“How did you know?” Larel folded her arms, her back against the door.

“I will not speak about it,” Aldrik said with a pointed stare. His eyes only left Vhalla’s corpse-like body for half a moment. Larel followed his gaze with a soft sigh. Clearly, she knew better than to push the prince.

“She’s progressing quickly,” Larel observed quietly.

“I know.” Aldrik took a step forward, his hand outstretched. His fingers hovered in the air above Vhalla’s body before falling back to his side.

“You’ve been teaching her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Larel,” the prince sighed. Vhalla felt a twinge of something she would not dare call jealousy. The prince acted different around the Western woman as well.

“It isn’t my business,” she said with a shrug.

“I will tell you.” Aldrik’s eyes broke away from Vhalla’s body when he added, “Eventually.”

“You know that’s always been good enough for me.” The corner of Larel’s mouth curled in an almost Aldrik-like smile. It was strange, and it made Vhalla begin to wonder what their relationship really was.

“Make sure Victor does not find out,” Aldrik ordered the woman.

Her hand hovered on the door handle. “He will eventually,” she murmured.

“I want him away from her.” Aldrik nodded toward Vhalla’s comatose form on the last word.

“You know I’ll protect her.” Larel smiled.

“I know I can trust you.” Aldrik nodded.

Without needing to be asked, the woman slipped out of the room, leaving Vhalla alone with the crown prince.

He stood, looking nowhere but on her physical body. As though each movement was exhausting, he dragged the chair from the desk and sat heavily in it. Putting his elbows in his knees Aldrik buried his face in his hands. It was a strange motion that she had never seen from him before. His hair was a mess, his clothing unbuttoned, and his figure slumped.

Aldrik, she whispered softly.

His head snapped up and looked over directly at her. The prince squinted briefly against the light of the sun streaming through the window at her back. Raising a hand slowly, he guarded his eyes against the brightness. She saw the moment realization dawned across his features.

“Impossible,” he breathed.

You can see me? She tilted her head. He nodded, attempting to smooth back the stray pieces of his hair. You can hear me? He nodded again. So I’m not a ghost?

“No, you are not. But you have gotten yourself into quite the mess.” He sounded tired, annoyed, but somewhere she could have sworn that she heard relief.

How did you know to come? she asked.

“I knew something was wrong. After you pulled the stunt you did at the festival’s ceremony.” He frowned and stood, walking over to her.

Vhalla recognized that when she asked, he answered—unlike Larel.

I don’t know what I did, Vhalla whispered. Her fear was almost a palpable quiver between them.

“I will explain when you are back where you belong,” he said reassuringly. “I asked you to trust me, Vhalla. Do you?”

She stared up at his obsidian eyes. These were the eyes of the man who pushed her from the roof. Who spoke of mysterious purposes for her powers with the Minister of Sorcery and who was now keeping her from that same Minister for unknown reasons.

I do. It was an impossible truth.

“I believe this will work, but it will seem terrifying. I promise you that you will not be hurt,” he reassured her.

What are you going to do? she asked hesitantly, not sure if she wanted the answer.

“I will explain it to you when you are awake proper.” He reached a hand straight into her. Vhalla looked down, the sight was terrifying enough. His hand was directly in her abdomen, her body faded and hollow. In that moment she thought she really must be a ghost.

“Do not be afraid,” he whispered soothingly right before he closed his fingers into a fist. A roaring fire soared out from his hand, and she felt it consume her body before her very eyes. Everything was aflame.

Vhalla sat up in bed with a scream. She began to attempt to pat out the imaginary fire all over her limbs. Aldrik was at her bedside with a fluid movement, sitting directly onto the mattress. He grabbed for her shoulders and held her tightly in his hands. His face was white and tense. She struck at his arms, still in a frantic daze.

“Vhalla!” he nearly shouted over her panic. “Vhalla, breathe!” He shook her forcefully.

She grabbed onto his arms and felt the uncomfortable sensation slowly fade away. Her eyes locked with his, and she stared shamelessly into those ebony depths, seeking his stability. She dug her fingertips tightly into the sleeves of his coat, feeling lean muscle beneath.

“Breathe with me,” he whispered, and she obeyed.

They sat for over fifty breaths, simply staring at each other. His hands clutched her shoulders, her hands clutching his arms. Both of their features relaxed, and she wanted to collapse into him, but common sense and who she was meant that such contact would be extraordinarily unwelcome on his part. She slowly relaxed her grip and let her hands fall.

“Vhalla...” he breathed, gently taking his hands off her shoulders. “How do you feel?”

She took a breath and assessed herself. Now that the terror and the frantic beating of her heart had subsided, she felt the best she’d felt all day. “Better.” Her voice came out as normal; even her eyes were obeying her and not seeing double.