The next man had a pig nose, and the one after Sareem jested about rolling down the steps as his shape was far better suited for such than walking.

Vhalla was having such a fun time that she didn’t even mind it when Sareem draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close for more whispering. She simply kept giggling like a fool and let Sareem continue his roll of taunts in her ear.

“Look there. Look, look, all the ruffles make her look like a chicken.”

Vhalla turned her head away from the building to examine one of the ladies in yellow. She had made some very unfortunate choices with all the ruffles of her dress piled upon her not so small rump. Vhalla was having more fun than she expected; she beamed at Sareem, and he grinned back at her. It felt like they were kids again and could simply laugh and be silly without the pressure of anything more.

Then the wind shifted, and the smile fell from her face.

She knew he was there before she even turned her head. She felt him. It was a subtle temperature shift carried on the breeze or the sound of his boots on the marble road. Vhalla turned her head slowly to see Aldrik walking alongside a Southern man with darkening blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. They were still a few steps away and were deep in conversation.

“Sareem, this was fun, but I’m really hungry, so let’s get going,” she pleaded, trying to shrug his arm off.

With a laugh he pulled her closer, his lips pressed against her ear uncomfortably. “But the best part is now walking toward us, the Head of Senate. And, we have the dark snob prince too,” he snickered.

Her lips parted and shut again quickly, barely catching a vehement defense on Aldrik’s behalf.

“The Emperor has ordered certain crystal relics be brought back from the North.” The senator’s voice gave Vhalla the same feeling as ripping paper, a chill uneasiness at its quiet yet harsh sound.

“I have not heard of this,” Aldrik responded. Even though they were whispering, Vhalla could hear their conversation along the wind. Their words grew louder with every nearing step.

“Sareem, please,” she begged. Vhalla reached up and grabbed his hand to pull Sareem’s arm off from her shoulders and drag him away herself. But it was too late.

Aldrik’s eyes fell on hers. He considered her a long moment, clearly no longer interested in whatever the senator was saying. His brow furrowed and a shadow darkened his face briefly before his expressionless mask slipped back into place and he looked forward once more.

Vhalla opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t come up with words to say. Sareem was muttering like a fool in her ear still, but she couldn’t hear him over the words of the Senator and prince.

“Was that someone you know, Prince Aldrik?” the head of Senate asked suddenly with no subtle interest.

“Hardly,” Aldrik’s voice was cold and fading. “Why would I associate with common-folk?”

Then he was gone. Aldrik kept walking until he was out of sight. He never looked back.

Sareem remained oblivious to the turmoil raging within her chest. Vhalla tortured herself with the notion of running after him. But anything she did would only make a scene. What had that look meant? Even the senator had noticed the subtle shift in the crown prince. She chewed it over as Sareem continued prattling away, leading her wherever he wished. Did it matter to Aldrik how she spent her time? Vhalla barely contained a scream of frustration.

She was poor company all the way back to the palace. But Sareem didn’t mind as he filled the silence enough for both of them. Vhalla refused his offer for dinner, heading straight for bed. Food would taste like ash in her mouth anyways.

VHALLA STARED AT her doorknob. She agreed to meet Aldrik today. He had invited her to lunch in the rose garden. Vhalla replayed the memory in her head with doubt. That was what happened. His confused gaze flashed through her mind as he had stared upon her and Sareem.

She twisted her fingers around each other. He would still want to see her, she assured herself. Vhalla grabbed her improvised mirror and fussed with her hair. It was the frizzy mess it always had been, and she stared at it hopelessly. He was the crown prince; she had no doubt he had been with women older, more beautiful, more experienced, and more refined than she. For all she knew, he was with one now.

Poking her finger through a new hole in her maroon tunic, Vhalla sighed. She was fussing over nothing, the apprentice in her scolded. The prince knew who she was. He had said it himself. Why would he associate with commoners like her?

The halls of the palace were mostly empty due to the festival. Those who were working flitted about carrying large trays of lavish food and pitchers of frothing drink. She kept her head down, wandering the passages washed in the afternoon sun.

Eventually, the people around her faded one by one in the hallways until Vhalla was alone. The garden appeared before her, and Vhalla entered through the same window as last time. It was a nice fall day, perfect for the festival. Some of the smaller plants had already begun to go dormant for the winter, and she wondered how long until the roses also began to fall.

The gardens and gazebo were deserted. Vhalla assured herself that she had only beaten him there, that he hadn’t forgotten. She wandered uncertainly throughout the gazebo, inspecting the roses. Thankfully, Aldrik did not keep her waiting for long.

Vhalla turned away from the center post of roses as she heard the click of his boots up the steps. Her heart pounded, and her mouth was dry. The prince fumbled with the door a moment before pushing it open. In one arm he balanced a decently sized wicker basket that emitted a tempting aroma.

They stared at each other, as though in disbelief. Vhalla swallowed. He straightened, adjusting the box.

“Hello,” she smiled. They had spent countless hours together. Nothing was different about this meeting, she reassured herself. Even if this meeting seemed to have no other purpose than for him to see her.

“Good afternoon,” he responded. Something in the resonance of his voice gave Vhalla pause. “You are fast this morning.”

“I had nothing else to do,” Vhalla replied, denying any kind of excitement—even to herself—over the meeting. He crossed the room, sitting on the far bench. Vhalla followed and took her prior seat at his side.

“I am beginning to think you never work. I will have to have a talk with our Master of Tome,” he declared in his princely tone.

Vhalla playfully stuck her tongue out like a child. “If I am not working, I think it may be because a certain Imperial Prince keeps taking me from work,” she retorted.

“Ah, you have me.” Aldrik grinned.

“It’s the festival, anyway.” Vhalla shrugged to hide her defensiveness at the notion that Aldrik may think she was lazy.

“It is,” he agreed. Opening the basket Aldrik revealed multiple trays of food, stacked upon each other. Vhalla had only heard the kitchen staff speak of preparing such luxuries, and the house servants whisper about sneaking bites in-between dinner for nobility. “I thought, perhaps, you had not eaten.”

Vhalla stared at the rows of carefully cut tea sandwiches. There was white bread, tan bread, bread with oats, and small rolls with brown crusts. She saw slices of cured ham and peppered turkey sneaking out from the sides, resting in beds of fresh produce. It seemed to practically glisten.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” she had to ask. “That food isn’t really meant for me.” He gave her a peculiar stare. “Staff, servants, we don’t eat food like this.”