“What is it?” Judging by the look on his face, she may not want to know.
“Even if my father wants my brother’s injury to go unsaid, and Aldrik would never admit to actually needing help, saving the life of the crown prince should not go unrewarded. And a lunch is not nearly a sufficient reward.” The prince smiled. “So tell me, what does your heart desire, my little library apprentice? I am a prince; most anything is within my power to give.”
She brought her hands before her and gripped the pads of her fingers. What did her heart desire? After Sareem, after Aldrik, things didn’t add up in her heart anymore.
“Nothing,” she replied with a shake of her head, starting for the door again as though she knew the way out.
“You must want something.” The golden-haired man was quickly in step beside her.
She looked up at his expression. Something in his eyes told her that he was only playing dumb.
“Nothing you can give,” Vhalla whispered, thinking of the news that Aldrik was leaving. If she could have one wish it would be for the crown prince to stay in the South. He would be safe here, the rapid beats of her heart whispered. He would be near her. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed.
“The Gala,” the prince said suddenly.
“What?” She waited for an explanation.
“At the end of the Festival of the Sun there is a gala in the Mirror Ballroom,” the prince began.
Vhalla knew of it. She had friends who had worked the Gala over the years. It was a celebration reserved only for nobility.
“Come to the Gala tomorrow.”
“What?” That seemed to be the only word her tongue could form.
“Think about it—the best food, music, entertainment.” He grabbed both of her hands in his. Vhalla followed him as he took a step back into the room. “I’ll see you fitted in a fashionable gown. And the dancing!”
He spun her in a circle beneath his arm. Vhalla tripped and stumbled. With a laugh, the prince caught her in both hands and she found herself pressed close to him for the second time in one day.
“We can work on the dancing.” Prince Baldair grinned down at her.
“I can’t go to the Gala.” She shook her head, trying to find bones in her legs once more.
“Why not?” The prince seemed undeterred.
Vhalla pried herself away from him in frustration. “Because I don’t belong there.” She grabbed her elbows, hugging her torso. “Apprentices don’t belong with nobility.”
“You don’t belong in my brother’s garden either,” the prince retorted with a shrug.
Vhalla wished she could have kept the frown off her lips.
“He’s dangerous and silver-tongued. Don’t give him an opportunity to weave you into some scheme, Vhalla.”
“I would like to return to the servants’ halls now,” she said with a quiet firmness that she didn’t know her voice capable of.
The prince stared at her for a long moment. He implied that Aldrik would weave her into a scheme, but Vhalla only felt skeptical about the man standing before her. She resisted fidgeting—barely—but didn’t like the knowing glint in his eyes.
“I’ll give you a fake name,” he said finally. She couldn’t believe he was still persisting with this insane plot. “No one will know who you are under the powder, gown, and hairdo.”
Vhalla shifted her feet and braced herself to object a second time.
“It will likely be the last night before my brother and I return to the front,” Prince Baldair revealed, shattering her resolve.
The last night before Aldrik would leave was the Gala, tomorrow. She looked toward a far corner of the room, churning this over in her head. That was it, all the time they would have together. No matter how much she wanted to refuse the prince before her, a question remained: What if she had no other chance to see Aldrik?
“You’re sure it won’t be a problem?” she finally asked the waiting prince.
“No one will be wise to who you are.” Baldair nodded. “Unless you think my brother will tell.”
Vhalla looked askance at the prince and swore she heard a soft chuckle.
“And if people found out?” She shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot.
“No one will.” It wasn’t the answer she had been looking for, but it was the best she was going to get.
“All right. If you wish to bestow this upon me as a secret thanks, my prince, then I shall accept it.” Vhalla gave him a resolute nod.
The prince smiled, and she noticed that where Aldrik’s smiles were small and normally just a turn of the corners, the Heartbreaker Prince’s moved in a beautiful symmetry.
“First then,” the prince extended a hand to her. “We dance.”