second braid. She shifted so she could work on his left side, and he tipped his head to assist – and to catch a glimpse of her face, pink lower lip caught between her teeth, brows notched together as she fretted. “I don’t think the Sels will be impressed with those,” she said, at last.

“I don’t care what the Sels are impressed with. I’m betrothed, and I want to wear the beads that mark me as such. That mark me as yours.”

Again, she stilled. But this time, her gaze sought his, widening, stunned. “Y-yours?”

“Yes. Just as you are mine.”

She stared at him a long moment, and then she nodded, and looked back to her work, fingers working faster now as she teased out small strands for the series of braids above his ears. “Yes,” she said, voice stronger. “Four braids it is, then.”

She worked in efficient silence after that, but he could sense the way his words had warmed her inside, just as he’d intended.

“There.” She dropped the last braid, the bead thumping down against his shoulder. “You look very much like a prince.”

His stomach tightened, nerves ratcheting back up. All the tension her nimble fingers had worked from him returned full-force. He stood. “Not quite. There’s something I need, first.”

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