Noticing how he held the fork and knife, she let herself be distracted. He held a utensil in one hand, index fingers outstretched over their backs. Comparing it to how she was cutting her meat with fork stabbed vertical, fist grip, she felt like a barbarian from the Crescent Continent.

“The clerics reported that the library staff had been integral to saving his life. I could tell you were a smart one from the moment I met you. It was you, wasn’t it, Vhalla?” It was phrased as a question, but Prince Baldair wore a knowing smile.

Vhalla stopped chewing. She had no idea what to say either.

The prince laughed and saved her from herself. “I knew it. Well, that explains it then; even my ass of a brother would need to give some appreciation to someone who helped saved his life. Can’t say I’m surprised it took him so long to humble himself.”

Vhalla folded her hands in her lap over the napkin, the one she had only placed there after the prince had placed one in his lap. The inside of the meat was pinkish, and she wondered if it was safe to eat. Wondering about the food was better than talking to the prince about his brother. She poked one of the many forks, pushing it up the table. Why did anyone need more than one fork?

A low humming noise came from her left, pulling her back from her continual withdrawal. Baldair had placed his elbow on the table, his chin in his palm. He assessed her thoughtfully. She wanted to say something, but Vhalla was fighting a losing battle against the cerulean eyes before her.

“You’re not like most of them, are you?” Prince Baldair’s voice was softer than she had heard it before, the jest and levity absent.

“Most of them?” she repeated, bracing herself for a parrot comment.

“You’re not the first low-born I have invited to lunch.” He leaned back in his chair, food forgotten. “They come in, swoon over my chambers, prattle about the food endlessly, try everything they can to make eyes at me. By the end of it all, they’re belly up and bare on the bed.”

Vhalla gaped at him. This prince was nothing like the other. She stood, her napkin falling to the floor without a thought.

A firm hand closed around her wrist.

“Don’t worry,” the prince cooed softly. “I know you’re not like that, and I would never force a woman into anything she didn’t want and ask for.”

Her arm relaxed as he held her in place. His command over her was different than his brother’s. Where Aldrik could transfix her with a single look, Prince Baldair captured her with gentle words and soft touches.

“What do you want from me then?” Vhalla asked. If he knew she wasn’t about to fall between his sheets then, there was little point of her being there any longer.

“I have an idea.” He finally relinquished her wrist, but Vhalla did not move.

“What is it?” Judging by the look on his face, she may not want to know.

“Even if my father wants my brother’s injury to go unsaid, and Aldrik would never admit to actually needing help, saving the life of the crown prince should not go unrewarded. And a lunch is not nearly a sufficient reward.” The prince smiled. “So tell me, what does your heart desire, my little library apprentice? I am a prince; most anything is within my power to give.”

She brought her hands before her and gripped the pads of her fingers. What did her heart desire? After Sareem, after Aldrik, things didn’t add up in her heart anymore.

“Nothing,” she replied with a shake of her head, starting for the door again as though she knew the way out.

“You must want something.” The golden-haired man was quickly in step beside her.

She looked up at his expression. Something in his eyes told her that he was only playing dumb.

“Nothing you can give,” Vhalla whispered, thinking of the news that Aldrik was leaving. If she could have one wish it would be for the crown prince to stay in the South. He would be safe here, the rapid beats of her heart whispered. He would be near her. Vhalla pressed her eyes closed.

“The Gala,” the prince said suddenly.

“What?” She waited for an explanation.

“At the end of the Festival of the Sun there is a gala in the Mirror Ballroom,” the prince began.

Vhalla knew of it. She had friends who had worked the Gala over the years. It was a celebration reserved only for nobility.

“Come to the Gala tomorrow.”

“What?” That seemed to be the only word her tongue could form.

“Think about it—the best food, music, entertainment.” He grabbed both of her hands in his. Vhalla followed him as he took a step back into the room. “I’ll see you fitted in a fashionable gown. And the dancing!”

He spun her in a circle beneath his arm. Vhalla tripped and stumbled. With a laugh, the prince caught her in both hands and she found herself pressed close to him for the second time in one day.

“We can work on the dancing.” Prince Baldair grinned down at her.

“I can’t go to the Gala.” She shook her head, trying to find bones in her legs once more.

“Why not?” The prince seemed undeterred.

Vhalla pried herself away from him in frustration. “Because I don’t belong there.” She grabbed her elbows, hugging her torso. “Apprentices don’t belong with nobility.”

“You don’t belong in my brother’s garden either,” the prince retorted with a shrug.

Vhalla wished she could have kept the frown off her lips.

“He’s dangerous and silver-tongued. Don’t give him an opportunity to weave you into some scheme, Vhalla.”

“I would like to return to the servants’ halls now,” she said with a quiet firmness that she didn’t know her voice capable of.

The prince stared at her for a long moment. He implied that Aldrik would weave her into a scheme, but Vhalla only felt skeptical about the man standing before her. She resisted fidgeting—barely—but didn’t like the knowing glint in his eyes.

“I’ll give you a fake name,” he said finally. She couldn’t believe he was still persisting with this insane plot. “No one will know who you are under the powder, gown, and hairdo.”

Vhalla shifted her feet and braced herself to object a second time.

“It will likely be the last night before my brother and I return to the front,” Prince Baldair revealed, shattering her resolve.

The last night before Aldrik would leave was the Gala, tomorrow. She looked toward a far corner of the room, churning this over in her head. That was it, all the time they would have together. No matter how much she wanted to refuse the prince before her, a question remained: What if she had no other chance to see Aldrik?

“You’re sure it won’t be a problem?” she finally asked the waiting prince.

“No one will be wise to who you are.” Baldair nodded. “Unless you think my brother will tell.”

Vhalla looked askance at the prince and swore she heard a soft chuckle.

“And if people found out?” She shifted her weight uneasily from foot to foot.

“No one will.” It wasn’t the answer she had been looking for, but it was the best she was going to get.

“All right. If you wish to bestow this upon me as a secret thanks, my prince, then I shall accept it.” Vhalla gave him a resolute nod.