“I thought ...” Vhalla shook her head with a small laugh. “I thought you were with her,” she confessed, looking away.
“I thought everything was obvious to you,” he said softly, astounded at her confusion. “Not just about Elecia, but—” Aldrik ran a hand across his hair, noticing the mess she’d made in the back earlier with a small smile, “—with everything. I was certain that, with how I acted toward only you, you knew.”
Vhalla blushed and stared at her toes. Larel had tried to tell her. It would be false if Vhalla said she hadn’t hoped. But of course she had never thought it was true. There was always a more likely, convenient explanation. Something else crossed her mind and her eyes snapped back to his.
“If you’re cured, then the Bond ... is it?” She felt a small panic rising in her.
Aldrik chuckled. “It is still there. My sincere apologies, Vhalla Yarl, but to the best knowledge of the academic community of sorcerers, we are Bound for life.”
“Forgive me for not being torn up over that.” She smiled from ear to ear.
He chuckled and squeezed her hand lightly.
Vhalla sat back onto the couch with a relieved sigh. The past half hour hit her all at once, and she suddenly felt exhausted. Aldrik returned to his place next to her, placing his arm behind her, his side flush against hers, and she leaned into him instinctively. Her head rested on his shoulder, and she was pleased to find he made no motion away.
“Vhalla,” he whispered softly.
“Aldrik?” she replied, her eyes dipping closed as she allowed herself to enjoy his warmth.
“Did you mean what you said? Or was it just a moment?”
Vhalla sat up straighter to study his face. “What?”
“Earlier.” Aldrik glanced away. “You told me that, your feelings ...”
Vhalla paused, hesitant. Was he giving her the choice? Was he asking her to decide? He seemed unable to meet her gaze and looked across the room at nothing in particular. Vhalla took a shaky breath. Reaching out, she put her fingertips under his chin and guided his eyes back to hers.
“Aldrik, it was not an impulse,” Vhalla spoke slowly and deliberately. “It was not even the first time I had said it aloud.” She smiled softly at his surprise.
“When?” His lips barely moved.
“When did I admit it? Only after the sandstorm. When did it happen? Long before that.” She shrugged slightly; it was hopeless to attempt denial. Vhalla returned her hand to his, looking at their intertwined fingers. The sight of that alone filled her with joy.
“I tried,” he sighed, the sorrow in his voice contrasting starkly the tone of their conversations prior. “I didn’t expect it, then I didn’t want it to happen. I tried to explain it to you the day of the verdict. Being involved with me at all is dangerous.”
“I don’t care.” It came out of her mouth before she had time to filter it. But as he shook his head at her she found she didn’t regret it.
Aldrik chuckled softly and stood. “You’re a rather impossible woman.”
“Pot meet kettle.” Vhalla gave him a snarky grin.
She was rewarded with the rich sound of his laughter as Aldrik helped her to her feet. “I must do some work,” he explained his apologetic look.
“On what?” Vhalla stalled him, not ready to be dismissed.
“Strategy, planning for the troop addition, acquiring any extra rations we may need,” Aldrik listed.
“Could I help?” Vhalla was glad that she hadn’t thought the words through first, otherwise she may not have said them. Offering to help the crown prince with matters of state was too bold, too far beyond her station. Then again, so was kissing him. Vhalla shifted her weight from one foot to the other, weighing his surprised stare.
“Actually,” Aldrik thought aloud, “you could.”
Aldrik led her over to the table eagerly. He scattered the papers and began to give her an overview. Vhalla was surprised to find how good it felt to use her mind again. For months she’d been out of her element, away from books and knowledge. It was like stretching a muscle that’d been languishing for far too long.
He twirled a gold-tipped raven’s feather quill between his fingers as he spoke, and Vhalla chewed thoughtfully on the end of a spare she’d made her own. One positive, she discovered, about her intellect was that she could focus on what he was saying and his dexterous fingers at the same time. Vhalla missed nothing, his knowledge or how nimble his long hands actually were.
“How many stone’s worth of smoked meat is being provided by the West?” Aldrik asked from the other end of the table.
“Two-thousand,” Vhalla replied, quickly marking the numbers on a new list as he’d showed her.
“That’s not enough,” he mumbled. “We’ll need to ask the Western lords for more.”
Vhalla stopped her quill, looking across at the dark-haired prince who was deep in thought. She could almost hear the words echoing through his mind. “I know how you could get more.”