Page 63 of Heart of Winter
He grinned and stroked Él’s feathers. “It was too heavy, so she could only carry it a few feet at a time. I saw her sort of hopping along with it.” He demonstrated with his free hand, chuckling at the memory. “And when I got to her, she was so proud. She’d caught it right in the eyes with her claws.” He jabbed his fingers at his own eyes. “A lucky strike. She must have killed it straight off.” He glanced toward Tessa and winced. “Sorry. That’s not a pleasant image.”
“But a true one.” She smiled at him. “I grew up with a brother – and a sister as bold as one. I’m not as delicate as you might think.”
He returned her smile. “Never said you were.” Él shuffled on his arm. “She’s not impressed with our conversation, are you, girl? You ready to fly?”
He removed the hood, and Él rotated her head, back and forth, pupils shrinking against the light. Tessa swore she could see the moment the hawk recognized her surroundings. She sat up taller, and gave a few quick, shuffling flaps of her wings. Made a high, chirping noise and glanced off toward the trees.
“Ready?” Leif asked her. He chucked her under the chin like one would a baby, then lowered his arm, and lifted it quickly. “Off you go.”
Él launched off his glove, wings beating the air, and went winging off across the snow, climbing and climbing.
“She’s beautiful,” Tessa said, watching her shrink smaller and smaller with distance. Leif didn’t respond, and when Tessa turned to him, it washerhe studied, rather than the bird.
There was an intensity to him that reminded her of Erik. An air graver and more serious than that of his brother. He was still growing into it; it gapped in some places, and let youth and exuberance peek through, but there was no mistaking it for what it was: a kingly bearing. He wasn’t merely the older brother, but the heir, too. There was something wonderfully magnetic about it, for all that the sight and sound of Rune put butterflies in her stomach.
She’d meant to ask him something about hawking, some benign bit of conversation that, like most of their conversations, helped her learn more about her new home, but which failed to address one pertinent fact: that she was meant to marry him. So, instead, caught in the blue of his gaze, she said, “My brother said something to me once, and I suspect he heard it from Father. He said, ‘Knowing that you are to inherit is not a blessing or a thrill. It’s a weight that you carry with you always. To know that the safety and happiness of an entire people rests on your shoulders is a heavy thing.’”
His eyes widened, and then he nodded. “He had the right of it.” His gaze scanned out across the field, toward the distant, huddled shape of Aeres. “I imagine for some princes, it’s great fun to think about the jewels, and the fine horses, and – I don’t know, Birger talks about the great adoring crowds of admirers for the crown prince in the South – but it isn’t like that here.” He smiled a little ruefully. “Uncle never let us forget growing up that it was a privilege and a responsibility. It’s not all balls and beauties up here.” He didn’t sound bitter, exactly, but a heavy note touched his voice.
“Do you ever…” Maybe she shouldn’t ask that.
But he said, “What?” his gaze soft when it returned to her. Inviting.
“Do you ever wish that your uncle had married? That he’d had sons of his own?”So that kingship hadn’t fallen in your lap?
He took a deep breath, and considered a moment. “Not at first. It seemed like a high honor when I was little – and it is, don’t get me wrong. But lately it’s felt – it’s felt immense. Something sure, like death; I’m hurtling toward it, and I can’t change it.” His mouth tugged sideways. “I guess that’s how Uncle feels most of the time, so it’s only fair.”
“Does he not” – she knew she was overstepping, now, but couldn’t resist – “want a family of his own?”
Leif’s expression shifted, from a quick pulse of what she swore was fear, to something more careful and guarded. “Hehasa family,” he said, firmly. “All the family that he needs.”
She thought of Erik bent over Oliver’s bed, one hand cupped beneath Oliver’s head, the other resting on his chest. Did Leif know? Did he understand? Surely he must, but… She bit her lip. “He’s lucky to have all of you,” she said. “He’s a very sweet man, and he deserves to be loved.”
His brows lifted. “Sweetisn’t the word most people use.”
“I’ve seen him be sweet. He was very caring with Ollie, while he was sick.”
Leif’s nostrils flared, and his gaze narrowed. Worried, now, for sure. He glanced away, off into the distance where Él had disappeared. “Yes, well…”
“Family’s important to me as well,” she went on, her tone gentle, hoping that he could understand what she was driving at without her having to say it outright. “It’s only Mother, and Lia, and Ollie and me left, now, thanks to the war. Oliver can be prickly, and insubordinate, and I know he isn’t a proper warrior like everyone up here in the North, but he’s kind, and brave, and he always wants what’s best for us. He’s very dear to me, and I would like to see him happy. I like when I can tell that others see him as I do, for who he really is, and not merely for his lack of name.”
His gaze cut slowly back toward her, his lips pressed together into a thin line.
She pushed on, pulse tripping: “I’m glad that your uncle and Oliver seem to have reached an accord. I think they could be great friends.”
His brows gave a single jump, and he twisted to face her fully. “Great friends,” he repeated, woodenly.
“Yes. Quiteintimatefriends.” She stared back.
And saw the moment he went from thinking she was probing about his uncle, to instead offering up her cousin’s truth – both of their truths. Understanding dawned, his smile wide and blinding as the snow all around them. “Yes. Yes, I think you might be right.” He laughed. “You’re a marvel.”
She flushed, but before she could answer, he stepped in close – very close. His free hand lifted, and his fingertips pressed lightly along her jaw, the pad of his thumb resting at the point of her chin, his skin cold, but his touch oh so gentle. “Oh,” she murmured, caught and held in his gaze.
“Tessa.” His voice went low, and earnest. “I know that you fancy my brother – no, I understand. Rune is handsomer, and more charming. Rune isfunin a way that I am not. He’s my little brother, and I love him dearly, and I would never stand in the way of his happiness – nor of yours.
“All that I ask, before you make a final decision, is that you consider. Consider me. Please.” And he leaned in and kissed her.
It was quick, proper and not untoward, his lips cold from the chill air, but it was a firm press, no hesitation. Not the awkward fumbling of a pompous lordling back home, but the swift, sure touch of a man’s mouth against hers.
