“Vhalla.” She had almost made it to the front desk when her name was hastily whispered from between bookshelves. She kept her gaze forward. “Vhalla!” She pretended not to hear and walked with purpose.

“Master, I finished the first manuscript. I don’t feel well. May I be excused a little early today please?”

The master and Roan both looked up at her with matching puzzled stares.

“Very well, Vhalla. Go ahead,” the master nodded.

“Thank you,” she said politely, bowed, and left. Vhalla pointedly ignored Sareem standing at the edge of the shelves, watching silently as she strode out of the library.

Her feet battered against the stone floor as she marched back to her room. Balling and uncurling her hands, Vhalla struggled to keep a fresh wave of anger at bay. He was supposed to be her friend; how could he react like she was suddenly less than human?

Vhalla stopped and a nearby candle flickered out, then the next—all at once she was standing in the darkness. She swallowed a cry of surprise, all but running to her room.

Slamming the door behind her, Vhalla dug her nails into the grain of the wood and caught her breath. She was already treading lightly. Any rogue and wild emotions could force her decision, and she felt so close to making it on her own. A scent tickled her nose, and Vhalla opened her eyes, her heart slowing.

Laid upon her pillow was a long stemmed red rose. Tied around it was a length of black ribbon by which a note was held to it. Everything melted away, and her hands were soon devouring the token.

Vhalla,

I am sorry I could not steal you away this day. You have my word that tomorrow I shall make every effort.

Sincerely,

A.C.S.

P.S.

When will I see you in black?

Laughing softly, Vhalla curled up in bed holding the flower’s head to her face, inhaling its rich scent. Perhaps she could request he steal her back to that rose garden? Vhalla laughed lightly, imagining her ordering a prince. Somehow, it didn’t seem so far-fetched.

A.C.S. she pondered as her lids grew heavy. Aldrik was the A, and Solaris—the Imperial Family’s name— was the S. But, what was the C? Vhalla shook her head, closing her eyes and giving herself to the relaxing scent, a mystery for a later time perhaps. It was barely dark but all she wanted to do was lie there, and stretch her mind as far as she could to find that place that smelled of roses.

MOONLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the glass overhead, and Vhalla tilted her chin to the sky, watching the moon float by. The rose garden was no different at night then it had been during the day. The darkness didn’t bother her; she saw everything brilliantly clear around her. There was a mysterious fuzziness to it if she moved her head too quickly, which was easily explained away as the moonlight playing tricks on her.

She stood and walked to the gazebo door, attempting to open it. It wouldn’t budge. She tried the handle again but found it unwilling to move. Vhalla wanted to be outside.

With only that thought she was standing on the steps and looked behind her. She didn’t recall opening or closing the door. Vhalla walked lightly down and over to the iron gate. He was there, but she didn’t know her way through that hallway; she only knew enough to return to the servants’ quarters. It surely was locked.

Vhalla leaned against the gate and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, looking up at the stars again. On a night so cool and clear it seemed a shame to be shut up in the palace. She wondered if he knew that. It was better outside. Her eyelids felt heavy. She would simply have to wait for him, she reminded herself again. He would come out eventually. For now though, she would sleep while she waited.

Vhalla opened her eyes as though someone had pinched her awake. A headache pounded in her skull. She rolled over into a ball, not even noticing she crushed the beautiful flower that she had slept with all night. Clutching her temples, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, as if she could will her mind to stop hurting. Vhalla squeezed her eyes back closed; the daylight was making her sick.

Slowly, her body began to relax and the sharp stabbing subsided to a dull throb. The light no longer caused a rebellion of her senses, and she attempted to sit. She dressed slowly. Everything had a delay and a sickening blur to it.

She hid the note in her closet—with the rest. Vhalla put the half-smashed rose with them. It was pointless to try to save it. Flowers began dying the moment they were cut, and she had only helped the process along. Petals hung at odd angles, and its leaves were broken. But her fingers lingered on the soft velvety red, she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away yet.

She paused. Didn’t she dream about roses? Vhalla shook her head; it still hurt and, trying to recall her dreams seemed to aggravate the ache further.

Sapphire stole her attention, and another shot of lightning pain shot between her temples. She grabbed Sareem’s stupid gloves. With a cry they were on the floor, her feet jumping upon them.

The tears only made her head hurt more. Sareem wasn’t worth the pain, she reminded herself. The gloves remained rumpled on the floor as she started for the library.

She stood at the doors of the library, a war waging in her stomach. Sareem was either in there waiting, and she would be stuck alone with him again. Or he hadn’t made it to the library yet, and she would be stuck with him when he walked in. Bringing her palm to her forehead she grimaced, it felt like it was about to split open. The day couldn’t get worse.

Making a decision, she pushed through the doors and was happy to find she was the first. She considered hiding somewhere, but couldn’t think of any excuse for when she finally emerged. So Vhalla simply hoped that he was going to be the last one and she would already be working in the archives by the time he arrived.

She sat behind the desk and amused herself by rolling a corked bottle of ink across. The doors opened again.

It was Roan. Vhalla sighed and pressed her forehead to the cool wood of the desk. The blonde took a seat next to her.

“Good morning, Roan,” Vhalla forced herself to say. Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

“Good morning, Vhalla,” she said with a smile.

“Have you seen Sareem yet?” Vhalla mumbled.

“Sareem?” Roan asked delicately. “No, why?”

“Nothing,” Vhalla sighed, not wanting to go through the effort of explaining anything.

“Are you all right?” Roan placed a hand on her friend’s back, and before Vhalla had a chance to respond the doors to the library opened again.

It was the master and Sareem, and they were talking. Vhalla was on her feet, pain ignored by her panicked heart. Why was he with the master? Her hands shook with paranoia, despite her tying to still them.

“Good morning, Vhalla, Roan,” the master started. “Today the jobs are much the same as yesterday. Cadance and Lidia are off receiving some final decorations for the Festival of the Sun from the Ministry of Culture. So Roan, you’ll continue transcribing, and Vhalla you’re back in the archives.”

Vhalla nodded and quickly stepped around the desk. She could feel Sareem’s stare but ignored it like she did Roan’s baffled look and the master’s quizzical gaze. If the master wasn’t kicking her out, then maybe Sareem hadn’t told him. All Vhalla knew was she wanted away from them all.

“What is wrong, Vhalla?” the master asked as he opened the Archive’s padlocked door.