“I still do.”
Fritz opened the door, distracting Vhalla from whatever was said next. She quickly pushed her way into the Southern man’s room before he said anything that Elecia would hear. The Western woman would never let Vhalla listen in on a private conversation. Rightfully so, Vhalla admitted to herself. But she wanted to know about Jax; she needed to know why he was attached to the crown. Why he was practically enslaved and yet so revered by his masters.
“Everything all right?”
These thoughts were shelved for another time the second Fritz asked his question. Vhalla wrapped her arms around his waist, holding her Southerner tightly. He still smelled of battle—sweat and the metallic tang of blood. But his arms wrapped around her without hesitation, without question. He held her silently as Vhalla took a breath and just let the world move without her for a brief moment.
“I’m glad you’re all right, Fritz.”
“Me too,” he laughed lightly.
“Why are you here?” The question escaped her as suddenly as she thought of it.
“I told you when we left my home: Larel would haunt me if I let you go alone.”
“That’s not good enough.” Vhalla shook her head.
“It’s not?”
“No, you’re still fighting. You’re at war on my behalf. Why are you doing it?”
“Silly Vhal.” Fritz sighed gently, and the sound transformed into a smile. “You were at my house, you met my sisters.”
Escaping the chaos of the Charem family home didn’t seem like a good enough reason either.
“They all have their place in the world. They each know who they will be. Cass is going to inherit the home. Reona will be an amazing wife and mother. Nia will be a chef or baker or something. They all have something. I never did.”
“You had your sorcery,” Vhalla pointed out.
“And it took me away from them.” Fritz had never seemed sorrowful about his magic before. His family was so accepting of it. “I went to the Tower and expected to find my place. And I’m still figuring that out. Grahm, Larel, you, you all know what you want. I want to know that, too. I want purpose.”
Vhalla clutched her friend’s hands tightly. “I don’t really know what I want.”
“Yes, you do.” Fritz actually laughed out loud at the notion. “There was a time when you didn’t, but you found it. Now I’m trying to find it, too.”
“Well . . .” Vhalla sat with Fritz on his bed. “What do you want to be? What do you want to do?”
Talking things through with Fritz was therapeutic. She gave him advice she needed to heed herself. It wasn’t any wonder why her messy-haired friend had stayed around for so long. They were so similar in all the ways they needed.
When Vhalla finally returned to her room, she saw the low glow of a fire coming from the door to Aldrik’s quarters. Her feet dragged forward, compelled by her heart. Aldrik worked dutifully at a small table by the fire, scribbling across parchment.
“Letters?” she asked.
“For my uncle and other Western lords,” Aldrik responded without turning.
Vhalla pulled off her boots, leaving them at the door. On light feet, she padded over to the hunched Emperor. Aldrik didn’t move as she slipped her arms around his shoulders.
“Ask for reinforcements, my love,” she requested.
“An order from the Empress?” His quill paused, but when it picked up writing once more, Vhalla saw he worked in her request.
“If the Emperor permits it.”
“Judging from how you handled affairs during that attack, I have little to worry about permitting,” Aldrik hummed, a relaxed and pleased sound, like the purr of a cat.
“I’m still scared,” she confessed. “Of being Empress.”
“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised. “It doesn’t show.”
“I’ve just been pretending when I could think of nothing else to do.”
“Then you are more ready than you thought.”
“I’m afraid of losing my friends, of making the wrong decision,” Vhalla admitted. The load was easier to bear when she lightened it with words. “I crave peace, and I fear that I am a creature whose fate is written in bloodshed.”
“More untrue words have never been spoken.” Aldrik rested his quill on the table to look at her. “You spent eighteen years in peace. If anything, it is I who have placed this mantle of death upon you.”
Vhalla shook her head, but he continued before she could object verbally.
“I know what I have asked of you. I was born into it, I was raised for it. Now I expect you to accomplish acts and diplomacy, tasks that were groomed into me for years.” Aldrik pulled her down into his lap, running his hand over her cheek. “But hear me, I say born into, not born for. I may have the advantage of education, but you are as naturally fit to rule as I am, perhaps more so.”
She held her forehead against his, rubbing the tips of their noses together lightly. “Teach me?”