Page 64 of Heart of Winter
He was smiling when he drew back, and she could only stare, as his thumb lifted and pressed against her lower lip, briefly, before he let go and stepped back. Still holding her gaze, he lifted his gloved hand, and Él landed lightly upon it with a flutter of wings, a dead rabbit landing with a plop in the snow at their feet.
Tessa finally breathed out, her breath a white mist between them, and she was most definitelyconsidering.
~*~
Oliver’s lingering headache made reading difficult. His eyes kept glazing over, and he would snap back to attention to realize that he’d read whole pages without absorbing any of the information on them. With a sigh, he abandoned the library and made his shaky way down to the great hall to see what was available for lunch.
The king was hearing petitions, seated upon his throne, on his dais, before the reindeer banner. Food had been left out to the side, though. Oliver plated up some cold chicken, bread, and a bowl of soup, and sat at the trestle left available for anyone wanting to observe the proceedings. He was aware of the man two spaces down from him, a wealthy merchant by the richness of his clothes, giving him a suspicious, sideways look – whether because he was foreign, because he’d recently been ill, or because he was wearing what was very obviously one of Erik’s old tunics, given the fine, crimson velvet chased with silver, Oliver didn’t know, nor did he care – but Magnus was on the dais with the king, and he caught Oliver’s gaze and winked.
Oliver grinned, and dunked bread into his soup.
A woman stood before Erik, dressed in sturdy boots, thick, homespun wool, and a clean apron. Her face was weathered, but just as clean as her apron, as was her hair, braided into a tidy crown around the top of her head. She held herself tall and proud, though her hands twisted together in front of her in a show of nerves.
“They got two of the ewes, your majesty. Took them off in the middle of the night, and only a little blood and bit of wool left to show what had happened. I saw the tracks, though, and there was no mistaking them for dogs.”
Wolves, Oliver thought, with an inward shudder.
“We have fences,” the woman continued, “but the wolves got through the slats. My neighbor says I ought to have a wall, instead, but with my husband in the ground these past six months, and three mouths to feed…” She trailed off, and bowed her head, shoulders shaking fractionally as she fought her emotions. Not a single tear fell.
Oliver frowned to himself. It was easy, at moments, to feel overwhelmed by what lay ahead of him, and to get bogged down in his disadvantages. The war with the Sels, the threat to Drakewell, being here in a new country, as a landless, titleless bastard, negotiating a marriage contract and dealing with an ever-increasing attraction that got harder and harder to ignore. But this woman was a widow, and a mother, and predators were eating her sheep, and his own problems felt small and stupid by comparison.
Erik had listened in attentive stillness, one elbow braced on the arm of his throne, chin resting on his knuckles. The sunlight sparkled now on the beads in his hair as he leaned forward, hand falling, his simple shift in posture seeming to bridge the large distance between himself and his petitioner. When the woman lifted her head, face steeled against hope, he inclined his head to an angle that Oliver was coming to know, and to admire – for the way it highlighted the sharp-cut features of his sometimes-harsh face, and for the way it made his eyes seem so large, framed by black lashes, and serious brows. It was a sincere expression, one that battered down the invisible barrier between king and subject, so that he seemed only a man – albeit a regal and powerful one, rather than a heartless monarch.
“Don’t worry,” he said, voice a low, meaningful rumble that sent pleasant shivers rippling through Oliver’s stomach. “I’ll send my own men to build you a wall.”
“Oh,” the woman breathed, shoulders dropping with relief. “Your majesty…”
“If my stablemaster and my mason visit tomorrow, will you and your fellow shepherds be able to meet with them? If the wolves are having a lean winter, it may be necessary to fortify the entire city, and I can donate some of our excess reindeer herds to satiate their hunger.”
The woman’s tears fell, then, and she dashed at them with trembling fingers as she thanked him profusely.
Erik smiled, narrowly, but truly, a sad, sympathetic sort of smile.
He wishes he could do more,Oliver thought, and knew it was true. Because he was not an awful, arrogant prick like Oliver had thought at first. He was tall and strong and stern, yes, but he felt things – deeply – and he wanted to do right by people – random fits of overzealous passion in the sparring yard notwithstanding.
“Mr. Meacham.” Birger settled on the bench beside him. “Good to see you up and about.”
A quick glance proved his smile was warm and glad. Oliver twitched a smile back and returned his gaze to the dais. Revna was leading the now-crying woman away and a man was stepping up to take her place. “Good to be up and about.”
“It’s nicely done, isn’t it?” Birger asked, and Oliver saw him gesture toward the dais in his periphery. “For all his bluster, there’s a true heart underneath.”
Oliver wondered if every soul in Aeres was going to assure him of the goodness of Erik.
“Yes, it appears so,” he said, mildly, and Birger snorted.
“I hear we’re to begin serious negotiations in regards to a marriage.”
“You heard correctly.”
Birger chuckled again, for some reason. “We’ll go to the study from here. If you’re up for it.”
“Oh, I’m up for it,” Oliver blustered. He might feel awful, but he wasn’t going to let it be known just yet.
The man standing before the dais bowed his head, and took his leave of the king.
Erik stared a moment into the middle distance, after his departure, rubbing at the undersides of his rings with the pad of his thumb. Oliver remembered their cool, smooth silver surfaces all too vividly. Then he turned his head, caught Oliver’s gaze, and his smile was a subtle thing; it only touched his eyes, crinkles sprouting at their corners. It lit up Oliver’s insides as if it were a beacon.
“Ah,” Birger said, as Oliver returned to his lunch.
