“Do you like the West or the South more?” she asked between bites.

“For what? Food?” He spooned a bit of rice.

“Everything,” she specified.

“That is a hard choice. Sorcerers are undoubtedly treated better in the West; I’m generally more loved here as a result. But I grew up in the South; my ties here are only through visiting. The palace is my home.” Aldrik turned the question to her. “And you? East or South?”

Vhalla chewed on her food a moment to give herself time to think. “It’s not too difficult really ... I come from very little in the East.” Vhalla looked down at the food; she hated the reminders of who she really was at times like this. They shattered her fantasies. “The palace is home for me also in most ways.”

“What is your childhood home like?” Aldrik stretched to reach a platter.

The idea of home held a bittersweet sort of beauty. “My home, it’s a small place. It’s stone, a roof that was badly in need of replacement the last time I was there. We’ve a wooden barn to keep a horse for plow.”

“I would like to see it,” he said casually. Vhalla couldn’t stop herself from laughing, and he frowned at her. “I would.”

“The crown prince? In Leoul? In my home?” Vhalla’s laughter rang out again. “My father may disown me for letting someone like you inside.”

The rest of the conversation was relaxed and easy between them. They spoke, lounged with food about them on the chaises and table, and talked well into the evening about everything and nothing. When it was clear they’d both had their fill, he got up to clean the plates and Vhalla helped. Old habits died hard; it felt strange to see the prince of the realm cleaning his own food when she was there. He insisted he could do it himself—she insisted she would help him.

She hovered as Aldrik returned from placing the cart in the hall for the wait staff to take care of. The outside of the stained glass was dark and Vhalla knew it was late.

“I should go,” she whispered.

Aldrik stared at her silently for a long moment, taking both hands in his. “Stay.”

“Aldrik?” Vhalla questioned.

“Stay here,” he affirmed. Vhalla bit her lip, unsure of what he was really asking. “I have more than enough space. Elecia said the chaises are comfortable.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you near me. I don’t want you to leave.” His directness pierced her and she felt her heart begin to pick up the same speed as earlier.

“I shouldn’t.” Her words were weak and faint. Was he asking what she thought he was?

“You’re right.” He nodded, his voice was soft and deep. “Will you?”

Vhalla tried to find grounds to object. Fritz and Larel surely wouldn’t care, and there were few other people who would notice her absence. He hadn’t explicitly spoken of her sharing his bed, but would it happen? Vhalla swallowed hard. If it did, was she ready for it? If she wasn’t, she knew Aldrik wouldn’t force it upon her. All of Vhalla’s reason objected that it was a poor decision.

But she was too overwhelmed by his proximity.

“I will. I’ll stay,” she whispered.

He laughed softly with a shake of his head. “It’s the first time.”

“What is?”

“That I’ve asked a woman to stay with me while being completely uncertain about how she will respond.” Aldrik looked at her in relief. It was an odd thing to say, but Prince Baldair’s words came back to Vhalla. His stories of the hunt, of his brother knowing exactly what would happen, exactly what even she would do. Yet, it seemed like the infamous silver-tongued prince hadn’t calculated what was happening between them. Her own relief spread over her.

“How many times have you asked a woman to stay with you?” she teased gently.

“Well,” Aldrik seemed to be at a loss for words. “Before this? Not many who mattered even slightly.”

Vhalla felt a flush rise across her whole body. She took a half step closer, closing the gap between them. Aldrik tilted his cheek into her bold fingertips as they made feather-light trails over his pronounced cheekbone. Vhalla outlined his brow, down over the bump in his nose, the edge of his jaw, she wanted to remember every detail exactly. Her thumb brushed the corner of his lips and she felt herself move without thinking.

Aldrik tilted his head to meet her halfway, ensnaring her in a slow and purposeful kiss. Every shift, every brief opening of his mouth, made her ache for more. Aldrik’s fingers buried themselves in her hair. She was pulled against him, sighing in soft release as she felt his magic slip over her skin once more.

The prince pulled away suddenly.

Vhalla swallowed, blinking. “Aldrik ...” Her voice was strange even to her own ears, desire changing it.

“I love you, Vhalla,” Aldrik forced himself to say.

Vhalla pulled her head back in shock, her eyes wide. Her heart pounded and she repeated his words in her mind. “What?” Somehow she’d pushed from her consciousness the notion of him having the same feelings for her as she had for him.

“I love you,” he repeated, a determined fire lighting his eyes. “It is one of the worst things I could ever do,” Aldrik confessed. “I swear to the Mother, I have tried not to damn you with it. But you’re a rather persistent, beautiful presence in my life. And, for once, the silver-tongued prince is tired of pretending.”

VHALLA SHIFTED A pile of blankets about her. Her head was hazy with sleep as she rolled over. Long fingers ran through her hair, snagging lightly on tangles. She nestled into the pillow, not opening her eyes. Vhalla reached out for Aldrik under the covers, finding him but unable to touch. Her eyes cracked open.

“Good morning.” Aldrik sat next to her on top of the blankets. He leaned against pillows and the headboard. His far knee was bent, a board with papers on top of it. Vhalla noted the fingers of his right hand were already stained with ink; he must have been at it for a while.

“Good morning, my prince.” She smiled up at him. Vhalla remembered curling up with him on the chaises for a thousand kisses the night before, but she couldn’t seem to recall how they’d made it to the bed. However, it was a mountain of fluff that she could sink into; her clothes were still in place; and she didn’t recall taking anything that would have made her lose her head, so she wasn’t particularly worried about anything untoward.

Vhalla propped herself up on her elbows, rubbing her eyes. The curtains in the side room had been pulled back a tad and the beam of sunlight cutting through the air told her that it was sometime past dawn. “What time is it?”

Aldrik shifted. He only wore a cotton shirt—black this time—and black pants. Vhalla mused over how she had never seen him in anything less than long sleeves and long pants, save for the night with Elecia. He pulled a familiar silver watch from his pocket.

“Just after eight-thirty.” He clicked the watch closed and stashed it away.

“Just after eight-thirty and you’re up and working. And you’ve bathed.” She noted his hair was fixed. “Do you sleep?” The pillow muffled the end of her words as she fell back into it.

“Normally, not very much.” His quill scratched against the parchment.

“Normally?” she repeated, twisting her face to look at him from under the blankets.

“I slept well last night.”

“How did we make it to the bed?” she couldn’t help but ask.

“I brought you in when I noticed you’d passed out. I suppose my story on the Kingdom of Mhashan was that boring.” Aldrik glanced at her from the corners of his eyes.

Vhalla laughed guiltily.

“Elecia was right though,” he continued. “I couldn’t find one complaint with the chaises.”

Vhalla chewed that over for a second. “Wait,” she paused, “you slept on the couches?” Vhalla rolled onto her side to look up at him.