Steps wary, Edmund weaved through the crowded streets of Bolstaor, hand itching at his side, knife’s handle right below his fingers. He didn’t trust this arrangement, not for a second. Hlandulians fresh out of battle, all suddenly content to settle down, if only for a moment–and bunk with their enemies? It was far too risky for Edmund’s taste, and he didn’t like the potential threat it posed to his people.
They’d already suffered enough–Gods knew they were near a famine, what with greedy hands snatching resources from Bolstaor’s already hard soil. Most of their crops came from imports, and when the imports ran dry…
Well, he didn’t want to think about that. He was sure his wife had everything sorted through, and his worries would be soothed, once her voice broke through his doubt. Lips pressing together, he crossed his arms, “What a heavy burden to bear.”
“There are worse ones in this world,” she said softly, upon her approach. “Unless you’re not talking about this little gathering we’re hosting.” At Ingrid’s side stood her loyal housecarl, and behind two guardsmen who were her new companions whenever she stepped outside the relative safety of her own hall. Bolstaor’s streets had never been so unsafe, and she was the cause of it. The weight of that was not something she could allow to show. This peace already stood so uneasily, it did not need the extra weight of her fears aired public to help disbalance anything.
Smiling, as if all was well and they were not playing host to a hoard of enemies, she stepped to kiss Edmund’s cheeks in greeting. “The guilt of not trying would be crippling to hold. At least now, let it be said that we have tried.” Even if her name were to cursed for it in the years to come. What would happen, would happen, for there was no changing fate.
“All will be will, even if I must set my cat the job as Peacekeeper for the Jarls.”
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