Page 26 of The Sun He Buried

He kissed me outside my room the night after that too, though I had just finished telling Asta I was going to read and absolutely wasn’t waiting to hear his boots in the passage.

Last night we stood there until the lamp beside my door burned out.

So yes.

He has.

I look at his hand. “Terrible.”

“Should I stop?” His thumb touches the bottom of my chin.

“I didn’t say that.”

He tilts my chin up. “Good.”

The guard at the top of the lane turns his back.

Baldr kisses me.

It’s quick. Warm. He tastes of apple and has sugar on his mouth, which means I probably do too. I catch his sleeve when he starts to pull away and kiss him again.

That one lasts longer.

I take another bite of pastry. “Everyone knows.”

“You mentioned that.”

“They know more now.”

“Terrible.”

I narrow my eyes.

He wipes sugar from his mouth. “Should we leave the country?”

“That might help.”

“I’ll arrange it.”

Boots strike the stairs above us.

A young steward hurries down from the second terrace with one hand on the rail. I recognize him from the courtyard. He brought the light shipment and the letter from Myrkviðr, though he looks less worried today.

That lasts until he reaches Baldr.

The warmth leaves Baldr’s face. His hand settles against my back and guides me to the side of the lane before the steward reaches us.

“Dróttin.” The young man bows, breathing hard. “A reply from Myrkviðr.”

He offers a folded letter sealed in dark wax.

Baldr takes it. “When?”

“The rider came through the east gate a few minutes ago.”

“Was there anything else?”

“No, Dróttin.”