Page 63 of Blood of Wolves

He went to his own chamber, first, and pulled a mail hauberk and deep blue surcoat on over his clothes, the latter stitched with a silver howling wolf. Tessa stepped in without being asked to tie the laces at the sides, and secure the straps of shining silver gauntlets and greaves.

Then he went to his uncle’s chamber.

He’d been to Erik’s room innumerable times. Had played with his wooden knights and horses on the rug before the hearth, Erik and Revna’s quiet conversation washing over him unheeded. Had sat at Erik’s feet while his uncle braided his hair, trying not to fidget, but doing so anyway, until Erik chuckled and the braids turned out crooked. When he was older, he had sat in the chair across from his uncle, and taken a cup of wine with him, and talked of more grown-up things: the responsibilities of a prince, a second son, a boon companion and advisor to Leif as heir.

His uncle’s chambers had always been open to them both, whenever they sought his counsel or company – but it had never been a shared space. Never a place that had been inhabited by two people with any sort of permanence.

Stripped-down though it was thanks to packing for travel, it was still obvious, at least to Rune, that this was no longer simplyUncle’s Chamber– but Erik’s and Oliver’s together. The second, smaller pair of slippers outside the bureau; a book left on the seat of the other chair; a second wine cup on the bedside table, the one on the far side. Small things, and more than anything it was a pervadingsensethat Erik was no longer alone. Rune was glad of it, that he had company, had someone to call his own now, even if it did leave him feeling as if he was trespassing a bit.

A horn sounded overhead, a formation order for the guards on the wall.

He shook himself and crossed to the wardrobe. Even Erik’s plainest clothes were richly-embroidered and fitted with fine buttons and gemstones, but the cloak he’d taken on his journey to Dreki Hörgr was simple and efficient – the clans didn’t appreciate the trappings of a fancy court. His cloak of state hung within the wardrobe still, deep red edged with blue, set with tiny winking diamonds, stitched with stag and wolf both, with a black fur edging all around.

It was heavier than he remembered, when he dragged it out and held it up.

“Oh,” Tessa murmured, stepping up beside him. “It’s beautiful.” She reached as if to touch it, then drew her hand back. Rune felt the same way.

With a sigh, he swung it around, settled it over his mail-covered shoulders, and fastened the clasp. He felt a boy again, dressing up in his uncle’s things so he could play pretend. “How do I look?” He said it disparagingly.

But she tilted her head and looked him up and down with real seriousness. “You look like a prince.”

Her tone turned a simple, true observation into something that kindled sudden heat in his stomach. There were so many things to think about right now, each more important than the last – but in this moment, her soft words ringing in his ears, nothing was more important than the pink glow of new sunlight against her cheek, nor the wide, deep-blue waters of her eyes, staring up at him with reverence and total confidence.

He couldn’t help but step in closer, and reached to touch her skin, cool and so soft beneath careful fingertips. She leaned into his hand, and it was the work of nothing to bend down, and tip her head back, and kiss her.

She hummed against his mouth, opened to, him, soft and sweet and wanting. Her hands were small, but her grip strong when she clutched at the edges of his cloak and held him down against her.

Even if it was selfish, he wantedso much. Wanted to hold her closer, and kiss her everywhere, and make her feel as good as she deserved; show her how beautiful he found her.

Waiting seemed so silly, suddenly. Formal betrothals, and traditions, and routines. Why should they wait to love one another when the enemy approached the gates?

Tessa sighed, and slipped her arms around his neck; her mouth opened wider beneath the press of his tongue.

But it was not to be.

A light rap sounded at the door, and Tessa sighed again, in an entirely different matter, as she settled back on her heels and turned to greet whoever creaked the door open.

Rune didn’t turn; instead watched, aching inside, as Tessa dabbed at her shiny lips with a fingertip, and visibly gathered her composure, expression settling into something firm and prepared – something royal, he thought, with great fondness, and no small amount of admiration.

Hilda’s voice sounded at the door. “Your grace? Bjorn’s asking for you.”

Rune’s turn to sigh. He nodded. “I’m on my way.”

Blessedly, the woman didn’t stay to scold them, but shut the door quietly as she retreated.

Rune touched Tessa’s face again, guided her gaze back to his. Everything he wanted to say got jammed up in his throat, because he couldn’t bear to lie to her. So instead, he stroked her cheek, and offered a simple, “Be safe.”

Her eyes glittered with tightly-checked emotion; she was holding back, too. She nodded, and pressed her hand to his chest, right over his thumping heart. “You, too.”

~*~

Down over the side of the gallery rail, the great hall hummed with activity: hushed, frantic voices, and the high squalls of infants, and the crackle of torches and hearth fires. Panic hung in the air, thick as morning mist, as the horns sounded again up on the roof, and along the outer walls. Signals to the guards. Rune had said they would send a rider, that he would walk out and speak with him.

Her heart beat like warm drums in her chest. She smoothed the leather apron over her skirts, squared her shoulders, and followed Revna down the grand, curving staircase, down to the fretful chaos below.

Revna carried herself with upright, unhurried elegance. With the superior grace of Lady Katherine, but the undeniable strength of a warrior. Tessa couldn’t help but feel braver, following in her wake, as her long, deep blue cloak shifted – and caught on the sword she wore at her hip.

When they reached the bend in the staircase, and came within view of the waiting crowd, a collective gasp went up. Individually, they were quiet sounds, but together, it moved through the vast hall like the hush of a wave on a shoreline. Faces turned up to regard the lady of the palace: women, children, men too old or infirm to fight. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, babes clutched in arms, toddlers perched on hips, dolls hanging from the hands of little girls, and watched Revna descend.

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