Chapter Thirteen
Iver
The scent of ice and pine needles filled Iver’s nostrils as he moved through the nighttime forest, his steps producing no sound. Here and there, fresh tracks dotted the snow. An owl hooted in the trees, their branches weighted down by winter’s white blanket.
Iver had come to the woods for solitude and time to think. He picked his way between the trees, no destination in mind, wandering aimlessly. He was moving more slowly than usual. It’d been a long, strenuous day, and his strength wasn’t returning as quickly as it normally would.
He’d nicked himself with the dagger when he’d brushed against it in its hiding place. The wound wasn’t closing with the usual supernatural speed. Iron cuts, when not lethal, took a long time to heal.
Snow crunched behind Iver so quietly he almost missed it.
When he turned, a white wolf was slinking through the winter landscape.
It was a beautiful animal, its fur looking soft and thick, its eyes glowing amber.
Like him, the animal was out here alone, perhaps hunting, perhaps patrolling its territory.
A sense of companionship overcame Iver. It was just them out here, two predators meeting in the night.
A second wolf emerged from the shadows, a darker animal with charcoal gray fur.
It came up beside its companion, and the pair trotted off together, leaving Iver in the darkness of the forest. He felt cheated out of his short-lived camaraderie.
So he was the only one alone out here. He’d never minded seclusion, but in this moment, he felt lonely.
He’d had companionship earlier in the day.
Iver clenched his jaw. Why the hell had there been an iron dagger under William’s pillow? Did William think he needed protection? Iver had no intention of harming him. That William thought he did hurt more than he cared to admit.
And if William was telling the truth, if the dagger wasn’t his? It brought up a slew of questions. Who had put it there? And why? Because someone thought William needed protection from him? Or to drive a wedge between them? The latter possibility brought a bitter taste to his mouth.
Part of Iver longed to return to Silverlight, to believe William and be with him, but if the weapon was William’s, Iver would be putting himself in danger.
He wasn’t going to sleep next to a man who wanted to murder him.
He didn’t think William would do that. William had violently fucked him the night before but seemed amicable during their excursion to the mountains and especially afterward, in the grotto.
He might’ve placed the dagger underneath the pillow before that.
It just wasn’t like William. But what did Iver know? A human’s word couldn’t be trusted.
Iver, unwilling to return to Silverlight and sleep anywhere but the monarch’s bedchamber, stayed out until the first light lined the horizon, heralding dawn. He was back before the sun had inched onto the sky, darkness shrouding his return.
He and William were to have breakfast with Ailenor and Charlotte in Charlotte’s apartment. Iver, knowing William would sleep until late morning, snuck into the dressing room to get ready for the day.
How had William spent the night? Had he gotten drunk and amused himself with his court in the great hall or invited someone for a more intimate get-together in their private rooms?
Iver gritted his teeth at the jealousy twisting his guts.
Was William even in their bedchamber? Was he alone?
Several unpleasant scenarios ran through Iver’s mind.
Pinching his lips, he looked at the door separating the dressing room from the bedchamber.
He could open it and find out. If William wasn’t inside, at a time when he normally slept, it’d alarm Iver.
In a panic, he’d search the monarch’s apartment for William, then the halls and ballrooms, then every bedchamber in the castle.
Perhaps it was better if he never found out where he was.
Discovering the iron dagger had damaged Iver’s trust. Perhaps William had joined a late dinner and forgotten time, talking, drinking and indulging in entertainment.
That was innocent enough. Iver might upset himself for no reason if he checked the bedchamber and found it empty.
He regarded the door, the intricate designs carved into the wood.
He shouldn’t look, but the burning need to know got the better of him. Quietly, he pressed down the handle and opened the door.
William lay on Iver’s side of the bed, his hand curled into a loose fist in the sheets.
He hadn’t changed since they’d come up from the grotto, still wearing the simple linen clothes.
He looked so young and innocent. A tray with food and drink sat on a table, the wine untouched, only a little of the food eaten.
Iver hadn’t expected the sheer relief that washed over him. William hadn’t left their bedchamber. He’d been there all night, possibly waiting for him.
Not wanting to disturb his sleep, Iver quietly closed the door. He still didn’t know how the iron had come into their chambers, but at least William hadn’t spent the night partying.
It put Iver in a better mood, and he decided to work in the study before breakfast. It’d be a late one, scheduled to accommodate William’s tendency to sleep in.
Iver immersed himself in paperwork, going over ledgers, reading missives and drafting correspondence.
Afterward, he met with the steward to discuss the tasks of the royal servants for the day and the work that needed to be done around the castle.
The woman was deeply loyal to William—despite her young age, she’d stayed in Silverlight Castle past its incorporation into the Winter Court.
She would be confined to the faerie realm for life, and if she wanted to marry, she’d have to find a spouse within its borders.
Due to William’s lack of confidence, some things had been postponed for years. Iver would help him build trust in his abilities. William had already made progress, and Iver had faith he could grow as a king.
He ran into him at the entrance to Charlotte’s dining room.
William’s hair was carefully styled in a crown of waves, his clothes impeccable.
Dark circles lined his eyes, though his face momentarily brightened when he saw Iver.
William’s gaze raked over him, taking in his finery and the visible effort he’d made to look his best.
“After you,” William said stiffly, gesturing toward the door.
Iver gave a curt nod. How had they gone from a fun climb up the mountains and fervent sex in the grotto to this primness?
A line of servants approached with trays of food and drink.
They bowed to them and opened the door, revealing Ailenor and Charlotte talking animatedly in the sunlit room.
They were sitting side by side, Ailenor in a white, fur-lined dress, Charlotte in an ensemble of fitted breeches and a jacket over a cream shirt.
Ailenor’s hand rested on Charlotte’s arm, the women beaming at each other as they chatted, only slowly turning as Iver and William entered, followed by the servants carrying their breakfast.
Since they were not alone, Ailenor and Charlotte rose and bowed, coiled hair falling over their shoulders.
“Take a seat,” Charlotte said exuberantly, gesturing at the empty chairs. “It’s lovely to have you here for breakfast.”
They sat down, the servants placing platters overflowing with food on the table.
“Excuse the children,” Charlotte said with a nod toward the remaining chairs. “They had their breakfast earlier and are now with their tutors.” To William, she added, “You know how they can get if they haven’t eaten.”
“It’s like herding cats,” William said with a small laugh.
Had he, perhaps when he was still a prince, watched the children from time to time?
Surely, Charlotte had a nursemaid who could look after them.
But as Iver thought about it, he found that he could picture William playing with a handful of children.
William shirked his royal duties, not play and entertainment.
Iver, hunger gnawing at him, helped himself to a generous serving of fruit-laden porridge.
“You’re ready for the ball tonight?” Charlotte pulled a piece of eggy bread drizzled with honey onto her plate.
A ball? William would be right in his element.
“Almost,” William said. “I’ll have to check the decorations and go over the menu with the cooks once more—I was thinking we could serve some of the treats Iver prepared yesterday.” He turned toward him. “That’d be fine with you, right?”
“Sure. There’s a lot.”
“Excellent. I’ll be busy with preparations for the rest of the day. It’ll be perfect by tonight.”
“Oh, I can’t wait,” Ailenor said, her eyes gleaming. “I love balls. And I’ve got a new dress I’ve been dying to wear.” She smiled at Charlotte. “You’ll dance with me?”
“Of course I’ll dance with you.” Charlotte cut a piece off her eggy bread.
“By the way,” she looked between Iver and William, “I’ve been meaning to tell you that Ailenor and I are both having a fertile window in the coming days.
So if you’d like to attempt producing an heir, this would be a good opportunity. ”
Like any Valian would have, she said it matter-of-factly as though she was talking about a procedure no more intimate than a food delivery.
William half-turned to Iver, uncertainty written all over his face. “Is now a good time?” The question was heavy with what had transpired the night before.
Was it a good time? The iron blade and the question of how it had ended up in their chamber weighed on Iver’s mind. Still, even if William had placed the dagger under his pillow, Iver needed an heir. The sooner, the better.
“I don’t see why not,” Iver said.
“Then I’ll inform the midwife,” Charlotte said.