"Maker, I don't think I can do this."
Alistair shifted his weight from foot to foot and reached up to pull at the high fur collar at his throat. Olivia tutted, swatting the hand away, before returning her fingers to the gold clasp of his cloak.
"Alistair, I'm never going to get this to hang straight if you don't stop fidgeting." She pulled the fabric further over his shoulder. He sighed heavily, but fell still.
"I don't know the first thing about holding court. What if somebody asks me to... to bless their cabbages or something, I don't know, and I end up starting some massive war?"
Olivia laughed, closing the clasp and smoothing her hands over his shoulders. She looked up to his worry-stricken face with an affectionate smile. "How would that even happen?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. That's just the sort of thing that happens when I lead."
Her smile only widened. She draped her arms over his shoulders to clasp them around his neck. "I was told you'd end up without any pants. I plan to hold you to that, you know."
The worried frown persisted, and when he spoke, his voice was fraught with doubt. "What if I'm a terrible king?"
"You won't be." He opened his mouth to argue, and she shook her head, silencing him with a kiss to his chin. "You're smart, you're strong, and you're kind. You've led them before, and you can do it again. And if you ever doubt that, I'll be right there beside you. All you have to do is reach out and hold my hand."
Finally, he smiled, small and tentative, and rested his forehead against hers with a tiny nod.
They could hear the herald on the other side of the door now, announcing them to the court, and they parted to stand shoulder to shoulder. When the doors finally opened to reveal his bowing subjects, she felt the warmth of his large hand close around hers, and she smiled.