“Excellent.” Prince Baldair gave a nod and left.

“Shall we?” Daniel took a step toward the Black Legion.

“See you later, Miss Windwalker,” Craig bid her farewell with a smile.

“Take care, Craig.” Vhalla waved and fell in step with Daniel.

The camp was almost completely broken down as they walked back. Remnants of fires were doused, and people were beginning to mount their horses. The short walk was filled with talk of how his family grew potatoes and hers wheat, and the processes for each. Despite the circumstances under which they met, Vhalla felt an instant connection with her fellow Easterner.

When they came upon the Black Legion she noticed Aldrik’s tent had almost been completely loaded up into the cart with the rest of the Imperial items, but she didn’t see the man anywhere.

“Don’t let the other soldiers bother you,” Daniel said, coming to a stop. “They’re not bad people, they’re just—” he paused, looking to the heavens for inspiration, “—a little stupid.”

Vhalla grinned.

“Vhal!” Fritz ran over. “We were looking for you.” He practically skidded to a halt to give her escort a full assessment.

“Fritz, this is Daniel. Daniel, Fritz,” she introduced.

Daniel extended his palm in greeting.

“You best be nice to our Vhal!” Fritz said, ignoring Daniel’s hand and pointing in his face.

“My, you didn’t warn me you had bodyguards,” Daniel chuckled, taking Fritz’s hand from his face and shaking it. “You have my word, only kindness and care from me.” The low draw of a horn echoed through the forest and the last soldiers fell into place like a great migration. “Oops, must get back. Come up and ride with us if you can!” Daniel called, already hurrying to the front.

“He’s cute,” Fritz swooned.

“Fritz!” Vhalla scolded.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” Fritz rolled his eyes.

In truth, Vhalla hadn’t. She ran back over to Lightning to find Larel already on horseback, waiting along with Fritz’s mount. “Sorry,” she apologized.

“Yet again, Vhalla, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Larel’s smiled brightly. “You seem to be in better spirits.”

Vhalla mounted Lightning with a nod, concealing a guilty smile. She had enjoyed herself.

It turned out to be just as Craig and Daniel had said. The host was a slightly structured mass today compared to the neat rows and careful placement of the day before. But she, Fritz, and Larel gravitated to the same place in line. The two were instantly involved in some heated debate that carried over from breakfast and Vhalla drifted in and out of the conversation, thinking about Daniel’s and Craig’s offer.

It wasn’t until Aldrik shifted in his saddle that she even realized he was there.

Vhalla turned and her mouth dropped agape. “Your ... hair.” It was a thought that escaped as sound. His raven hair was limp, falling perfectly straight around his face. The prince had long bangs that tapered in front, falling below his eyebrows, and messy cut layers throughout. They were elements of an Aldrik that Vhalla had no idea even existed, so different from how he usually wore his hair in the palace.

He glanced at her, momentary annoyance furrowing his brow. “You did not really think I would take time to fix my hair while at war, did you?” Aldrik’s low tones betrayed his amusement, and it instantly placed her under a spell.

“Well, I may like it,” Vhalla mused. His coy smirk encouraged boldness.

Aldrik paused briefly, his lips parted. She caught his ebony eyes and Aldrik looked forward quickly, as if unable to handle being the sole recipient of her consideration. “I trust Elecia got my message to you?”

Vhalla sobered quickly at the other woman’s name. “She did. Training?”

“Major Reale said she had begun to work with you, but you still have a ways to go. I would rather oversee your progress personally.”

Had he said those words to anyone else they likely would have inspired dread. But for Vhalla, they had an odd comfort.

“Of course, my puppet master.” She had meant to reference her old fears lightly, so it surprised Vhalla to see Aldrik staring at her with a deep intensity.

“If you want me to remove myself from your life, all you have to do is say the word.” There was no levity to his declaration.

Vhalla quickly looked askance, saving them from impropriety and hiding the blush that had found its way to her cheeks at his apparent attentions.

“I think,” she started softly, “that I like playing with fire.”

He gave her a long stare from the corner of his eyes. She couldn’t make out his expression without turning her head, but what she could see was confusing and made her stomach bubble.

NOT LONG AFTER the host stopped that afternoon, Elecia made her way to Vhalla and Larel’s mostly-finished tent. Fritz stood from where he had just finished unfurling his bedroll.

The sight of the woman still sent prickles up Vhalla’s neck—a phantom warning.

“Vhalla, Larel, Fritz,” she said with a smile, oblivious to Vhalla’s unease. “The prince is waiting, and I would rather not lose first pick for dinner.”

“Where are we going?” Vhalla asked, the last to fall into step behind Elecia.

“Out far enough away that we won’t be disturbed.” They were already halfway to the edge of camp.

“So, where are you from?” Larel struck up conversation.

“Norin.” Elecia didn’t even look back to give her response.

“Fiarum Evantes,” Larel said, reverently.

Vhalla looked over at her friend in surprise. She had never heard anyone speak anything other than Southern Common. The old tongues were a fading memory across the land, cemented by the advancement of the Solaris Empire. She could only assume Larel’s words to be the language of Mhashan, the old Kingdom of the West.

“Kotun un Nox,” Elecia responded, her tone shifting to a deeper register, less haughty than the lofty accent she’d used before.

“Norin is a beautiful city,” Larel mused politely, referring to the Western capital.

“It is.” Elecia nodded.

Vhalla began to feel her unease thaw. She had no reason to distrust Elecia. In fact, she had every reason to trust her. Clearly Aldrik did, and that should be more than enough reason for Vhalla. Furthermore, if she was from Norin, that made her Western and not Northern as Vhalla had first suspected. She took a deep breath. “I’m from—”

“Cyven, Leoul,” the curly-haired woman cut off Vhalla with a glance.

“Yes.” Vhalla frowned slightly, her fluster returning. “How did you know?”

“It’s my business to know, Vhalla Yarl,” Elecia replied smugly.

Fritz linked his arm protectively with Vhalla’s, as if sensing the dread that overtook her. She realized that they were very alone with Elecia. And, even if the other woman said she was from the West and spoke with the old tongue, she was so Northern-looking that it made Vhalla more uncomfortable than she wanted to admit.

Were it not for Fritz and Larel being with her, she may have snapped.

“About time,” Aldrik’s voice echoed from across a small clearing. He leaned against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest. “Thank you for fetching them, Elecia. You can go now.”

Vhalla wondered briefly why Aldrik was not escorting them himself. Were their meetings secret?

“Nope,” Elecia practically sung. “I am not your errand girl. I want to stay.”

“Fine.” Aldrik rolled his eyes, resigned.

Vhalla brought her hands together, lacing and unlacing her fingers. Elecia had refused him openly, publicly, coyly—and he had let her. As Elecia stepped to Aldrik’s left, it dawned on Vhalla that the woman acted as the same way Vhalla did around the prince. Vhalla bit her lip; perhaps Aldrik was more familiar with Elecia than he was with her.