“Vhalla?” Aldrik distracted her from her murderous thoughts. “Have you found the food stores yet?”

No, I’ll look again. She dragged herself from the room with every ounce of willpower she possessed and back downstairs.

“Again? Have you not been searching for them?” His concern was apparent.

I’ll tell you when I’m no longer Projecting. I’m very tired. Vhalla looked up at the sun when she reemerged on the bottom floor.

She’d spent longer Projected than she had before; returning to her physical body was already going to be difficult. Aldrik stayed silent while she wandered the camp once more. The conversation she’d overheard only served to darken her mood and confuse her feelings further. She was back to loathing the Northerners, but only the select group who furthered the war for their own personal agendas.

Vhalla was discovering that it was not a region or race of people that soured her, it was a type. It was the leaders who would do anything for their legacy. She hated those who clung to the past at the expense of the future. More than anything, she couldn’t stand the type of person who cared only for themselves at the expense of others.

Vhalla wondered which type of person she was. Did her sympathy for the common man absolve her for being the executioner for the crown? Did her hatred for the Emperor expunge the guilt of twisting the knife into the dying belly of the North? Did her love for Aldrik justify accepting his words that this was how it had to be? That the momentum headed toward another slaughter could not be halted?

Vhalla returned to her body slowly. Her head felt heavy and her eyes blurred with tunnel vision. Aldrik was at her bedside, but her ears had yet to click back into alignment and his words were muddled. Vhalla focused on finding her heart, then her lungs, then everything else.

“Aldrik,” she rasped.

“My love,” he whispered, the sun illuminating his face through the open window.

Tears burned up her chest and streamed down her cheeks in rivulets. Vhalla hiccupped and reached for him as Aldrik pulled her into his arms. She clawed for the tightest grip possible on his shirt. Vhalla pressed her face against him and let everything he was engulf her. She drew strength from his warmth, stability from the heart that beat in time with hers, comfort from the way he smelled.

Aldrik said nothing as she cried. He shifted slightly, allowing her to burrow into him, but didn’t try to stop her tears. He knew better; Vhalla realized with a dull ache that there was a time he had cried these tears. He had mourned the loss of his humanity, sacrificed at the altar of duty that forces beyond his control had constructed.

His fingers untangled her hair lovingly, and he kissed the top of her head. Vhalla pulled away, looking at his ghostly white Southern skin turned orange in the light of the setting sun. It was as though the fire within him burned right beneath his flesh, glowing far too beautifully for the ugly corner of the world they found themselves within.

“We must help them,” Vhalla whispered. “The Northerners.” “Vhalla.” Aldrik’s lips parted in surprise.

“We must,” she insisted. “No one else will. I know, Aldrik, I know.” Vhalla shook her head. “But I cannot turn a blind eye to them.”

Aldrik took a slow breath, and Vhalla braced herself for an objection. “What would you have me do? How do you think I can help them?”

His face blurred through her tear-rimmed eyes. He was offering to help. Vhalla had expected to see him withdraw, to insist upon the inevitable. There was a lost sort of confusion on Aldrik’s face, but her prince was sincere.

“You will be the Emperor of Peace.” Saying it sent a small shiver down her arms and into the hands that were wrapped tightly around his. He was going to be the Emperor. This man, her love, was going to be the Emperor. “Start cementing your place as such now.”

“If I call for leniency in battle, I will lose the respect of all the soldiers.”

Vhalla glared at the corner of the room, frustrated at his truth. “I know. But when the war is over, commit to rebuilding the North, their homes.”

“The cost of that, Vhalla—”

“Did your father and brother not bring spoils back with them from the warfront?” She straightened, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. “Has the Empire not profited in land and pillaging?”

Aldrik was silent.

Vhalla was tired, beyond tired, but resolute. “Return that wealth to them and rebuild this land. Show them that the Empire they have every reason to hate is not purely evil.”

Aldrik stared at her as though he had never seen her before. His hands were on her face, cupping her cheeks. “Yes. Yes, my lady, I will.”

“What?” Vhalla hadn’t expected his acceptance with such ease.

“You’re right. I promise you I will see this done.” “Truly?” she asked skeptically.

“Have I ever broken a promise to you?” The corner of Aldrik’s mouth curled upward. Vhalla shook her head, his thumbs still caressing her cheeks. “And I never will.”

Aldrik brought her face to his, and Vhalla met his mouth with a firm, waiting kiss.

“You will return the heart to this Empire, my lady.” Aldrik pressed his forehead against hers. “I will try to see this war end as quickly as possible, and when it is done, I will speak for the North and its people.”

“Thank you.” She pressed her lips against his in gratitude.

It was a cheap demonstration. Vhalla knew it didn’t absolve them. It was like trying to wash the blood off their hands with mud, no matter that they were filthy with the acts they were performing. But it was all that could be done.

It was better than nothing, she insisted to herself. There would be time after the war was over to figure out how else she could help. For now, she would focus on ending it as quickly and cleanly as possible. “Let me tell you where the food stores are.”

Aldrik spent the next hour hunched over her shoulder as Vhalla drew lopsided diagrams of what she’d seen. She did her best to label everything, from livestock pens to where the densest collection of civilians was. The quill paused.

“There’s something else,” Vhalla began slowly, unsure of how to proceed.

“What?” Aldrik could infer a good deal by her tone. “I found a Western man among them.”

“Likely a prisoner of war.” Aldrik rested a palm on her shoulder. “We were probing Soricium for months before we could cut a path to lay siege.”

“No, he was not being held against his will.” Vhalla stared at the paper before her, and Aldrik’s grip tightened. He was too smart not to instantly understand what she was saying. “He’d made a deal with them, on behalf of the Knights of Jadar, that if the North gave me to them alive, they’d kill the family Solaris.” Vhalla gazed up at Aldrik. The prince had a murderous stillness about him. She held her tongue, letting him formulate the best response.

He whirled in place, fire crackling around his fists, starting for the door. Vhalla was on her feet as well; the room spun from exhaustion and she gripped the chair for support. Aldrik stopped, assessing her tired form. He was back at her side, scooping up her messy drawings.

“When was the last time you slept?” Aldrik half supported her, turning for the bed.

“Some, the night before last,” Vhalla admitted. “With you, yesterday.”