Page 19 of The Sun He Buried

“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.