They were not whispering about the name, Vhalla quickly realized. It looked as though all the colors of the library’s stained glass ceiling had come to life. Vibrant hues dotted the large dance floor waiting beneath her. Southern blue seemed to be the preferred shade, with a few reds of the West; there were even purples of the East sprinkled in. There were no other dark colors.
Vhalla scanned the crowd almost frantically until her eyes fell on a white marble dais far opposite the stairs. There, standing with the royal family was a prince, her prince. Although the rest of the royal family wore gold and white silks, he stood all in black, as if a waiting counterpart for her ensemble.
Aldrik’s face was dumbstruck. He hadn’t even noticed, or didn’t care, that his jaw had fallen loose. Vhalla smiled brightly at his wide eyes as she walked over to the royal family. The crown prince gaped at her openly the whole way.
THE WHOLE ROOM faded away. The high society could keep their judgments and jeers; they would not touch Vhalla tonight. For several long steps the only person she saw was him, the only judgment that mattered was his—and it felt amazing. The smoldering pair of dark eyes hungrily fed on her every movement.
Alone, she approached the dais and stopped at ground level. Vhalla attempted to dip gracefully into a curtsy, just as Baldair taught her. She had no doubt that one day of training would not make her a graceful swan of high society, but she didn’t fall upon her nose. That was good enough. Vhalla began a mantra in her head to get her though the night, smile, grace, pose, float, smile.
“Welcome to our Gala, Lady Rose,” the Emperor boomed warmly, not unlike Prince Baldair she thought amusingly. Vhalla tried to find Aldrik in the muscular and weathered man. She tried to imagine Emperor Solaris without the closely cropped beard along his jaw, seeing if she could see any of the eldest prince’s striking features. “We hope you enjoy the celebrations.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Vhalla kept her eyes averted. She had just become accustomed to speaking with princes. The idea of exchanging words with the Emperor himself was still much.
“Baldair,” the Empress’s voice interrupted. “I thought you told me you invited this one yourself.”
“I did,” Baldair announced loud enough to earn some not so subtle stares from a group of ladies at Vhalla’s right.
“Did you not also inform her what was proper to wear to a gala?” the Empress sniffed in her airy tones. Nothing about her speech sounded like Aldrik. “Lady Rose, my son is well versed in fashions, you should have taken his input to heart.”
Vhalla opened her mouth, unsure of what to say. The whispers around her resumed, and her tongue had gone fat and limp. Cerulean eyes stared her down.
“I think she looks stunning.” Aldrik finally spoke and his voice was soothing to Vhalla’s sizzling nerves. Their eyes met and the corner of his mouth curled up slightly as he looked at her. Vhalla looked down again to hide a blush.
“Oh my, dear,” the Empress turned to the Emperor in a hush. “See, he is a bad influence. People will begin to think such dress is acceptable.”
“Come, let us relax and enjoy our evenings.” The Emperor dismissed his wife, as well as Vhalla, with a wave of his hand.
Pleased to no longer be the center of attention, Vhalla fled quickly to the outer edge of the room. People parted to make way for her, though no one addressed her directly. She dared a look back at Aldrik, who was greeting the guest announced after her.
He looked closed off again and sounded curt, but she savored the image of his face in her mind, replaying that stunned look again and again. If she went back to her room right now, the evening would be a success. As the sky grew darker outside, more of the finer players in society began to filter in. Vhalla pretended to be interested in their greetings to the royal family, but really it was an excuse to look at Aldrik.
He wore a long black, double-breasted coat. It fell to right above his knees and had a slit in the back for movement. It was unbuttoned at the top and a perfect triangle was pinned open to show a white-collared shirt with a wide, black necktie that was tucked into a vest beneath his jacket.
It wasn’t quite like the neck ruffles some of the men were sporting, but it did have a bit of volume to it. The jacket was stitched with patterns of the sun, all in black that caught the light perfectly as he moved. Golden rope decorated his cuffs and arms. Beneath he wore a pair of black trousers—Vhalla was beginning to grow suspicious if he actually owned any other color—with more golden piping down the sides. His normal boots were replaced with well-polished, black dancing shoes. Aldrik’s hair was the same as he’d always worn it, save for a golden circlet that was simple in design, a flat rectangular band across his brow.