by Elise Kova
Vhalla stopped chewing. She had no idea what to say either.
The prince laughed and saved her from herself. “I knew it. Well, that explains it then; even my ass of a brother would need to give some appreciation to someone who helped saved his life. Can’t say I’m surprised it took him so long to humble himself.”
Vhalla folded her hands in her lap over the napkin, the one she had only placed there after the prince had placed one in his lap. The inside of the meat was pinkish, and she wondered if it was safe to eat. Wondering about the food was better than talking to the prince about his brother. She poked one of the many forks, pushing it up the table. Why did anyone need more than one fork?
A low humming noise came from her left, pulling her back from her continual withdrawal. Baldair had placed his elbow on the table, his chin in his palm. He assessed her thoughtfully. She wanted to say something, but Vhalla was fighting a losing battle against the cerulean eyes before her.
“You’re not like most of them, are you?” Prince Baldair’s voice was softer than she had heard it before, the jest and levity absent.
“Most of them?” she repeated, bracing herself for a parrot comment.
“You’re not the first low-born I have invited to lunch.” He leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. “They come in, swoon over my chambers, prattle about the food endlessly, try everything they can to make eyes at me. By the end of it all, they’re belly up and bare on the bed.”
Vhalla gaped at him. This prince was nothing like the other. She stood, her napkin falling to the floor without a thought.
A firm hand closed around her wrist.
“Don’t worry,” the prince cooed softly. “I know you’re not like that, and I would never force a woman into anything she didn’t want and ask for.”
Her arm relaxed as he held her in place. His command over her was different than his brother’s. Where Aldrik could transfix her with a single look, Prince Baldair captured her with gentle words and soft touches.
“What do you want from me then?” Vhalla asked. If he knew she wasn’t about to fall between his sheets then, there was little point of her being there any longer.
“I have an idea.” He finally relinquished her wrist, but Vhalla did not move.
“What is it?” Judging by the look on his face, she may not want to know.
“Even if my father wants my brother’s injury to go unsaid, and Aldrik would never admit to actually needing help, saving the life of the crown prince should not go unrewarded. And a lunch is not nearly a sufficient reward.” The prince smiled. “So tell me, what does your heart desire, my little library apprentice? I am a prince; most anything is within my power to give.”
She brought her hands before her and gripped the pads of her fingers. What did her heart desire? After Sareem, after Aldrik, things didn’t add up in her heart anymore.
“Nothing,” she replied with a shake of her head, starting for the door again as though she knew the way out.
“You must want something.” The golden-haired man was quickly in step beside her.
She looked up at his expression. Something in his eyes told her that he was only playing dumb.
“Nothing you can give,” Vhalla whispered, thinking of the news that Aldrik was leaving. If she could have one wish it would be for the crown prince to stay in the South. He would be safe here, the rapid beats of her heart whispered. He would be near her. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed.
“The Gala,” the prince said suddenly.
“What?” She waited for an explanation.
“At the end of the Festival of the Sun there is a gala in the Mirror Ballroom,” the prince began.
Vhalla knew of it. She had friends who had worked the Gala over the years. It was a celebration reserved only for nobility.
“Come to the Gala tomorrow.”
“What?” That seemed to be the only word her tongue could form.
“Think about it—the best food, music, entertainment.” He grabbed both of her hands in his. Vhalla followed him as he took a step back into the room. “I’ll see you fitted in a fashionable gown. And the dancing!”
He spun her in a circle beneath his arm. Vhalla tripped and stumbled. With a laugh, the prince caught her in both hands and she found herself pressed close to him for the second time in one day.
“We can work on the dancing.” Prince Baldair grinned down at her.
“I can’t go to the Gala.” She shook her head, trying to find bones in her legs once more.
“Why not?” The prince seemed undeterred.
Vhalla pried herself away from him in frustration. “Because I don’t belong there.” She grabbed her elbows, hugging her torso. “Apprentices don’t belong with nobility.”
“You don’t belong in my brother’s garden either,” the prince retorted with a shrug.
Vhalla wished she could have kept the frown off her lips.
“He’s dangerous and silver-tongued. Don’t give him an opportunity to weave you into some scheme, Vhalla.”
“I would like to return to the servants’ halls now,” she said with a quiet firmness that she didn’t know her voice capable of.
The prince stared at her for a long moment. He implied that Aldrik would weave her into a scheme, but Vhalla only felt skeptical about the man standing before her. She resisted fidgeting—barely—but didn’t like the knowing glint in his eyes.
“I’ll give you a fake name,” he said finally. She couldn’t believe he was still persisting with this insane plot. “No one will know who you are under the powder, gown, and hairdo.”
Vhalla shifted her feet and braced herself to object a second time.
“It will likely be the last night before my brother and I return to the front,” Prince Baldair revealed, shattering her resolve.
The last night before Aldrik would leave was the Gala, tomorrow. She looked toward a far corner of the room, churning this over in her head. That was it, all the time they would have together. No matter how much she wanted to refuse the prince before her, a question remained: What if she had no other chance to see Aldrik?
“You’re sure it won’t be a problem?” she finally asked the waiting prince.
“No one will be wise to who you are.” Baldair nodded. “Unless you think my brother will tell.”
Vhalla looked askance at the prince and swore she heard a soft chuckle.
“And if people found out?” She shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot.
“No one will.” It wasn’t the answer she had been looking for, but it was the best she was going to get.
“All right. If you wish to bestow this upon me as a secret thanks, my prince, then I shall accept it.” Vhalla gave him a resolute nod.
The prince smiled, and she noticed that where Aldrik’s smiles were small and normally just a turn of the corners, the Heartbreaker Prince’s moved in a beautiful symmetry.
“First then,” the prince extended a hand to her. “We dance.”
SHE DID NOT have time to object before the prince had half-pulled, half-picked her up and led Vhalla into the center of the room. It was immediately obvious by the first turn that she had no clue what she was doing—her foot landed on top of his toes. The prince laughed, assuring her that her dainty feet could not harm him.
Vhalla did not enjoy dancing at first. It was awkward and it made her feel ignorant, an emotion that she generally resented and avoided at all costs. But the prince was a surprisingly gentle and encouraging instructor.
“You need to relax,” he soothed.
Vhalla was very aware of his palm on her hip. “Why are we doing this again?” she mumbled.
“What do you think people do at a Gala?” With a toss of his head, he cast aside a chin-length blonde lock.
“I wouldn’t know.” Vhalla was stubbornly focused on her footwork, conversation was secondary.
“We dance.” The prince laughed. He took a step back and twirled her again. This time Vhalla understood that an extension of the
arm meant she was to turn and, while she was not graceful, she did not trip. “You’re getting it.”
“Barely,” she muttered, her eyes still on her feet.
Once she had grasped one infuriating step where they were supposed to glide across the floor in each other’s arms, they moved onto a group-style dance that Vhalla’s feet had a significantly easier time with. She had grown up going to harvest festivals in a neighboring town, and all the common folk knew the simple four-step that was a variation of this dance.
The prince praised her quick learning, and Vhalla kept the source of her abilities behind a small smile. After that, the Heartbreaker Prince began to have an easier time earning smiles from her.
If she did well, he would squeeze her hand. When her eyes finally lifted away from her haphazard movements, she was rewarded with a wink. Slowly, under the prince’s hand and earnest encouragement, Vhalla began to enjoy herself.
It was a different kind of enjoyment than what she felt when she was around Aldrik. This feeling lacked the tension or twitching to break through the skin that felt with Aldrik. This was simpler. It was as though the golden prince wore everything on his sleeves, and his cerulean eyes promised nothing but the truth. Vhalla stumbled when his lips barely brushed against her cheek.
“You’re beautiful, you know,” the prince whispered thoughtfully.
“I am not.” Vhalla looked away, but their proximity did nothing to hide her hot flush.
“You are, and I wish to ensure everyone will see it at the Gala.” Sliding his palms down her forearms, the prince stepped away from her with a squeeze of his fingers.
Vhalla’s heart was beating a bit harder than normal from the dancing.
The prince pulled a bell cord by the door, and a servant arrived a moment later. The prince engaged in a series of low-voiced orders that meant nothing to Vhalla. Sensing she was not intended to hear the conversation, she wandered to the massive windows that consumed the opposite wall.
The panorama was magnificent. The afternoon sun had the world ablaze, and she could almost feel the palpable joy of every fluttering festival pennon dancing on the breeze in the city far below. Streamers that hung from windows and were posted upon rooftops made the Capital glitter.
Vhalla gave a wistful sigh.
“What’s wrong?”
She hadn’t heard the prince return to her side. “Nothing.” Vhalla took a quarter step away, overwhelmed by his abrupt appearance at the end of her thoughts.
“Ah, Vhalla,” he hummed thoughtfully. “I know when a woman says nothing it is always something.”
“I don’t want the festival to end,” she confessed softly.
“And why is that?” There was a knowing glint to his eye.
“No reason.” Vhalla shook her head, and the brief image of Aldrik vanished.
“The festival is a magical time,” Prince Baldair agreed, following her gaze over the city. “Do you know anything of magic, Vhalla?”
She looked up in surprise, his eyes catching hers again. The prince’s mouth swept up into a smile that made Vhalla uneasy. He knew something; he’d put things together too easily for her liking. Vhalla’s words began to fail her and she was saved only by the door opening.
Prince Baldair asked nothing more about magic for the rest of the afternoon. Vhalla quickly forgot he’d asked in the first place as bolts of silk, velvet, cashmere, chiffon, fur, and fabrics she couldn’t name were carried into the room by a small entourage of servants. Once more Vhalla attempted to keep her face down, but it did little good as her curiosity got the better of her.
At the end of the entourage a portly, balding man strolled in as though he owned the entire palace. The prince introduced him as Chater. Vhalla shook his hand in a daze, the hand of the man who was the founder of the most prestigious clothing shop in all of the South. He looked her up and down.
Before she could ask a question, the fabrics she had lusted over moments prior were being held up against her skin to assess her complexion. Vhalla stood dumbly, a living model for the men surrounding her, prattling on about the Gala. It was the lilac silk on her cheek that finally pulled her out of her daze.
“Black,” Vhalla said suddenly, unaware she just interrupted the famous couture designer standing before her.
“Pardon?” The rotund man was startled into silence at her sudden interjection.
“I want something black.” Vhalla followed the thought that had possessed her to its logical conclusion.
“My lady, black is not a customary color for a gala.” Chater frowned.
Vhalla brought her fingers together, picking at her nails. She wasn’t a lady. Even though she had discarded her apprentice robes for the festival, she was certain Chater knew it also.
“Well, I suppose that, if it’s improper...” she mumbled. Vhalla glanced away wondering if Aldrik would be wearing black. She couldn’t imagine him dressed up like a peacock, even if it was a gala.
“Now, about the purples. They’re very Eastern, your complexion...you are from the East, right?” Chater was back to rummaging through bolts of cloth.
“Let her wear what she pleases,” Prince Baldair said suddenly.
“My prince—”
“It’ll be a special night, and the lady here has someone she wants to impress, I’m sure.” Cerulean eyes caught hers, and Vhalla could do nothing more than swallow.
“Well, I will need to get additional fabric,” Chater said uneasily, keen on the fact that his companions had some unspoken communication.
Vhalla’s eyes followed the round man out of the room, until the muscled form of the prince broke her vision.
“Vhalla,” Prince Baldair spoke softly.
“My prince?” she whispered. Just like the last time, his palm was on her cheek before she was even aware of the movement of his arm.
“Chater is right, it is unconventional for a gala,” he noted thoughtfully.
“How unconventional is black?” Vhalla made no motion away from the prince’s touch.
“Very.” She was vaguely aware of his thumb moving over her cheek as he spoke. “Vhalla, you’re a pretty girl, you know. You don’t need to go down the unconventional road to be noticed. Good men will notice you without all that, the men you want to be noticed by. I’m sure good men have already noticed you.”
“I-it’s not that,” her voice wavered. Vhalla struggled to find an explanation.
“I will show you.” The golden-haired prince smiled encouragingly. “You can have your black, but I will be the one who shows you how dazzling you are.”
The designer returned, and Vhalla’s face flushed red hot as the prince made no haste in removing his hands from her person. She took a chaste step away. Chater was unbothered by what he had seen and continued to talk on about silhouettes and skirts. Vhalla found herself focusing more on the prince’s easy smiles and his input during the process than the designing. What men did he think would be noticing her?
When Chater left, the sky was ablaze and she was uncertain what dress had been designed for her.
“Now remember, Vhalla,” Prince Baldair offered her his elbow. She took it and they started for the door. “Come back to the servants’ entrance around noon tomorrow. I’ll have someone there ready to help you prepare.”
“My prince, that isn’t necessary,” she denied with a shake of her head.
“It most certainly is!” Prince Baldair chuckled. “You don’t think I’d put you in a Chater dress and have your hair and makeup be left undone, do you?”
“No, of course not...” Vhalla’s free hand went up to her head, feeling the frizzy mass that was her hair.
“Don’t fret, you’ll be beautiful.” The prince smiled, his hand on the door latch. “Just remember to save a dance for me when every man of the Court is begging to be your partner.”
“I doubt that will happen.” Vhalla laughed, looking up at her companion with a light smile.
“Then I have a dance?” Prince Baldair asked again, as they
stepped into the hallway.
“You’ve already had one.” Vhalla’s lips pressed together in a little grin.
“Another?” He leaned closer to her.
“How could I refuse?” She laughed lightly, beginning to grow more accustomed to his proximity and casual nature.
The prince’s footsteps paused, and Vhalla’s gaze swung forward. Standing little more than five steps across the hall was a tall silhouette that made her jaw slack. She felt Prince Baldair’s bicep tighten under her palm, trapping it. Aldrik’s eyes flicked from her to the golden-haired man at her side.
“Hello, brother,” Prince Baldair hummed sweetly.
Ebony eyes bore deep holes into Vhalla. If Aldrik had heard his brother, there was no response other than a twitch under his eye. Vhalla suddenly felt very small, small enough to fall off the earth. It was uncomfortable. It hurt.
“How did the war council go?” The golden prince seemed to be pleasantly unaware of the tension that resonated between his company and his brother.
“Fine.” Aldrik’s voice brought her cowardly eyes back to him. The word was as cold as it was curt.
Vhalla opened her mouth to speak but there was nothing she could say, not in front of Prince Baldair.
“I look forward to marching on the North again as soon as this nonsense of a festival has ended.” The elder prince’s words were punctuated with the slamming of his door and the laughter of the younger.
Vhalla must have missed the joke because she didn’t feel like laughing. If she tried, she may end up being sick.
With a kiss on a numb cheek, Prince Baldair left her at an entrance to the servants’ quarters.
Agony, her blood had been poured out and replaced with something cold and painful. Vhalla raced through the halls and when she reached her door, she shut it as loudly as possible, which made her feel no better. She threw herself onto her bed for her pillow to muffle a cry.
She didn’t want any more princes. She was finished with nobility, and the last thing she was inclined to do was go to that pointless Gala. Vhalla rolled onto her back, her eyes stinging with something resembling anger. Everyone was right, Prince Baldair was the better of the two princes. He was kind, thoughtful, lighthearted, and simple to understand.
