Daniel was everything that could have been. He was the embodiment of a simpler time and place where she was only a girl and he was a farm boy, where the only crowns in their lives would be the ones he’d braid for her out of field flowers. It was no wonder that they had both wanted to play at such a fantasy. But, neither of them were pretending anymore.

Vhalla headed up the Tower. For the first time in a long time, things were starting to feel simple. She caressed the watch around her neck, passing a faint glow in the library.

But nothing would ever be simple for long.

Vhalla saw the rose on her desk before the door even clicked closed behind her. Attached with a black ribbon was a note, in the same fashion as one she’d received once before. Her fingers traced the delicate velvet of the petals before flipping open the message.

Her eyes skimmed it twice, though it was only four words in a familiar, slanted script.

We need to speak.

VHALLA RESIGNED HERSELF to no sleep. She wasn’t going to sleep even if she stayed tucked in bed, so she decided to wander into the quiet palace.

There was no location on the note, no time marker, nothing other than four words. The only words with which he dared to intrude upon her world again. He’d trusted her to understand, and she did.

She had to stop to catch her breath as she stood at the window overlooking the Imperial garden. She hadn’t laid eyes on it since leaving for war. The last time she’d seen it, she’d snuck in to meet him for a lunch that had seemed so harmless at the time. Now she was sneaking in again to meet with that same prince under the cover of darkness.

Vhalla walked on the wind; she barely touched the ground, and the gravel didn’t crunch under her boots. As silent as a wraith, she slunk toward the central greenhouse, mindful of all the windows that overlooked the garden overhead. She doubted that any held watching eyes, but if there were . . . Baldair’s words of warning no doubt had merit.

She composed herself briefly, reminding and reaffirming what she was doing, before slipping into the greenhouse. The air was hot against the chill air outside. Her clothes instantly felt too heavy. Vhalla squinted into the dim light of the greenhouse.

Her eyes met another set, dark as the night sky. They belonged to a figure who was swathed in moonlight and shadow. His clothes were plain and comfortable, but stitched to perfection upon his lean form. Always the prince, ever perfect.

He watched her watching him. Vhalla studied the man who could still set her heart to racing.

“Are you real?” A voice, deep as ever, broke the silence; eternal, yet fleeting like the midnight hour.

“You’ve asked me that before,” Vhalla replied.

Aldrik looked away, thought knitting his brow. “I have, haven’t I?”

“When I first met you here,” she affirmed softly.

“I owed you an apology then also.” Aldrik let nothing be forgotten. He wasn’t the type to let a single detail slide. It was the right thing, but Vhalla resented the notion of confronting their last explosive time together. “I’m sorry for how I acted in the North.”

Vhalla swallowed, hard. “There may come a time when your apologies aren’t enough, Aldrik.”

The use of his name, plain on her tongue, gave him pause. He searched her face. “Is now that time?”

“No.” She didn’t string him along; there wasn’t any point to it. She was tired of playing games and hiding feelings. “What I said to you then, about the Bond—”

“And that you had no romantic feelings for my brother? Was the truth,” Aldrik finished bluntly. “I was too wrapped up in my world of lies to see it, even when you confessed it to me. By the time I was ready to admit it to you, you were gone, and all I could do was admit it to myself.”

Vhalla leaned against the door, her eyes fluttering closed with a sigh. Everything seemed out of time and place. Someone should’ve told her about her magic before it had spiraled out of control. Daniel was the one she should’ve met long before the prince. She should’ve split her time between swords and books. And the Aldrik standing before her was the man she’d needed months ago.

Nothing happened when she needed it to.

“I told you once,” Aldrik continued, “that I am not a good man.”

“You did.” Vhalla met his eyes once more.

“That I have never been a good man.” Aldrik took a step forward, moonlight outlining his form in silver. “But I realized that I was only the man I’ve let myself be. That if I want something beautiful in my life, if I wanted you, I had to make myself a person that could be the soil in which such beauty could take root.”

“It doesn’t work that way; you don’t just get to change and then we are something once more.”

“I know,” he spoke hastily before she could get too far down her train of thought. “I didn’t do it for you.” Aldrik paused. “Maybe, at first. But then I continued because I wanted to, for me. And every day I still struggle with that goal. Vhalla, I want to see if I can be a man that I can look in the eye when I look into a mirror.”

“How’s it working out?”

“Some days are better than others.” Aldrik shrugged. “I can still be an ass.”

His deadpan remark sparked laughter in her. The notes were still heavy, but it was enough to tug the corners of his mouth into a small smile.