“Thank you, Larel.” He vanished through the door, pulling Vhalla with him with barely enough time for Vhalla to offer her own quick thanks. Larel gave her a small smile that promised secrecy.

They were down the winding hallway of the Tower and into another side door before Vhalla could assess what level of the palace she was on. The prince’s strides were long, and Vhalla struggled to keep up with them. She almost fell into him as he stopped suddenly before another door.

“Vhalla, listen.” Aldrik’s hand paused on the wood. His profile was lit by a single flame bulb and the lighting outlined his angular features. “Victor will catch wind of this; when he does, I am certain he will try to force you into joining the Tower.”

“What will he do? What exactly does he want from me?” She didn’t know why she was whispering, but it felt right.

“I...” Aldrik froze, debating his next words. “Do you know the history of the Windwalkers, yet?”

“I know about the West...” Suddenly Vhalla was trying to recall everything she read with Fritz.

“Then you know that there are people in this world who are greatly interested in your powers.” Aldrik’s eyes darted down the hall toward the Tower.

“That was over a hundred years ago.” Vhalla didn’t want to believe what he was implying. “It’s not—”

“Not so long ago,” he warned.

“Why are you telling me all this?” Vhalla asked. It finally dawned on her the cause of all their secrecy. Was the crown prince protecting her? If so, from what? Or, from who?

“Because I was led to believe that Victor gave you a month to choose magic,” Aldrik answered.

“Only because I threatened to Eradicate myself.” Vhalla leaned against the far wall.

“Still, you have a choice,” he reinforced. “I would like to see you choose this life.”

“And if I don’t?” Vhalla was unable to say the words with any strength. She couldn’t even meet his eyes. The silence felt like it was crushing her skull.

His voice was gentle but there was a quivering restraint, as though his words were forced. “Then,” Aldrik began, “I think that would be the saddest thing to happen to the magical community in a long time.”

Vhalla sighed softly. Of course, it was the magical community. She was the Windwalker, first of her kind in almost a century and a half. The one with powers people wanted for reasons still unknown to her. She turned to the door without a word.

“I would miss teaching you.” Everything stopped as the sentence crossed his lips. Vhalla turned back to look at him, suddenly aware of how small the connecting passage really was. As if realizing the same thing the prince quickly broke eye contact to smooth his coat with his palm before slowly buttoning it. “So, when will I see you again?”

“What?” Vhalla blinked at the sudden and strange question. He had been doing well at seeing her by stealing her away. “You’re the crown prince. You can see me whenever you want. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

“Yes, well,” he muttered, running a hand over his hair. “Lunch, then, tomorrow? No, wait; I have business with Egmun.” He cursed at the foreign name. “The day after tomorrow, I will have time. But this is not an order from your prince.”

Something crept on the edge of Vhalla’s mind. He wasn’t stealing her away or leaving her with little choice—not that she had minded. He wasn’t ordering her as her prince. He hadn’t mentioned training or discussing sorcery or her future. If it wasn’t business or obligation, then what exactly was the reason behind this meeting?

“I’d love to.” She smiled, and the mask that the prince normally wore slipped long enough for her to see a flash of joy in his eyes. “I’ll meet you in the garden?”

He nodded, a little smile playing on his lips, causing a warm honey feeling in her stomach. Vhalla pushed on the door before the feeling spread into her blood and overpowered her senses. She emerged into the cool night air, the mysterious portal closing behind her to disappear as if nothing more than a stone wall.

She couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping as she all but skipped back to her room. There was no reason to be so happy, she reminded herself, and yet she was. She was going to have lunch with the prince.

Vhalla noticed nothing amiss as she pushed open her door. All her lightness vanished with one shift of her gaze.

Sareem sat on her bed holding the wrinkled gloves in his hands. He looked up at her with a mix of emotions flashing across his features. Dropping the gloves to the floor, he walked over and pulled her into a tight embrace, resting a hand on the back of her head.

Vhalla stood there pressed against him, his one arm tight around her arms, the other hand holding her face to his chest. After the initial shock wore off, a strange sensation spread through her, and Vhalla didn’t know if she wanted to hold him or push him off. Her arms stayed limp at her sides as a middle ground.

“I was so worried,” he whispered hoarsely. “You just, you screamed, and then you were on the ground.” He stroked her head as if to offer her comfort, but he was clearly more distraught than she was. “I didn’t know what to do. I told them I’d get a cleric, but after—after what you showed me, I knew it wasn’t a cleric you needed.” He rested his cheek on the top of her forehead a moment with a soft sigh. Vhalla remained still, allowing him to piece together his story.