“Happy to serve, my prince,” she murmured and raised his mailed hand to her lips, kissing it thoughtfully.

“I love you.” Aldrik kissed her once more and left.

Vhalla suddenly felt nauseous, and she placed a palm on her forehead. Fumbling with the watch on her neck, Vhalla studied the hands. It was almost noon; sunset would come sooner than she knew.

She took the same care in donning her own armor. Vhalla made sure every clasp was fastened properly, each clip was tightened and in place. She made sure the chainmail of her hood had no kinks and her gauntlets and greaves were just so.

The main room was surprisingly quiet. Baldair sat with the Golden Guard; a few other majors discussed one or two things, Aldrik among them. The Emperor seemed to be huddled around something at the far end with senior members. But otherwise there was little activity.

She ended up sitting with the Golden Guard as Aldrik was too engrossed in what he was doing to break away. She had not eaten yet, but that didn’t spur her to do anything other than stare listlessly at the food. Vhalla reminded herself that sustenance was needed, but she couldn’t seem to muster the will. She was far too uneasy to eat.

“Vhalla,” Daniel’s whisper jarred her out of her thoughts.

The moment her eyes met his, they shared books of unspoken words. His gaze was like a distanced caress, absorbing her as though it were the last time. Vhalla realized that, in their own ways, they were all making peace with the fact that no one knew who would still be sitting at the table the next morning. They were all saying silent, fearful goodbyes.

“Eat,” he said finally.

“I know.” She picked up a fork.

“Try not to be nervous,” he offered helpfully.

“Try to tell the sun not to rise.” She was slightly annoyed he’d even suggest such.

“Then have faith in the people surrounding you.” He leaned forward. “I will be there, at your side.”

Vhalla stared in shock, suddenly remembering he was fighting on the front line of the side she and Aldrik were assigned to. The name that had been ink on a map of a battlefield suddenly became real, and with it, horror clawed its way through her. There were too many people she cared about, too many for her to protect them all.

“The Black Legion knows to protect you and the prince,” Jax said with more seriousness than Vhalla had heard in a long time.

Vhalla shifted her attention to the man at Daniel’s right. “I don’t want them to—”

“To what?” Jax interrupted her. “To have the Tower not protect their leaders?”

“I’m not their leader.” The protest was beginning to sound weak even to her own ears.

“You’re not?” Jax leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “When was the last time you were in camp? Have you not seen more wings painted than rays of the Solaris sun?” Jax’s eyes fell on her watch, and Vhalla instinctually grabbed it. “You were not born to be their leader, you were chosen. And that has far greater weight.”

Vhalla was instantly overwhelmed, and she quickly busied her mouth with food to swallow down the emotions that were trying to consume her. To chew away the nerves and the not so subtle implications Jax brought forth. Eventually her food disappeared, though Vhalla’s stomach still felt empty.

The Golden Guard all came and went, each tending to something else. But Vhalla was never alone. Erion tried to give her confidence, Craig tried to make her laugh, but none of them could ease the turmoil in her heart. It was the waiting that killed her, the hours that ticked away as they milled around in that suddenly too-small room. She inwardly cursed the Northerners for not choosing to attack at dawn.

Vhalla wished she had a book to read. No, not read; she wasn’t in a state where reading would be possible. But a book to look at, to hold, so she could feel like anything but a soldier about to kill.

But as Aldrik’s hand clasped her shoulder with a nod, a soldier was what she must be. She pulled up her hood, he donned his helm, and they departed the camp palace together. Vhalla stared at Soricium, at its towering walls and giant trees, ablaze with the late orange light of the sun.

She wondered what was going on within. If they, too, were preparing for battle. If they, too, felt like beasts pacing their cage.

To the casual observer, the camp seemed to continue as normal. But Vhalla could see the men with swords drawn, waiting for the call, crouched in their tents. She saw the archers packed and hidden in their roosts in the spiked walls. She saw the increased patrol that would be the start of the Empire’s inner border around the palace, preventing any escapees.

A whole army lay in wait, each in a carefully planned place. Each hidden away and prepared to strike to kill. Vhalla scanned the upper edge of the bowl Soricium sat in. She knew outer patrols had purposefully been withdrawn and made lax. They wanted the North to come. They wanted their enemy’s last hope to run right into their open and waiting jaws so they could devour the North whole.

She stopped next to Aldrik in the shade of a siege tower. He turned toward the trees, and she saw him clench and relax his fists. Vhalla followed suit, opening her Channel. Kill or be killed. Right or wrong, this was the only option that was left to her. It did not matter why she was there; if she did not fight, she would fall.

Vhalla turned up her face to gaze at the prince next to her. His face was barely recognizable with the helm and his set jaw. He scanned the trees with wild and nervous eyes. Vhalla took a breath and shifted her vision, extending her hearing.