Page 19 of Heart of Winter
Oliver hesitated. Heads were turning toward the prince, and toward him. Rune waved more exaggeratedly, and said, “Sit with me!”
There were some head shakes, some murmurs.
Here was a prince asking a visiting bastard to come have breakfast with him. Oliver couldn’t decide which would be more damning in the Aeretolleans’ eyes: refusing, and sitting off by himself, or joining their prince.
Rune made a pleading face. “Come on. Birger’s boring me to death. I’m dying – literally dying.”
Birger huffed.
Oliver took a deep breath, and crossed the room to settle on the bench opposite Rune, keenly aware of the eyes that followed his progress. “You do look peaky,” he deadpanned, and earned a scandalized face from Rune – a false one, it quickly melted into a laugh – and an approving grin from Birger. “Good morning to you both.”
“How’s the head?” Birger asked, knowingly.
Oliver lifted his mug and made a face. “Hopefully the tea will help.” It was probably his imagination, but he thought the first few swallows eased the band of tension wrapped around his temples. “What’s so boring?” he asked Rune.
Rune grimaced. “Trade negotiations.”
With the air of a man who’d said it hundreds of times, Birger said, “Every prince worth his salt knows who his strongest, and weakest trade partners are.”
Rune rolled his eyes theatrically and crammed bacon in his mouth.
Birger sent Oliver an imploring look.
Oliver swallowed a mouthful of buttered bread and said, “That’s true. There’s a big difference between an ally, and someone looking to ally against you because they think you cheated them on grain.”
Birger hid a smirk in his own mug.
Rune scoffed. “We don’t cheat anyone on grain.”
“I’m not saying you do. But trade isn’t just about getting what you need, and selling what you don’t. There’s politics at play. If someone gives one of your allies a better deal, they might think of shifting alliances. Trade is just like marriage: it’s all a power play.”
Birger nodded approvingly.
Rune said, “You sound like Birger.”
“And could sound like you if you’d pay better attention,” Birger said.
Rune began ripping a piece of bread to bits, knee bouncing under the table hard enough to rattle their plates. “I don’t need to know about any of that. That’ll be Leif’s problem. He’ll be king, and I’ll be his right hand. It’s more important that I understand battle statistics. I’m the spare, and spares are always warriors.”
Oliver would have been the spare, the warrior, had he been legitimate. And had his health been better.
Birger heaved a deep, put-upon sigh. “Lad,” he said to Rune. “You have room in your head for battle statistics and politics. Do you not think you’d be a better help to your brother if you studied both?”
Rune sniffed and began eating the bread pieces.
“And do you know why there’s a spare?” Birger pressed. “Hm? Your uncle never thought he’d be king, either, not when he was your age.”
Rune froze a moment, dark eyes widening. He swallowed, and his gaze dropped to his plate, his hands very still. Contrite. “No,” he mumbled.
Birger patted his arm. “We’ll leave it for now. But this is important.”
Rune nodded. Ate bread in silence for a few moments, then lifted his gaze to Oliver and the sparkle returned to it. “I’m training today. Going to put Lord Belgard’s boys on their asses.”
Birger shook his head, but chuckled.
Rune said, “Want to come watch?”
“Me?”
