Fritz’s eyes were red when they finally emerged. Vhalla rubbed hers but had managed to keep things together. They had both been to war, but Fritz had somehow emerged with his heart intact. Vhalla was almost jealous that he could still cry as easily as he did.

Grahm warmed her heart and brought a tired smile to her lips as he hugged Fritz tightly without word. Vhalla watched the two men holding each other and wondered if they had any idea how they looked locked in an embrace.

“I think I’m going to go to my room for a little,” Fritz announced finally. Watching him pry himself away from Grahm’s embrace was almost painful for Vhalla. She wanted to scream at them to hold each other for a little longer, until it finally clicked for them. “Just sit for a bit.”

“Do you want me to come?” Vhalla asked.

Fritz shook his head. “No, I think I’ll be alone for a bit.”

“All right.” Vhalla gave him a friendly squeeze, and the once-again mourning man departed down the hall.

Grahm followed Vhalla up to her room. Vhalla shot him a curious glance, and he motioned for her to proceed. Clearly the man had something on his mind, and Vhalla didn’t feel like filling the silence for small-talk’s sake.

The man followed her into the room without a word, softly clicking shut the door.

“Grahm?” Vhalla inquired as to his uncharacteristic melancholy.

The man took a deep breath, his eyes searching. “I want to help him. How can I help him?”

Vhalla shook her head. These two were hopeless. It wasn’t her place, but it didn’t seem like they’d get anywhere without a little nudge.

“You should go to him, be with him, hold him.”

“But he said he wanted to be alone . . .” Grahm floundered.

“And you think he really meant that?” Vhalla crossed her arms over her chest with a tired grin.

“So, why didn’t you go with him?”

“Because maybe he was sincere.” She shook her head with a small laugh. “Or maybe I can see that I’m not the one he wants right now.” The man actually blushed, and Vhalla wasted no time driving the point home. “He cares for you. You make him happy. You must see that.”

“I . . . have.”

“So what are you afraid of?” Vhalla touched her watch thoughtfully. “It’s worth it, the chance is worth it. Love is always worth taking the challenge.”

The words were real before Vhalla even realized it. She didn’t regret her time with Aldrik. Her heart began to race, and she struggled to stay in the moment with Grahm. Vhalla’s own affections were a known mess that continued to fall into hopelessness; she’d have ample time later to confront it. For now, she’d focus on her friends.

“Love is far better to know, even if it slips from your grasp or doesn’t bear fruit like you’d hoped. People who say they regret love, true love, are just bitter liars.”

Grahm looked at her for a long moment. Vhalla gave him an encouraging nod.

In that moment, she felt like she had lived a thousand lifetimes and loved a hundred times. She realized her own advice was true, and something about it made her yearn with sweet longing. In that moment, she wanted to see her prince more than anyone else in the world.

Grahm excused himself, and Vhalla watched him walk down the Tower. She wondered if he would head to Fritz’s room. Vhalla walked on air, following Grahm down the slope of the Tower, a couple paces behind. The second she saw the man pause at Fritz’s door, she turned and started back upward before her friend answered and she could be spotted.

Knowing Fritz was cared for, Vhalla walked past her room, continuing on. Silence settled into the Tower, and the doors became sparse. Vhalla caressed Larel’s bracelet, thinking of her friend’s words, of how Larel would advise Vhalla’s tumultuous soul.

Vhalla bypassed the minister’s office, going to an unadorned door that bore a black lock when others in the Tower were silver. She pressed both her palms to the door, leaning forward and pressing her ear against the wood. Vhalla stretched her hearing, listening for any signs of life in the room.

Silence.

Vhalla pushed away with a small sigh. It was better if she didn’t meet the prince again, privately. It was better if she stopped thinking about the man with whom she had been briefly—secretly—engaged to. It would all be better if the watch at her neck would stop giving off phantom heat at the mere thought of the man she loved.

Vhalla knocked on the minister’s door. Fritz may need time, but there was work to be done, and she couldn’t waste hours mourning a woman who had long been lost. Vhalla had done her mourning and made it a part of her. She’d carry it with her forever.

“Ah, Vhalla.” Victor smiled at the sight of her, holding open the door.

“Is now all right?”

“Certainly, come in.” He clicked the door closed behind her, heading back to his low table before a window. “Tea?”

“Why not?” She assumed the previous day’s chair, already settling into what felt like a routine.

“It’s a little different,” Victor proceeded with small talk. “I bought some lemongrass today in the market.”

“I like lemons.”

“Do you?” Victor passed her a steaming mug. “That’s good to know.”

Vhalla indulged in the steaming cup for a moment, deciding it was time to get to business. “Where do you hide the axe?”