Vhalla stared in shock and then started laughing. “Risks are something the prince has no qualms taking,” she assured them—it seemed to adequately sum up their entire relationship.

“Why did you tell us this?” Larel asked. “I can’t imagine the prince would be pleased.”

Vhalla honestly hadn’t considered that. “Because you both are my friends. I trust you, and I want you to know I do. What are friends if you cannot share your secrets with them?”

“I won’t tell a soul.” Fritz grabbed her hand, and she smiled at his kind eyes.

“You know you have my silence,” Larel affirmed with a nod.

“But you know I’m going to be asking you about it, right?” Fritz grinned his goofy toothy grin.

Vhalla couldn’t help but smile back. “I’ll answer as best I can,” Vhalla promised. “Talking about it may even be nice.”

Fritz left shortly after. He squeezed Vhalla and Larel both tightly, and Vhalla wished he could stay with them. She selfishly wanted to spend the night tucked between him and Larel. But Vhalla didn’t make any demands. At best she’d just wake him with thrashing from nightmares.

FRITZ RETURNED VHALLA’S armor the next morning, leaving Vhalla conflicted and uncertain once more. The prince was a strange creature. At times, he seemed like he worried for her above all else, like when Elecia made her cheap shot. Other times, like the entire day’s ride, it seemed as though he didn’t even want her around.

If he was trying to avoid her, then he was destined for failure. Aldrik saw her each night when they trained together and maybe that fact frustrated him, because the prince pushed his three pupils beyond tired and into levels of exhaustion that Vhalla had never known before. The second day of training was harder than the first, and the third was harder than the second. The fourth morning Vhalla was certain that she couldn’t get out of bed; it took almost being late for her to be coaxed into the saddle.

Aldrik had the sense to not pair Vhalla and Elecia together again; they were kept at other ends of the makeshift rings they worked in. Vhalla was thankful that she had the opportunity to work with Fritz, but felt sorry for Larel for having to endure the other Western woman’s jabs and sneers. If Aldrik was upset with Elecia, he didn’t show it. He still rode with her during the day and never sent her away from the training.

In all, it made Vhalla feel worse. She still remembered what Elecia had said about her birth, her questions of why Aldrik was spending any time with Vhalla. It made Vhalla doubt everything, and then she felt guilty for second-guessing Aldrik after all he had done for her. But she didn’t know how to feel, and Aldrik wasn’t helping her sort it out.

So during the day she’d taken to riding with the Golden Guard. Daniel and Craig were always welcoming, and even Prince Baldair seemed to be more amused than put off by Vhalla’s persistence around them. Raylynn was even beginning to thaw. It was an odd routine that Vhalla fell into; she wouldn’t call it peaceful, but with time everything became easier. Even her dreams had begun to lose their edge.

Or so she had thought.

A month into the march, Vhalla woke up one night shivering and shaking, despite the warming temperatures as the host grew closer to the Western Waste. Fear clawed and bit its way through her, but she had somehow not woken Larel. Vhalla quickly gulped in breaths of air. She stared down at her wrists.

The dream was just as vivid as her memories of the Night of Fire and Wind. Her mind told her she had felt these feelings before. The noises, smells, and touch were all familiar. And yet, Vhalla had never seen or done anything like it.

She’d stood in an opulent room, dark with oppressive gloom. A thunderstorm raged against the glass windows, and she’d been soaking wet. Vhalla shivered, grabbing her arms to ward against the phantom chill. And then she’d taken a knife to her own flesh.

Vhalla was looking at her forearms again.

The crimson blood that had stained pale skin and white carpeting was not what was most prominent in her memory. It was the fear, the overwhelming guilt she had felt and—most notably—when she had caught her eyes in the reflection of the blade—they had not been her eyes.

Vhalla covered her face with her palms. It was just a dream, she repeated over and over again. But she could still feel the blade cutting into the pale skin. She could see the palace handmaiden rushing in, horrified and desperate.

Vhalla was up and out of the tent.

It was still a good hour before dawn and the world was yet dark. Vhalla ran through the silent camp, barefoot and in sweat-damp clothes. Her heart raced, and her mind didn’t allow her to calm, not until she knew he was all right. She didn’t care if Aldrik was still cross with her. She had to see him.

Knocking on the crown prince’s tent pole before dawn had to be foolish, but that didn’t stop her. Vhalla brought her hands together, fidgeting in the eternity that seemed to follow as she waited. “My prince?” Her voice was strained with tension. Vhalla fought down a whimper. “Aldrik?”

To her relief, she heard a faint stirring come from inside the tent. The canvas shifted as ties on the inside were undone. Aldrik opened the flap in annoyance. With his other hand he pulled on the hem of a shirt, situating it over his chest.

“Vhalla?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as if he wasn’t seeing properly, his temper quickly vanishing.

She felt something in her break with relief and she covered her mouth with her hands to muffle a small cry. Aldrik took one look at her panic-stricken face and, with a quick glance to ensure there were no observers, he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the tent.

The moment he released the heavy canvas flap, they were plunged into near-darkness. She blinked in the dim light. His bed was a mess of blankets; papers and empty bottles cluttered his table.

Aldrik quickly rounded her and placed his palms on her shoulders. He inspected her from toe to head. “What is it?” His voice was tense. “Are you hurt?” Aldrik moved a hand to her forehead and ran it down her face to tilt Vhalla’s chin up to look at him.

The feeling of relief was still too strong for her to feel embarrassed. “I’m okay,” she finally managed weakly. Vhalla reached up and grabbed both his wrists. She let out a noise between a laugh and a sigh when she saw the sleeves of his shirt showed no signs of blood. “I’m okay.” Vhalla breathed. “I thought, you ...”

“I what?” he asked. Aldrik was clearly confused, but the prince made no motion away from her.

“It doesn’t matter.” She laughed uneasily. “It was a dream. Something bad ... I thought you were hurt. But it was just a dream.”

Aldrik paused before moving his hands to cup her face. He ran his thumbs over her tearstained cheeks, and she relished his eyes on her for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’m fine,” he whispered. “See, I am fine.”

His tenderness set free a small hiccup in her throat, and she squeezed his forearms. “I was afraid,” she admitted. His eyes widened. “I thought ...” She choked on her words.

“What? Thought what?”

Vhalla searched his questioning gaze. “Nothing,” she said with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter; you’re well.”

“Vhalla,” he insisted, his hands on her face preventing her from looking away.