Vhalla pressed her eyes closed.

“It’s the same nonsense they used on Aldrik,” Elecia sighed. “But much weaker. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

It was weaker than what Aldrik had endured? He had more and could still use his magic, where hers had already faltered. Vhalla had a whole new appreciation of the crown prince’s strength.

“Where is Aldrik?” she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Elecia sighed, rummaging through the small bag she’d brought.

“Figuring out how to keep you safe.” Elecia sat down next to her, inspecting Baldair’s work and making her own additions. “You and him ...”

“I love him.” Vhalla shook again, the words bringing a fresh batch of tears to her eyes. “I love him, but I am only death. I am death to everyone I love. Someday I will be the death of him.”

Elecia grabbed her face roughly, turning Vhalla to face her. The woman’s emerald eyes burned red at the edges from exhaustion or tears. “You will not be. I will not let you be.”

“But—” she whined.

“If you are going to be with him, then you will find the strength to wear that mantle. You don’t get it both ways, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia said fiercely. “He’s risking everything for you tonight, so you better be ready to do the same. Because if you hurt him, I swear I will kill you.”

Vhalla made a choked noise when her lips failed to form words. Elecia put her hand on Vhalla’s back with a frustrated sigh, creating a tingle as her magic activated the salve she had applied. She repeated the process on Vhalla’s calf and forced two more vials down Vhalla’s throat before thrusting the third into her hands.

“Deep Sleep?” Vhalla instantly recognized the smell from what Baldair had given her months ago during her trial.

“You can’t heal if you don’t sleep. Get the rest while you can.” Elecia stood.

“Wait, don’t leave me.” Elecia was the last person Vhalla ever expected to cling to. But grief wasn’t logical.

“I can’t do anything more for you.” Elecia frowned down at the Eastern woman, but didn’t pull her hand away.

“Don’t leave me alone, please.” Vhalla bowed her head again. Larel, she wanted Larel. She wanted to feel safe and warm and unconditionally loved. She wanted Larel.

“Lie down,” Elecia sighed and sat. The woman didn’t offer her any further comfort. She didn’t whisper soothing words or wipe Vhalla’s tears away. But she stayed until the Deep Sleep took effect, and Vhalla’s mind was finally forced to shut down. And Elecia never untwined her fingers from the grieving Easterner.

Vhalla stirred some time later when she was lifted into someone’s arms. The momentary panic was quickly quelled the second she felt his warmth, heard his matching heartbeat slow and strong through his chest. Aldrik carried her off the chaise to the bed, settling her beneath the covers.

She whimpered pitifully. It hurt so much to be awake after sleep had been so blissfully void of everything. The bed sagged as he curled around her.

“Aldrik,” Vhalla murmured, pressing herself into him.

“My Vhalla,” he sighed heavily. “Sleep, it’s not yet dawn.”

Vhalla shook her head, earning another sigh. She needed to know what had happened. Cracking open her eyes, she was met with an exhausted shadow of the prince she knew. Dark circles perched upon his cheeks, taking up residence under his tired eyes. His hair was limp and tangled. She saw the makings of a bruise on his jaw that she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how he got.

“Aldrik.” One of the larger remaining pieces of her heart cracked and fractured at the sight of him. It was her fault, it was her fault he looked as he did; she had put him in this position.

“Sleep. You need your rest,” he insisted again. No matter the state of his appearance, his voice was calm and level.

Vhalla pried herself away. “Don’t you care?”

“What?”

“Larel, Larel is dead and I killed her!” Vhalla’s words were wet with tears. “Don’t you care?”

Aldrik pulled himself into a seated position, staring down at her. “Don’t I care?” he breathed sharply.

She could hear the quivering tension he barely controlled. Vhalla instantly regretted her words but he spoke too quickly for her to revoke them.

“Do you still think I am the heartless Fire Lord?”

The look on his face alone made Vhalla hiccup with tears. “Aldrik, no ...” She shook her head.

“Clearly you must if you somehow think I am blissfully unaffected by-by her death,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Do you even know how we met?” Aldrik stood and began to pace the room. “How I met Larel?”

“She told me once,” Vhalla whispered, feeling the anger radiating off of him.

“She told me I saved her, that I was the prince from all the stories who saves the helpless girl.” Aldrik chuckled; sorrow waged a war against self-loathing in the darkness of his eyes. “I always told her she was foolish, and I never told her how much I needed those words. I never even thanked her for them. How silly she was thinking that I saved her when she was the one saving me.”

“I know, you were close ...” Vhalla pulled herself into a seated position.

“You have no idea.” He rounded to face her. “You likely grew up surrounded by friends and people who enjoyed your company. Even in my best of years I was strange and distanced by nobility and magic. There was only one person among my peers who saw me as anything but their prince. I had Larel. And even-even after I pushed her away she came back. She was a far better friend than I ever deserved.”

“That’s not tr—”

“And when she came to me, paper in hand to march with you, I told her she wasn’t ready.”

It was her fault.

“I knew she wasn’t trained enough, wasn’t built for war. But I thought—” His hands gripped her shoulders suddenly. “I thought I could protect her. Just like I thought I could protect you.”

Vhalla couldn’t find words.

“But here you are, bruised and sliced open by an attempt on your life. There is no reason other than just ... luck that you were not also in a pool of blood next to her. Don’t you know I saw that?” He shook her and it made Vhalla wince from the pain in her back. Aldrik stopped and stared into her wide eyes, dropping his head. “Larel is dead and you may as well have died—I protected no one.”

He sat gripping her shoulders, his hair covering his face. At the first breath she thought he was going to speak more, but he let it out slowly, then another shaky breath, filled with more silence. The quivers were small at first, and started in his shoulders before finding their way to his hands despite his fighting.

She heard it, that breath, the one his tears were let loose upon. Vhalla heard the strange, choked noise rise from his throat as he finally gave into his own overwhelming grief. He was tired, he was over-worked, and he had lost the person whom he had considered his best friend. Aldrik—the crown prince, the future Emperor, Fire Lord, ruler of the Black Legion, sorcerer—was only a man. And men could be broken.

His grip loosened and his hands slid down to her arms, but he still held onto her. It was the first tear that fell onto the bed sheet that finally drew Vhalla out of her own shock and pain. She reached out her arms and pulled him to her without hesitation, pressing his face against her chest to hide him. She knew in all his stubbornness he was likely shamed for simply showing his grief.

As his tears began to heave his chest, she found her own pain refueled by his. She held him tightly, stroking his hair, wanting to offer him all the comfort he would never demand himself. His arms moved and wrapped themselves around her waist as he finally gave in. The wound on her back protested as he grabbed onto her but Vhalla said nothing. He may not allow himself a second chance to cry, she realized, so she would do nothing to stop his grief.