She looked up at his expression. Something in his eyes told her that he was only playing dumb.

“Nothing you can give,” Vhalla whispered, thinking of the news that Aldrik was leaving. If she could have one wish it would be for the crown prince to stay in the South. He would be safe here, the rapid beats of her heart whispered. He would be near her. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed.

“The Gala,” the prince said suddenly.

“What?” She waited for an explanation.

“At the end of the Festival of the Sun there is a gala in the Mirror Ballroom,” the prince began.

Vhalla knew of it. She had friends who had worked the Gala over the years. It was a celebration reserved only for nobility.

“Come to the Gala tomorrow.”

“What?” That seemed to be the only word her tongue could form.

“Think about it—the best food, music, entertainment.” He grabbed both of her hands in his. Vhalla followed him as he took a step back into the room. “I’ll see you fitted in a fashionable gown. And the dancing!”

He spun her in a circle beneath his arm. Vhalla tripped and stumbled. With a laugh, the prince caught her in both hands and she found herself pressed close to him for the second time in one day.

“We can work on the dancing.” Prince Baldair grinned down at her.

“I can’t go to the Gala.” She shook her head, trying to find bones in her legs once more.

“Why not?” The prince seemed undeterred.

Vhalla pried herself away from him in frustration. “Because I don’t belong there.” She grabbed her elbows, hugging her torso. “Apprentices don’t belong with nobility.”

“You don’t belong in my brother’s garden either,” the prince retorted with a shrug.

Vhalla wished she could have kept the frown off her lips.

“He’s dangerous and silver-tongued. Don’t give him an opportunity to weave you into some scheme, Vhalla.”

“I would like to return to the servants’ halls now,” she said with a quiet firmness that she didn’t know her voice capable of.

The prince stared at her for a long moment. He implied that Aldrik would weave her into a scheme, but Vhalla only felt skeptical about the man standing before her. She resisted fidgeting—barely—but didn’t like the knowing glint in his eyes.

“I’ll give you a fake name,” he said finally. She couldn’t believe he was still persisting with this insane plot. “No one will know who you are under the powder, gown, and hairdo.”

Vhalla shifted her feet and braced herself to object a second time.

“It will likely be the last night before my brother and I return to the front,” Prince Baldair revealed, shattering her resolve.

The last night before Aldrik would leave was the Gala, tomorrow. She looked toward a far corner of the room, churning this over in her head. That was it, all the time they would have together. No matter how much she wanted to refuse the prince before her, a question remained: What if she had no other chance to see Aldrik?

“You’re sure it won’t be a problem?” she finally asked the waiting prince.

“No one will be wise to who you are.” Baldair nodded. “Unless you think my brother will tell.”

Vhalla looked askance at the prince and swore she heard a soft chuckle.

“And if people found out?” She shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot.

“No one will.” It wasn’t the answer she had been looking for, but it was the best she was going to get.

“All right. If you wish to bestow this upon me as a secret thanks, my prince, then I shall accept it.” Vhalla gave him a resolute nod.

The prince smiled, and she noticed that where Aldrik’s smiles were small and normally just a turn of the corners, the Heartbreaker Prince’s moved in a beautiful symmetry.

“First then,” the prince extended a hand to her. “We dance.”

SHE DID NOT have time to object before the prince had half-pulled, half-picked her up and led Vhalla into the center of the room. It was immediately obvious by the first turn that she had no clue what she was doing—her foot landed on top of his toes. The prince laughed, assuring her that her dainty feet could not harm him.

Vhalla did not enjoy dancing at first. It was awkward and it made her feel ignorant, an emotion that she generally resented and avoided at all costs. But the prince was a surprisingly gentle and encouraging instructor.

“You need to relax,” he soothed.

Vhalla was very aware of his palm on her hip. “Why are we doing this again?” she mumbled.

“What do you think people do at a Gala?” With a toss of his head, he cast aside a chin-length blonde lock.

“I wouldn’t know.” Vhalla was stubbornly focused on her footwork, conversation was secondary.

“We dance.” The prince laughed. He took a step back and twirled her again. This time Vhalla understood that an extension of the arm meant she was to turn and, while she was not graceful, she did not trip. “You’re getting it.”

“Barely,” she muttered, her eyes still on her feet.

Once she had grasped one infuriating step where they were supposed to glide across the floor in each other’s arms, they moved onto a group-style dance that Vhalla’s feet had a significantly easier time with. She had grown up going to harvest festivals in a neighboring town, and all the common folk knew the simple four-step that was a variation of this dance.

The prince praised her quick learning, and Vhalla kept the source of her abilities behind a small smile. After that, the Heartbreaker Prince began to have an easier time earning smiles from her.

If she did well, he would squeeze her hand. When her eyes finally lifted away from her haphazard movements, she was rewarded with a wink. Slowly, under the prince’s hand and earnest encouragement, Vhalla began to enjoy herself.

It was a different kind of enjoyment than what she felt when she was around Aldrik. This feeling lacked the tension or twitching to break through the skin that felt with Aldrik. This was simpler. It was as though the golden prince wore everything on his sleeves, and his cerulean eyes promised nothing but the truth. Vhalla stumbled when his lips barely brushed against her cheek.

“You’re beautiful, you know,” the prince whispered thoughtfully.

“I am not.” Vhalla looked away, but their proximity did nothing to hide her hot flush.

“You are, and I wish to ensure everyone will see it at the Gala.” Sliding his palms down her forearms, the prince stepped away from her with a squeeze of his fingers.

Vhalla’s heart was beating a bit harder than normal from the dancing.

The prince pulled a bell cord by the door, and a servant arrived a moment later. The prince engaged in a series of low-voiced orders that meant nothing to Vhalla. Sensing she was not intended to hear the conversation, she wandered to the massive windows that consumed the opposite wall.

The panorama was magnificent. The afternoon sun had the world ablaze, and she could almost feel the palpable joy of every fluttering festival pennon dancing on the breeze in the city far below. Streamers that hung from windows and were posted upon rooftops made the Capital glitter.

Vhalla gave a wistful sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

She hadn’t heard the prince return to her side. “Nothing.” Vhalla took a quarter step away, overwhelmed by his abrupt appearance at the end of her thoughts.

“Ah, Vhalla,” he hummed thoughtfully. “I know when a woman says nothing it is always something.”

“I don’t want the festival to end,” she confessed softly.

“And why is that?” There was a knowing glint to his eye.

“No reason.” Vhalla shook her head, and the brief image of Aldrik vanished.

“The festival is a magical time,” Prince Baldair agreed, following her gaze over the city. “Do you know anything of magic, Vhalla?”