Page 41 of Blood of Wolves

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Náli’s head kicked back, expression caught between disbelief and contempt. “You want a favor from me? What’s the matter: your king too old to–”

“Hear me out,” Oliver said, hands lifted to a placating angle.

He’d managed to convince Erik to stay behind for this, convinced that Náli would be easier to deal with if his king wasn’t scowling at him like an overbearing father. Technically, Erik could have ordered this, but Oliver thought this was a time for the carrot, rather than the stick.

Náli had retreated to the room he’d been given, and even if his man Mattias hovered in the background – poised to usher Oliver from the room if he felt it necessary, no doubt – the Corpse Lord truly did look better than he had earlier.

“Well,” Náli prompted. “I’m listening.”

“I’m flying for Aeres the moment the snow stops.”

Náli rolled his eyes and made ago ongesture. “Yes, we all know. How veryhis lordshipof you.”

“I want you to come with me.”

A beat passed before the words registered. Then Náli’s expression smoothed with shock. “I’m sorry.” His voice fell flat between them. “It sounded like you said you wanted me to go with you.”

“I did.” Oliver took a breath, prepared to lay out the argument he’d been forming – when Mattias interrupted.

He took two long, charging strides from the back of the room, until he stood even with his master. He shot Oliver one fast, dark glare from beneath his lashes, and then turned all his attention to Náli, words clipped thanks to a clenched jaw. “My lord, that is suicide. If his lordship is foolish enough to risk–”

“Captain.” Náli’s voice was ice; his gaze a glacier. “Give us the room.”

Mattias stared at him a long moment, pulse kicking visibly in his throat, and then, nostrils flaring in aggravation, left. The door closed with a soft click of the latch.

Náli let out a huge breath, shoulders slumping, facing going slack. He looked exhausted again. “Apologies,” he murmured. “He isn’t normally like that.”

“Understandable.”

Náli snorted.

“He cares about you.” Oliver wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a look of such intense pleading on a man’s face before – save on Erik, and there was nothing stuffy or platonic about those looks. Mattias looked at Náli with the desperation and longing of a starved man. The same way Erik looked when he saidI don’t want you to go alone. “Deeply, by all outward appearances.”

Náli choked a little, eyes bugging wide and hand lifting to clap against his own chest. He turned away, and stalked across the room to drop down into one of the chairs by the fire. By the time his face was visible again, he’d composed himself, but Oliver had caught that moment of vulnerability, plain as day. His voice dripped scorn when he said, “Do you even know what the Dead Guard arefor?”

Apparently, the prospect of riding a dragon across half a kingdom wasn’t as pressing as Náli’s personal emotional upheaval at the moment.

Oliver moved to take the chair across from him and guessed, “To guard you, I presume.”

Náli’s sneer lacked its usual bite. “Every lord hasguards. Some are more competent than others, but they all serve the same basic function. The Dead Guard areboundto me.” His expression turned sour. “They can never marry, nor have children. They–” he stumbled over the words “– pick me up when I’ve overextended my magic. They – theybatheme. Fuck. They’re more nursemaids than guard dogs, and they’re four times as well-trained as any guard in the whole kingdom.

“But they don’tcarefor me,” he added, tone growing small and uncertain. He looked into the fire and fidgeted his hands together. “They’re proud, and loyal to their order. To the brotherhood.”

Oliver snorted, and drew a gaze so confused it nearly seemed frightened. “Please. I’ve only known the man a week – and don’t even know him, really – but nobody gazes at someone the way Mattias does with you if genuine love isn’t involved.”

Náli reared back in his chair, pale-faced and spluttering. “He doesn’t – no, that’s not – you’re stupid,” he ended on, childish, mulish, disrespectful, given their ranks – and so, so young and afraid beneath. His chin wobbled, and he covered it with a grimace that looked forced. “This is none of your business, anyway.”

Oliver shrugged and sat back. “No, it isn’t, but you brought it up.”

“Hmph.” Náli’s gaze returned to the fire. He was pouting, make no mistake.

“You said they couldn’t take wives or have children. What’s to stop them giving you a good tumble, though?”

More spluttering, and two bright spots of color along high cheekbones.

“Bastard or not, I never had any interest in girls,” Oliver continued, easily. “My first time was at seventeen, in the hayloft with the blacksmith’s apprentice. Holy gods, the arms on that boy.” He spared a moment of fond remembrance for Gerald: stupid, but kind, and built like a bull. “Then it was the sons of lords in coat closets during balls.”

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