There she saw him, a black shadow illuminated only by the light of a single flame hovering magically at his side. He didn’t move and, for the first time, she didn’t speak.
In the silence Vhalla studied him. This night her dream became sharper, clearer. By not trying to speak, the dream remained stable long enough to make out features that normally were shadowed and fogged. The man was older than her by about six to eight years. His shoulder-length black hair was slicked back, away from his face and set with something that gave off a dull shine in the light.
“You are early tonight.” A deep voice hovered in the silence.
Vhalla was confused. I’m early? she wanted to ask, but only air escaped from her mouth.
“You have to try harder,” he sighed, pretending to inspect the book he had propped against his black-clad knees.
Try harder? Still only air passed through her moving lips.
“Tell me your name,” he commanded. What?
“Tell me your name,” he demanded again, agitation clipping his words.
Vhalla.
“Tell me your name!” He snapped his book shut and turned to her. She could almost see the fire behind his coal-colored eyes.
Don’t slam books closed! She found her voice, and it echoed through the dream from her to his ears.
Vhalla felt his laughter resonating through her as she woke with a start.
Sitting, she tried to control her ragged breathing. It was hopeless and something wild took her.
She was up, on her feet, and down the hall in a flurry of motion. Vhalla didn’t even think twice as she put her shoulder to the solid library door to push it open. A faint flicker of light glittered off the lacquer of the shelves.
Her sudden stop almost caused her to tumble forward into the man on the window seat. Her window seat. Her chest rose and fell with each gasping breath, and her side hurt slightly from the sprint, but her eyes locked onto him. She stood there in silence for a long moment, the stunning clarity of the world around her reminding her that this wasn’t a dream.
Slowly, he put his hand on the seat and turned, piercing her with his eyes. A knowing smirk spread across his face as he commanded her with only his stare. Minutes or hours could have passed before he spoke.
“I knew you would come.”
REALITY HIT VHALLA like a slap across the face. Pinned to the man’s breast was a symbol she knew well. She would know that symbol—a symbol that hovered over her every waking hour— better than any in the world. Crafted in gold gleamed the blazing sun of the Empire.
She stood bare-footed and in her nightgown before the crown prince, the second most powerful man in the world. He shifted his feet to the floor, nonchalantly placing his book on the bench. Moving his elbows to his thighs, he rested his head in his palm with one dark eyebrow arched, as though he had already become bored.
His eyes held her to the spot with an unbroken gaze. They simply stared at each other and, while Vhalla felt her anger slowly rising to a boil inside, his demeanor was perfectly calm. As time dragged on, it gave birth to her nerves. Whatever had possessed her vanished, and she realized this was a dangerous course of action. She was playing with fire.
“Y-you, you knew I would come?” Vhalla finally stammered out. Wishing her tongue would obey her more eloquently before a prince.
“Oh, without doubt.” The prince’s voice was soft but she could feel it reverberating through her bones.
“How?” She blinked.
“Oh, Vhalla,” he chuckled and it made her tense. “Since when have I simply told you things?” He stood and she looked up at him, realizing he was head and shoulders taller than her, even taller than his brother. “I have never fed you information; you are far too smart for that. Where is the sport?” He rounded her, peering down the bridge of his nose. Vhalla felt like wounded prey snared in the trap of far bigger game. “Think, Vhalla. How did I know you would come running to me?”
“I don’t know...” she whispered.
He paused behind her, leaning close to her ear. Vhalla could feel the small hairs on the back of her neck move as he spoke.
“Vhalla.” She barely suppressed a shiver at his voice on her skin. “Show me that big intellect that the world seems to praise you for.”
“The dreams,” she breathed deeply and closed her eyes. He leaned away from her, and she let out a small sigh of relief.
“Very good.” It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel sincere.
“What about the dreams?” She turned to face him. A flame hovered magically over his shoulder. Her fascination with the tiny fire was only halted by her inability to catch her breath when she looked at him.
From this angle, the light was at her back and she could study his face properly. He had high cheekbones and a pronounced nose, his face was narrower and more angular than his brother’s. All of his facial structures were distinctly Western, save for Southern pale skin that seemed paper white even in the orange glow. Nothing about him was traditionally handsome, and for it all, he was astonishingly striking.