Chapter Two #2
“You don’t need to spend tonight fixing my ore routes.” His thumb presses once against the back of my hand. “I sent word. I’ll sort it out.”
He smiles. He means it kindly.
“All right.”
I eat the piece marking the pass.
Baldr picks up the cake knife. “Have I ever taken you through the lower market?”
“Asta and I have been twice.”
“With four guards.”
“Nobody will bargain with them behind me.”
He gives me the other corner of the cake. “Come with me next market morning.”
“To protect the ribbon sellers?”
“They’ve suffered enough.”
I should tell him I had another thought about the seals.
The cake has honey in the middle, and he remembered the corner again.
I can tell him later.
We stay until the fire burns low. We talk about the market, Gullither, and the bench Baldr broke at my family’s palace when I was seven.
He still claims the wood was rotten. I still remember the sound.
With him, I never have to search for the next thing to say. He watched me spend half my childhood falling into furniture and the other half saying whatever entered my head. He knows I cry at weddings and once brought a sick lamb into my bed because it looked lonely.
The door opens before I can sit too long with that.
The same servant begins clearing plates. Baldr rises and takes my chair before the young man can reach it. My skirt catches under my heel, the chair bumps my knees, and Baldr catches my elbow before I can join the carpet.
The servant becomes very interested in a fish plate.
“I had that.”
“Completely.”
“The rug moved.”
“Should I have it arrested?”
“At once.”
He offers his arm. I take it.
The main hall has emptied while we were in the west room. Two guards stand beside the outer doors, and a pair of servants straighten benches at the far end. Neither guard looks at us. Both servants do.
“Everyone knows.” I keep my voice low.
“About the rug?”
“About us.”
Baldr glances down. “Is there an us?”
My step catches. Not on anything this time.
He stops with me beside the hearth. He isn’t teasing now. He watches me and waits.
I know what the treaty says and what his court expects. Baldr could make this easy for everyone. He is asking whether I want him to.
“I came to dinner.”
“You did.”
“I wore the green dress.”
His eyes move over it.
Well.
I may never forgive Asta for making me change twice, but I’ll send her flowers.
“You wore the green dress,” he agrees.
“And I told you the granary story.”
“A serious declaration.”
“Asta says I’m not allowed to tell that story at formal events.”
“I’m honored.”
He waits. My fingers tighten around his arm. “Yes. There’s an us.”
Baldr’s smile starts small and reaches both eyes. “Good.”
My knees become unreliable. They weren’t doing excellent work before, so this is less of a betrayal than it could be.
“Good.”
We start walking again. He takes the long path around the hearth, though my chambers are close enough that we could reach them in under a minute. I don’t point this out.
The guest-wing passage is narrow, with lamps burning along the walls. My room is the second door. His is the third. Seven steps apart. Maybe six for him.
We reach my door much too soon.
Baldr turns to face me. I let go of his arm and smooth both hands over my skirt, though nothing is wrong with it. A curl has escaped Asta’s work and fallen across my cheek.
He tucks it behind my ear. I stop smoothing my skirt.
“Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for surviving the granary.”
“You’re welcome.”
His fingers stay beside my ear. Barely touching.
I look up. He could kiss me now.
Oh.
He might.
My brain begins producing instructions, none of them useful. Stand still. Don’t stand too still. Breathe, but quietly. Maybe close my eyes. Not yet. If I close them now, he may think I’ve fallen asleep against the door.
Baldr watches my face.
“Sól.”
“Yes?”
“May I kiss you?”
Every instruction disappears.
“Yes.”
He bends. I rise onto my toes, and his hand settles at my waist over the green fabric. His mouth touches mine, warm and soft and careful enough that I have time to understand it.
Baldr is kissing me.
My heel slips back to the floor. I catch the front of his tunic, and he smiles against my mouth. That won’t do. I kiss him again.
The careful part lasts another second.
His other hand comes to my cheek. Mine stays fisted in his tunic. He tastes of honey and wine, and when he pulls back, I follow before I remember I’m attached to my own feet.
His forehead rests against mine.
“Still all right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re holding me very tightly.”
I look down.
The silver stitching at his collar is trapped in my fist.
“I’m making sure you don’t fall.”
“Thoughtful.”
“Roofs are dangerous.”
He laughs against my mouth.
He kisses me once more. Shorter. Softer. Then he steps back far enough for me to find the door latch. It takes two tries.
I open the door and turn around. Baldr is still there, one hand resting against the wall, smiling at me.
“Good night, Sól.”
“Good night.”
I close the door.
The latch catches. On the other side, his boots cross the passage, stop at the next room, and his door closes.
I stand there, fingers still on the latch, and smile until my cheeks hurt.