Page 22

Damn.

“I’m worried.”

“Well, there’s a surprise,” Oliver said, just earn to another smile – this one even quicker. Erik’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, the set of his brows marking the intensity of said worry. Oliver traced the taut edge of his jaw. “What is it, love?”

Erik shook his head a fraction, still fiddling with Oliver’s beads, attention fixed on them. “Nothing. It’s only…neither of the boys ever cared for Ragnar.”

“I’m sensing that’s a family trait.”

“Hm. Truthfully, I liked him better than they did. Or Revna, for that matter. We were boys together, at festivals, on Father’s expeditions out into the Wastes. Once we were grown, he annoyed me more often than not, but I never really thought…”

Oliver scratched lightly at his beard, short hair rasping against his finger pads. “That he’d turn traitor?” he asked, softly.

Erik nodded. Then his frown deepened. “I think I should have expected it, really. I was soft on him. I kept remembering old times rather than reading the threat in his smiles. But the boys knew. They never trusted him.” His gaze slid, finally, to meet Oliver’s. “Until now.”

“Ah,” Oliver said, understanding, now. “You and Rune are worried about the same thing, then.”

Erik looked pained. “There’s no way to be sure that Ragnar hasn’t – I don’t know, magicked him. Enchanted him, somehow.”

Oliver snorted, and earned an affronted look. He stayed Erik with a lift of his hand. “Did you hear what I told Rune earlier?” When he got a reluctant nod, he said, “It’s just as I said to him. A dog cannot fool another dog, and a wolf cannot fool another wolf. The only enchantment at play is that which makes them wolves. But Leif is Ragnar’s alpha, now. He’s in charge of him, and, doubtless, Ragnar has been able to shed some light on Leif’s new predicament that none of us mere men has been able to, hm?”

“But Ragnar’s the reason he’s a wolf. He should hate him.”

“Maybe he does.”

“He doesn’t,” Erik said, with sour conviction. “I can tell he doesn’t.”

“Well.” Oliver wasn’t sure what to say. “Leif is his own man – er, wolf, man, whatever – after all. Isn’t it up to him to decide who he hates?”

Erik’s chest lifted beneath Oliver’s as he drew in a deep breath. “Do you think that Leif has…lain with him?” As if that needed any further explanation, he dropped the bead in favor of skimming both hands down Oliver’s back, settling on his waist, fingertips stroking the dimples at the small of his back. “That they’ve–”

“Fucked?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Nodded.

Oliver wanted to hold him, wanted to comfort him, but he respected and loved him too much to tell him a pretty lie for the sake of a moment’s relief. “I don’t know, darling,” he said, softly. “I wouldn’t think so, but, there’s no way to be sure. I thought Leif preferred girls?”

“He does. Or, at least he’s said as much, in the past.” Erik turned his face away. “But he’s never been all that interested in anyone, really. He never returned Estrid’s advances, and he didn’t fight for Tessa.”

“He didn’t fight for Tessa because he could see that she and Rune were making eyes at one another, and he’s a considerate brother.”

“No one’s that considerate. If he’d wanted her–”

“Erik.” Oliver caught his chin between careful fingertips and turned his head back to they were eye-to-eye. Erik came willingly; Oliver couldn’t have budged him otherwise. “Is it going to be a problem if Leif prefers the company of men?” Leif was heir, but Oliver hated to think there might be some sort of preferential treatment at play.

Erik’s eyes widened, taking his meaning. “What? No. No. Ollie.” He reached to tuck a lock of hair behind Oliver’s ear, thumbing over his cheek, after. “Do you take me for a hypocrite?”

“No. Only asking.”

Erik still looked emphatic, a little distressed. He skimmed the backs of his fingers along Oliver’s clean-shaven jaw; cupped his chin and traced his lower lip, still plump from kissing, with his thumb. “Leif may choose to keep company with whoever he likes: men or women or both. When I die and he takes the throne–”

“Darling.”

“–he may have a consort, just as I have.” He stroked a fingertip down Oliver’s nose, smiling a moment, soft and fond. “And braid his hair with beads, and shower him with jewels…”

“Erik.”

He sighed, smile falling away. “But not Ragnar. That is…unconscionable. The people would never accept a union with a traitor.”