“A Bond?” Vhalla repeated the word in its foreign context.
“Yes, my parrot.” The corner of his mouth curled faintly at her scowl. “Part of a Bond is that you cannot bring mortal harm to the person to whom you are Bonded. It is because I carry a piece of you with me. The body refuses to harm itself. If pushing you from the roof would have taken your life, I physically could not have done it.”
Vhalla frowned, her still-healing joints aching at the memory of that night.
“But,” Prince Aldrik continued, as if reading her mind, “I did not realize the Bond would let me harm you so. I truly believed you would land safely, that we could even speak of it after you did. That was my mistake.”
“Aren’t you lucky to be a prince and not have your mistakes have consequences?” Vhalla remarked sharply. “They do,” he responded quickly and firmly. “The consequence was the loss of your trust.”
Her eyes met his with trepidation. She couldn’t help but wonder if his words were carefully crafted to what she would want to hear. As though he could sense her skepticism, Prince Aldrik’s gaze rested on her almost sadly.
“How many other people do you puppet?” Vhalla sighed.
“Please explain your question,” he requested.
“Larel. The introduction book. Those weren’t chance, were they?” She watched his lips purse together. “She told me you knew each other.”
“Larel is a friend.”
With four words from the prince, Vhalla’s jaw dropped. “You have friends?” she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, and her hands went to her mouth as if to hide her outburst. Anyone else she would have expected to laugh.
The prince only shrugged and looked away, painfully awkward. Vhalla reminded herself that she shouldn’t feel guilty. But she remembered Larel’s words. He had faced the brunt of the stigma against sorcery, despite being a prince. His own subjects seemed to favor Fire Lord over his natural titles. “What about me?”
“I already explained what you are to me,” the prince responded.
It was just enough to push her back toward the edge of anger. “I don’t think you have.” Vhalla shook her head. “Am I another one of your playthings to command? To serve you? To let you train me until you can deliver me to your father?”
The conversation she had overheard came back to Vhalla, the prince and the minister deciding her fate without even asking her. Judging by the furrow to his brow, the prince remembered also.
“You heard?” he asked darkly.
Vhalla swallowed and nodded, suddenly wondering if confessing to such was really a good idea. Prince Aldrik clenched his fist, and Vhalla saw the tiniest sparks of flame flash around his knuckles. He released his fingers with a heavy sigh, and she felt the temperature of the room lower.
“I cannot explain everything now. But I do not plan on telling my father about you. The last place I would want to see you taken to is that sweltering warfront of the North.” He shook his head. “If I may use your words, Victor was the puppet. Not you.”
“Why are you protecting me?” Vhalla asked before she could even think. It did not coincide with his previous actions, if he could be believed at all.
“Because you are the sorcerer to whom I am Bonded. A Bond can never be broken, and it can never be replaced.” The prince looked back at her. Vhalla’s heart seemed to beat so hard it hurt against her still bruised ribs. “For someone who is so important, I did not treat you as I should have; for that, Vhalla, I am sorry. But whatever you feel toward me, and however justified it is, does not change anything for me. I will still use all the powers I possess to see you safe.”
For all his orders and sneers, his commanding presence, and his intimidating always all-black ensemble, Vhalla saw something different. She simply saw someone who was lonely, someone who could likely count their friends on one hand, and perhaps wanted to one day use two hands. He was nothing like the man she first met, the man who wore a mask to meet palace expectations.
She hadn’t forgiven him, not quite yet. But perhaps Larel was right, and Vhalla felt a little sorry for him too.
The prince looked away from her, distracting himself with the flowers. But now he held her gaze. The silence fell between them. He stared at her, and she at him.
In time she realized he was waiting for her to pass judgment. He stood, uncomfortably folding and unfolding his hands, and simply waited.
Vhalla took a deep breath, trying to find the courage to speak. It was easy to be mad, resentful, and argumentative. It was harder to take one step toward him, and then another. She clutched her bag and crossed the space between them, standing before him, and trying with all her might not to fidget.
“I came here to read. If that’s all right?” she asked quietly.
“It is.” His voice was soft and low, no longer making her grit her teeth at the sound.