“What can I do for you, My King?”, Yri asked, with a familiar mocking undertone in her voice.

“I wanted to speak to you about your sister.”

Yri raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. It was clear she did not like this conversation before it had even begun. “What about her?”

Cutting to the chase, Oskar said, “She asked to be my queen.”

An amused smile crept onto Yri’s face. “She asked? Or she demanded?”

Oskar hesitated. He tried to determine what would be least offensive. “She made her case”, he tried.

“Mhm. So she tried to seduce you”, Yri concluded. She chuckled, shaking her head. “She was never very good at reading people.”

“What do you think of the proposal?”, Oskar asked, steering the conversation away from any commentary on his seduction or lack thereof.

Yri hummed to herself. She closed her eyes to think.

Oskar found himself somewhat surprised that she treated the question with such gravity. He was not sure how to interpret her behaviour. Was it a sign of approval or dissent, or was it merely because the question involved her sister?

Yri grimaced while she thought. After a half a minute, she looked back at Oskar and gave her answer. “I cannot deny that I would love to see a Fri on the throne, especially considering all we are doing for you.” The accusations lay heavy in her voice.

Oscar was mostly impressed they had gotten this far into a conversation without a single insult. “But?”, he asked.

Sighing dejected, Yri added, “But, she would not make for a very cooperative queen.”

“Cooperative?”, Oskar repeated. Surely Yri did not think he would try to control his wife, keep her indoors and obedient? Then again, perhaps that was exactly what Yri thought.

“She will not be silenced, and she will not lay down her sword. She would never allow a man to decide over her. Not even a king. Not even her king. If you think you can control her, even a little, have her speak in a courtly manner or stay away from battle, you are sorely mistaken. The only men she has met who were any good are those under her command.”

“Are you saying I am not a good man?”, Oskar wondered

“I would never suggest such a thing.”

When Yri lied, it was not fumbled or nervous. It was practised. There was no tell, no hesitation. She spoke calmly and slowly, as though she had stated a simple fact, recited from a book. When she made a statement, it was hard to tell if she truly thought it so, or if it could not be further from the truth. This was something Theodorus had picked up on when they were on the road.

Not able to tell the difference on his own, Oskar asked again. “I am not taking offence. I just wonder what you think.”

The hint of a smile crept onto Yri’s face. “As in all matters, I think what my superiors think. That is something my sister has yet to learn”, she cautioned.

“She has issues with authority”, Oskar summarised.

“To the contrary. She is authority.”

Oskar nodded in understanding.

“If that is all, My King.” Yri did not wait for an answer, did not bow, and left.

“What do you make of that?”, Oskar asked.

Theodorus emerged from the shadows of the rafter. Swinging down from the beams, he landed softly in the middle of the room. “She clearly does not think much of it, but I cannot say what she hates more, the idea of you marrying her sister, or the idea of her sister being second to you.” He stretched and gave a contemplative hum. “I do not believe for a second that she thinks Thorun would be a bad queen, but she made a lot of good points. She is certainly right about Thorun lacking a certain calm that a queen ought to have. I can imagine Thorun insulting nobility and risking your heritage in battle, all in a day’s work.”

“Maybe I should marry Yri instead”, Oskar joked.

“You could try, but I find it hard to believe that she would agree.”

“You think she hates me that much?”, Oskar asked.

“I think she is about as interested in dick as you are in cunt, and that power will not sway her.”

Oskar’s lips parted. That is what Yri meant. She knew, but Thorun did not.

Amused by the way realisation danced over Oskar’s face, Theodorus flopped down beside him and smirked. “You could marry me instead.”

Oskar laughed aloud and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close and swaying him from side to side. “I wish I could, My Friend. I wish I could.”

Laughing as well, Theodorus shook his head. “We both know who you would pick if you could.”

Oskar shrugged in agreement. Resting his head on Theodorus’s shoulder, he sighed deeply. “What do I do?”

“That, My King, I cannot answer.”

“Kaija? She is calm and strong”, Oskar thought aloud.

“Yri would have your head”, Theodorus stated unequivocally.

“Thorun said I should take Kvist’s hand. I see the sense in it, but truth be told, she frightens me. She seems not quite empty, but almost.”

Theodorus nodded a little. “Do not pick Kvist.”

“Why not?”

“I prefer not to tell you why. I promised. I am asking you not to pick her.”

“You are asking?”, Oskar wondered perplexed. “This is the first time you have ever asked for something beyond equipment.”

Theodorus nodded again. “Please. Let her be.”

“Very well. Then Thorun it is”, Oskar determined.

Oskar rested uneasy that night. He sought comfort, but his mind would not rest. Yet again, he found himself reliving that same old winter’s night, that first tentative kiss. He was supposed to sate his lust, to rid himself of it, so he could move on and fulfil his duty. But here they were, two hearts still beating rapidly in nervous silence. Here Tone was, still at his side after all these years. Tone, the man who was supposed to shield him, to keep him from harm; and keep him, Tone did.

In the shelter of thick blankets, Tone held Oskar’s hand, admitting his desire without uttering a word. The longing burned in Oskar’s chest as brightly as ever. Softly, he stroked his thumb over the back of Tone’s hand. Turning onto his side, he looked for Tone. He could only make out the general shape of Tone’s body in the dark, but he could feel Tone’s soul as clear day. He knew that Tone was tense with anticipation. He knew he was the one who had to say it.

It felt awkward, even after all this time. It seemed wrong that he had to give Tone permission to feel lust. But awkwardness lay in the nature of cultural clashes. Squeezing the hand resting in his own, Oskar spoke up.

“I want you.”

Tone sat up, his broad silhouette separating from the canvas of blankets. He pulled Oskar’s covers aside and straddled him, the strong legs coming to rest on either side of his hips. With Tone’s beautiful face a bare centimetre from his own, Oskar could finally see him. Reaching up, Oskar ran his fingers through Tone’s long hair. It was so soft in his hands, so silken, just the way it looked in the sunlight. He applied only the slightest pressure to the back of Tone’s head, and Tone did not resist. Their lips met with familiar tenderness. They were so soft, Tone’s lips. Oskar did not have many experiences to compare them to, but he was convinced nonetheless that Tone’s lips were especially pleasant. He let out a hum.

Untangling from the long black hair, Oskar slid his hand down Tone’s spine as far as he could reach. Tone shivered above him. Oskar could feel the slight shift of Tone’s hips, feel Tone’s dick rest against his lower stomach. Surely, Tone could feel him in turn, hard and straining up under his butt. So they stayed for a long while, peering at each other in the dark, kissing, their breaths mingling. Only the sound of rustling cloth accompanied their silent confessions. In the end, it was Tone who broke the calm.

Reaching down, Tone wrapped his hand around Oskar’ dick, stroking him until he was breathing hard. Oskar did not take his eyes off his lover. He could not bring himself to. Tone was too damn beautiful. It saddened him to think he would have to take a wife. They both knew it, but they never spoke of it. He had no clue where to even start such a conversation. The part where he had never intended to fall in love? The part where he justified his priorities, the secrecy, and his cruel denial of their oh so tangible bond? Or the part where he could not do right by Tone, where he broke off their engagement? Tears welled up in his eyes.

The hand embracing him firmed its grip and Oskar arched, moaning against Tone’s cheek. Overwhelmed by the myriad of emotions boiling inside of him, he halfway expected to freeze up and just lie there like a dead man. There was such intense desire and care, but also worry and profound sadness, all battling it out across his chest and stomach. It was hard to breathe. But despite it all, he let himself be guided by instinct. His body had learned the dance, moving on its own, hips thrusting into the familiar warm hand, all of him striving toward his lover. Pressure built in his soul. His muscles tightened. He leaned up and kissed Tone firmly, groaning against the tender lips. Orgasm washed over him in deep gasps and he spilled over Tone’s strong hand.

Oskar kept his eyes fixed on Tone while he caught his breath. More details of Tone’s face became visible now, even in the dark of night. Tone looked concerned. The worry in Oskar’s soul finally won. He sighed deeply, letting all the air out of his lungs. Running his hands over the muscular thighs still resting on either side of his body, he furrowed his brows.

“I love you. I really do. Tone, I—”

Tone nudged Oskar’s lips with the tip of his finger. “Hush. Not now.” He leaned down and pressed another sweet kiss to Oskar’s lips. “I love you too. Let that be enough.”