Page 11 of Heart of Winter
“They aren’t competitive, are they?” Oliver asked.
“They’re seventeen and twenty-two,” Magnus whispered back. “What do you think?”
“Let me show you to a seat, my lady,” Birger offered.
The princes both said, “No, I’ll do it!”
Tessa pressed her fingertips to her lips to stifle a giggle.
“Ah, my two brilliant offspring.” Lady Revna swept into the room, and Oliver found himself bowing along with every other man in attendance. She waved at the gesture dismissively and went straight to Tessa, whose eyes had gone wide. “You’ll be Tessa, then,” she said, her briskness softened by a warm smile. She took Tessa’s hand in her own. “Welcome to Aeretoll, and please don’t listen to a word my dumb boys say – and that includes my brother.”
“Mum!” Rune protested.
Leif pressed his lips together, cheeks pinking.
“What includes your brother?” a deep, commanding voice asked, and Oliver couldn’t suppress his sudden, full-body shiver.
Beside him, Magnus huffed a little laugh, and Oliver would kick himself for being so – well, himself – later, but for the moment, King Erik captured every bit of his attention.
He rolled into the room like a thunderstorm, dark, and ominous, and supple as smoke. He was even taller standing than Oliver had guessed, only a few inches shorter than Bjorn, who trooped in behind, but, despite the breadth of his shoulders, the depth of the chest encased in black leather, he moved with a certain long-strided elegance. Not a hulking brute, but a warrior, grace evident in every movement as he unclasped his snow-dusted cloak – he’d been outside, snow fast melting in his and Bjorn’s hair – hung it on a peg by the door, and ducked his head to press a fast kiss to his sister’s cheek.
A domestic, tender gesture, one that had come easy, as if from long practice, and Oliver noted the small, quick, sincere smiles they shared. Though it only lasted a split-second, it transformed Erik’s face mightily, lent an unexpected, truly shocking warmth to his stern features.
Then his expression closed off like the drawing down of a gate, and he lifted his head and pinned Oliver with an unreadable look. “You came.”
Oliver had to swallow against a suddenly-dry throat. “You told us to.” He didn’t add:And you sent armored men to collect us.
Erik’s lips compressed, his brows lowered, and his answer was a slow exhale that radiated irritation.
“Doremember I included my brother,” Revna said, “in my list of foolish men that I’m forced to endure because I love them quite against my better judgement.” Before Erik could reply, she patted Tessa’s hand and extricated her from Birger. “Here, let’s sit down, dear.” She towed her first to the table of food, where a stack of plates waited, and Oliver fell in at the back of the line that formed in the women’s wake.
Magnus was, apparently, going to dine with them, a breach of royal guard protocol that would have never been allowed down South. He turned around while they waited, and said, “In case you couldn’t tell, Lady Revna usually has the last say.”
Behind him, Bjorn turned around, and, over Magnus’s shoulder, said, “And don’t you forget it.”
Magnus winced, but offered Oliver another wink.
Plates were filled, wine was poured into unpretentious pewter cups, and the party took their seats.
Oliver found himself down near the end, between Tessa and Magnus, and across from Rune.
Erik sat at the head of the table, his sister on one side, Bjorn on the other, unmistakably kingly despite the casual black leathers he wore. Framed by two tall, narrow windows on the wall behind him, the sky beyond black with night, the mullions piled with snow, candlelight picked out the silver beads braided into his hair, and the small silver studs along the shoulders of his jerkin. Glinted off the jewels set in his rings.
Oliver forced his gaze away, only to have it collide with Bjorn’s, who was eyeing him sharply.
He reached for his wine and took a hasty sip.
“Where’ve you two been after dark?” Revna asked her brother, and the spell of momentary quiet was broken; conversation bubbled up organically.
“To the harbor,” Erik said. “A message arrived just before dark, and–”
“We could teach you.”
Oliver lifted his head and found Rune studying him. “Sorry?”
“We could teach you,” Rune repeated, gesturing to his brother with a hunk of bread. “To fight.”
Leif rolled his eyes. “Maybe Oliver doesn’t want to learn to fight.”
