Vhalla stared at him, her mouth halfway open. Her words, those had been her words when she demanded of him to help the North. “Why are you helping them still?”

“You know why.” The words were gentle, thoughtful.

“They’re conspiring to kill your father,” Vhalla reminded him.

“Hardly surprising. And I have no doubt that half the North would do the same if given the chance.” Aldrik looked over the papers and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment to collect his thoughts. “But the people of the North didn’t start that war, and I cannot blame them for hating the man who did; just as I cannot and will not punish them for it.”

Admiration swelled her chest, competing in space with pride for her prince. He was making hard decisions and fighting for peace at the same time. Some would call him foolish for it, but she chose to describe it as noble. Vhalla put the papers back in order, averting her eyes. “I suppose I can see the Minister of Coin’s concerns, then.”

“Shall we move on?”

He led her back into the main room and through to another room. It opened into a smaller space that was clearly more lived in than the first. It was a room designed for casual entertaining, but Vhalla couldn’t imagine Aldrik taking many visitors. Her eyes fell on a bar that stood barren.

“I haven’t touched it in months,” he admitted as shame deepened the prince’s voice. “I couldn’t. I promised you I wouldn’t and then . . .”

Vhalla watched the prince struggle to continue, neither stopping nor encouraging.

“Then I decided I wouldn’t let it have the better of me. I couldn’t stop quitting.”

She took a half step into his personal space, tilting her head to catch the prince’s gaze where it had fallen on a corner of the room. The lump in his neck bobbed as he swallowed hard, awaiting her judgment.

“I’m proud of you,” Vhalla whispered. “I know your struggles.”

“Better than anyone.”

Vhalla stepped away, avoiding becoming too engulfed by his essence. Her eyes scanned the rest of the room, darting over a carcivi board, across another bookshelf, and to the hearth. Around the crackling flame was a low area built into the floor with pillows and a low table in the style she had come to associate with the traditional West. Papers littered this table as well, a looser script across them. Vhalla instinctively walked over, curious.

“Not those,” he said suddenly. She stopped, surprised. He had let her nib through the Empire’s secrets, but would not let her see what was on those papers.

“Aldrik, secrets,” she reminded him, unconcerned if it was or wasn’t her place anymore.

“Not yet.” His expression softened a fraction. “I’m working through it. I’ll tell you when I’ve written them all.”

“Them all?” Vhalla repeated.

“Yes, my parrot.” The term now brought a smile to her lips. Something dawned on him, and Aldrik suddenly sported a wide grin. “Come, I wish to see something.”

Aldrik led her through yet another door that emptied into a throughway with his bedroom on one end and had a third door into his bathing room—which was as large as a small house—and his closet. No, closet was a loose term. It was an open space with racks of clothes and glass cabinets as big as people—cabinets that displayed gems, jewels, and fine trimmings of the crown prince.

Vhalla ran her fingers along the glass. The jewels weren’t tempting in the slightest. They were cold and meaningless.

“Aldrik.”

He hummed in reply, fumbling through a cabinet.

“When your father made me a lady, the gold . . .”

The prince paused, staring at her for a long moment, trying to read her expression. “I told you in the North, I wanted to shower you with the trappings the world had so woefully denied my giving you before.”

“I thought it may be something like that.” Vhalla laughed softly, turning back to the gems.

“Do you see something you like?” Aldrik asked over her shoulder.

“Not really.” There were women who would die to be in her position. Vhalla knew she could point at any of the shining jewels, and Aldrik would give it to her without a thought.

“How about this?”

She gave him her attention, her eyes quickly falling to the golden circlet he held in his hands. Vhalla remembered taking a similar, larger crown off the prince’s brow during the first night he’d held her, during their dance. Aldrik searched her expression, waiting, his message clear.

“Don’t do this,” Vhalla cautioned. “Don’t do this to us.” He was going to shatter the fragile peace. He was going to throw them into chaos again. The madness they always devolved into. She didn’t know if she was ready to take that leap just yet.

“I want to save us.” The prince stood in limbo. “I want to find a way to honor our promises in more than shadow. You said the princess conspired for my father’s life? I’m trying to find proof, to have her—at the least—removed from being my bride.”

“She must be!” Vhalla’s voice cracked and fractured. “She must be, Aldrik.” Her hands gripped his and the crown he was holding. “She must wear this or you condemn countless more lives to death. Even though she conspires and everyone knows it, it changes nothing . . .”