Aldrik stood in the doorframe, both commanding and disheveled. His white coat was unbuttoned and hung loosely around him, a plain shirt underneath. His cheeks were flushed, and his breathing hard. Even his hair looked less than perfect, long strands hanging over his eyes.
He stepped in quickly, Larel shutting the door behind him. Fritz looked as dazed as Vhalla felt. The crown prince did not stand in an apprentice’s rooms, but Aldrik did not seem to care. The only thing that bothered him was the sight of her lifeless body.
“My prince,” Fritz squeaked.
Vhalla took a step away, a window to her back.
“Out.” Aldrik hardly seemed to notice the presence of the Southerner. With one word Fritz had diminished to less than a fly on the wall.
“Larel?” Fritz glanced over at the woman, but Larel only shook her head. “Right, well, I can’t find anything wrong with her.” He inched toward the door, removing the barrier of his body between Vhalla’s form on the bed and the prince. “Should I get the minister?”
“No,” Aldrik replied with a glare. His hand shot out faster than a viper, Fritz’s collar balled in his fingers. “If I hear you breathing a word of this to anyone, consider your time in the Tower finished.”
A threat lived in Aldrik’s last word. It made Vhalla uncomfortable just to hear. The library boy gaped, frozen to the spot.
“Now, out,” the older man hissed. Fritz bolted from the room as though his life depended on it. Vhalla didn’t want to even entertain the idea that it did.
Neither Larel nor the prince said anything. Fading sunlight filtered through the window behind her, and Vhalla noticed she cast no shadow.
“What’s wrong with her?” Larel asked. Her voice had a surprising amount of emotion.
“I don’t know,” the prince sighed, shaking his head. As though deflated, he leaned against the desk for support.
“How did you know?” Larel folded her arms, her back against the door.
“I will not speak about it,” Aldrik said with a pointed stare. His eyes only left Vhalla’s corpse-like body for half a moment. Larel followed his gaze with a soft sigh. Clearly, she knew better than to push the prince.
“She’s progressing quickly,” Larel observed quietly.
“I know.” Aldrik took a step forward, his hand outstretched. His fingers hovered in the air above Vhalla’s body before falling back to his side.
“You’ve been teaching her.” It wasn’t a question.
“Larel,” the prince sighed. Vhalla felt a twinge of something she would not dare call jealousy. The prince acted different around the Western woman as well.
“It isn’t my business,” she said with a shrug.
“I will tell you.” Aldrik’s eyes broke away from Vhalla’s body when he added, “Eventually.”
“You know that’s always been good enough for me.” The corner of Larel’s mouth curled in an almost Aldrik-like smile. It was strange, and it made Vhalla begin to wonder what their relationship really was.
“Make sure Victor does not find out,” Aldrik ordered the woman.
Her hand hovered on the door handle. “He will eventually,” she murmured.
“I want him away from her.” Aldrik nodded toward Vhalla’s comatose form on the last word.
“You know I’ll protect her.” Larel smiled.
“I know I can trust you.” Aldrik nodded.
Without needing to be asked, the woman slipped out of the room, leaving Vhalla alone with the crown prince.
He stood, looking nowhere but on her physical body. As though each movement was exhausting, he dragged the chair from the desk and sat heavily in it. Putting his elbows in his knees Aldrik buried his face in his hands. It was a strange motion that she had never seen from him before. His hair was a mess, his clothing unbuttoned, and his figure slumped.
Aldrik, she whispered softly.
His head snapped up and looked over directly at her. The prince squinted briefly against the light of the sun streaming through the window at her back. Raising a hand slowly, he guarded his eyes against the brightness. She saw the moment realization dawned across his features.
“Impossible,” he breathed.
You can see me? She tilted her head. He nodded, attempting to smooth back the stray pieces of his hair. You can hear me? He nodded again. So I’m not a ghost?
“No, you are not. But you have gotten yourself into quite the mess.” He sounded tired, annoyed, but somewhere she could have sworn that she heard relief.
How did you know to come? she asked.
“I knew something was wrong. After you pulled the stunt you did at the festival’s ceremony.” He frowned and stood, walking over to her.
Vhalla recognized that when she asked, he answered—unlike Larel.
I don’t know what I did, Vhalla whispered. Her fear was almost a palpable quiver between them.
“I will explain when you are back where you belong,” he said reassuringly. “I asked you to trust me, Vhalla. Do you?”
She stared up at his obsidian eyes. These were the eyes of the man who pushed her from the roof. Who spoke of mysterious purposes for her powers with the Minister of Sorcery and who was now keeping her from that same Minister for unknown reasons.