Page 7 of Blood of Wolves

He looked like he wanted to argue, but nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Then Revna gathered her skirts and went to see what was to be done about her ever-more-crowded great hall.

~*~

It wasn’t that Tessa hadn’t understood what it meant to go to war with an enemy as strong and well-trained and determined as the Sels when she lived in Drakewell, but then it had been a removed threat. It had been Father and John and Uncle Alfred marching off; all the actual fighting had taken place around the capital, over a thousand miles distant.

But she could see the masts of the Sel ships from the battlements, their purple sails folded out of sight, but the sinister silhouettes of their massive man o’ wars wildly out of place amidst the dry-docked barges and merchant vessels of the harbor. All the farmers and merchants from the city were filling up the nooks and crannies of the palace, and the Sels were coming – were cominghere. To do battle, to lay siege. They’d been so worried about Drakewell – she and Ollie both – but they’d never thought the enemy might arrive at Aeres like this.

If she thought about it, she felt like she might swoon, the crushing fear and anxiety leaving her all but immobile. So she didn’t think of it, at least not directly. She focused on helping in all the ways she could, and right now that meant making sure Rune went to see Olaf.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Rune complained, and the face he made was nearly enough to make her laugh, despite everything. “I don’t need to see Olaf.” He planted a hand against the doorjamb, and wouldn’t be budged, despite the fact that his other hand was clasped to his side. “I’m fine. Good to go back up on the wall – and, look, they’re much more in need of Olaf than me.”

Through the open door, Tessa could see that the surgery was more crowded than usual. An infant cried in its mother’s arms, despite her efforts to bounce it gently on her shoulder, swaying side-to-side. Three children, boys that couldn’t be more than a year apart in age and all with the same wheat-colored hair, sat lined up on stools while Olaf examined their eyes, ears, and throats with aid of his monocle and a candle and mirror. All were wiping at red, runny noses while their mother looked on with obvious concern. A young man stood holding his arm gingerly; one of the kitchen maids had a cloth gripped tight in one hand, blood seeping through where she’d cut herself.

She didn’t necessarily disagree with him, if she was being practical. The sick and crying children tugged at her heartstrings.

But so did Rune, whose pain had been writ clear on his face up above; who was nowhere near ready to be shooting when he’d not even managed to walk from one end of the palace to the other so far without getting winded. Olaf would want to examine him, because he was the prince – because he was the only heir in evidence here now, while the king was away, and the enemy was on their doorstep – but Tessa wanted him looked at for purely personal reasons.

“We can wait,” she said, towing him into the surgery by his tunic sleeve. “I’m sure it won’t take long.”

The kitchen maid glanced up at them, and then swept into a quick, correct curtsy. “Your grace. My lady.”

The woman with the baby turned toward them, and gasped. “Prince Rune!”

“Hello,” he said, a little stiffly, and offered a wave. “Um. Just. Waiting. Didn’t want to disturb.”

Without looking away from the boy whose ear he was examining, Olaf said, “Go and sit up on the table, lad, and I’ll come check your wound.”

“You don’t know that’s why I’m here,” Rune grumbled.

Olaf only hummed.

“Here, your grace,” the woman with the baby said, stepping back so that she bumped into a workbench, gesturing to the space she’d abandoned. “Go ahead of us, please.”

Rune’s awkward expression became one of surprise – and then of dismay. He bowed, and both women scrambled to curtsy this time. “No, my ladies,” he said, as he straightened, and his voice had grown gentle, but firm. Princely. “Let Olaf see to you, and your children, first. I’m happy to wait.”

It was such a small thing, and the right thing, but the mother and the maid both blushed; the mother’s eyes filled with tears.

Warm with pride for him, Tessa looped an arm through Rune’s and led him toward the back of the surgery. He climbed up onto the table by himself, but gingerly, wincing a little. Tessa couldn’t do much good, but she kept a hand on his arm the whole time, supportive in presence, if nothing else, and he offered her a tight smile, once he was settled, trying to push down the evidence of his pain.

“Really. I’m fine,” he said.

“Uh-huh. We’ll see what Olaf says.”

“Ugh. You’re going to turn into my mother, aren’t you?”

“She’s an admirable woman.”

He sighed – but nodded, and she felt a grin steal across her face.

One that faded in the next moment, when the baby cried behind them, and she was reminded of their situation. Of the state of emergency.

Rune picked her hand up, where it rested on his arm, and wrapped it up between both of his own, large, and warm, and still cold from being up on the wall. “When I was little,” he said, his voice gone soft and small with remembrance. “Mum would always tell us that everything would be all right. When Uncle went off to the festival – when he took us with him, later. That time Leif got struck in the head during training and I cried like an idiot baby.” He huffed a fast, embarrassed chuckle, cheeks coloring, briefly.

He traced her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “I wish I could tell you that now. But…I don’t know if I can.” He looked up through dark lashes, eyes warm and brown as polished mahogany. “I don’t want you to be afraid, but I don’t want to lie to you either.”

Initially, the sight of him had filled her with breathless butterflies. They were still there, but now her chest ached and squeezed with a warmer, more acute sensation. It wasn’t just that he was handsome and charming – but he was earnest, and caring, and honest, and Tessalovedhim.

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