“I do. Please?” he encouraged.
Vhalla sighed, stroking his hand with her thumbs. All she could think about in that oppressing moment was her mother, and Vhalla told him the story of the token her mother and she had crafted one year together, a token to bring a good harvest. They’d put their hearts and souls into making it before burying it in the field.
Baldair closed his eyes, and she stopped the moment she noticed.
“Baldair, you can’t fall asleep. I agreed because you were going to listen.” Vhalla nudged his shoulder. Her heart stopped and fell from her chest. “Baldair,” she repeated. “Baldair.”
The Emperor and Empress were on their feet. Clerics rushed in. She was finally, and literally, pushed aside. Vhalla looked at his lifeless form, at the soulless visage of the golden prince.
“Don’t go,” she whispered to the golden-haired man, stumbling a few steps backward. The clerics were talking, but she didn’t hear them. It was just wind in her ears. They were wiping blood from her hands and face and clothes, so much blood, but all Vhalla saw was the Empress burying her sobs in her hands as the Emperor took her into his arms. “Don’t go . . .”
Vhalla turned and stumbled for the door numbly. She couldn’t save him. He died, just as her mother had. She was helpless to change it. Her destiny was full of horrible history repeating itself, and her being forced to watch as it happened.
The princess still lingered, reading in a chair away from the group. Vhalla instantly despised the woman for her casual demeanor and relaxed expression. Her emerald eyes rose. Vhalla looked away quickly to hide her hate.
Aldrik was on his feet by the time their eyes met. Vhalla struggled with her mask, casting it aside. The clerics continued to struggle to get the blood off her, with mixed success. Noise, it was all noise. Aldrik’s eyes bore into her.
Vhalla broke under their weight.
“Aldrik, I-I-I am so sorry.” Her sobs came. Vhalla covered her mouth with her hand and hung her head. She fought for control. He needed her to be strong. She had to be.
Aldrik swayed, he stumbled. He hovered in the limbo that was living after death, a cage that was crafted by grief and imprisoned the heart. She heard a choked noise rise from his throat. Her head snapped up, and she looked up at him. His face twisted in torment. He struggled to keep his breathing under control.
Aldrik grabbed her hand and, before anyone could say anything, bolted for the door. Vhalla’s eyes caught the princess as the girl’s future husband dragged another woman from the room. Aldrik’s hand was already in his pocket for a key. His door across the hall was unlocked in a breath. He pulled her in and locked it again behind them, shutting out the world.
Aldrik let her go, and he brought the palms of his hands to his eyes. He leaned against the door and slid down into a ball on the floor. Vhalla’s own tears left rivulets down both her cheeks, falling onto the floor at his feet. His shoulders began to shudder.
“No,” he whimpered. “Baldair, you, no, you idiot!”
Aldrik’s voice cracked and broke. The tears came freely, and she watched as he allowed his composure to shatter. Vhalla turned, placing her back against the hard wood of the door, and slid down to meet him. There was no thought or second-guessing as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled her prince to her.
At first, he was a tense ball. But slowly his arms wrapped themselves around her waist. His head found her chest, situated away from the blood, and Aldrik sobbed into her as Vhalla cried softly into his hair.
They did not move from their spot. Not for the commotion that was being raised in the other room. Not for the footsteps that were in the hall. Not even for the Emperor’s angry cries and banging on the door at their backs.
It all only made them cling tighter to each other.
“ALDRIK.” THERE WAS more banging from the Emperor. “We will not make a scene of this. Open the door.”
Vhalla clutched the prince’s shoulders protectively. His face was pressed firmly against her upper chest and shoulder. She shifted, wrapping a leg around his.
“Grief can be maddening,” the Emperor attempted coolly. “I am certain your future wife would be happy to console you.”
Vhalla knew from the moment Aldrik had grabbed her that they were headed toward this moment. Vhalla took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar and comforting scent of eucalyptus. He had chosen her. And it had been a deliberate and public choice. Now, they would reap the consequences together.
Aldrik drew a slow breath.
“No.” She shook her head. “Don’t.” Vhalla whispered through her ragged breathing. “Just don’t say anything.”
Aldrik obliged.