Quickly wiping her cheeks, Vhalla turned in place as the chapel door opened slowly and silently. A figure swathed in maroon glided across the threshold. The Crones of the Mother wore a deep red color to signify the departing light of the sun, a symbol that their vigil would last until the end of their days. The door closed silently and the Crone locked it again.

“Crone,” she said uncertainly. “I’ve come for my prayers before my fate,” Vhalla tried to explain, concerned she would be presumed to be somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

Two hands reached up and pulled the hood backward.

“I know,” it was a deep masculine voice.

“Aldrik?” Vhalla gasped in shock.

The brim of his collar on his white jacket extended beyond the top of the large hood, and he wore his golden crown.

“Do not speak too loudly.” He glanced around before walking over quickly. Aldrik knelt down on a pillow across from her. “Are you well?”

“Aside from the obvious?” She grinned weakly.

He frowned. “This is not a game, Vhalla,” he scolded her lightly.

“Oh? I’m sorry, I thought it was. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been having so much fun.” She wasn’t in the mood to be spoken to in that tone.

He looked at her with a frown, chewing over his words. “Your new guards, are they treating you well?” Aldrik finally asked.

It confirmed her fears. She was a broken little thing to him. Vhalla inhaled sharply as anger rose within her. Nothing compared to the hatred the thought of Rat and Mole put in her stomach. Remembering Egmun’s eyes on her made her want to die. It compounded as she thought of Roan and Sareem, the guilt she had struggled with for days since parting with them before their deaths—or near death in Roan’s case. Even anger at the master and prince for consorting behind her back sent a pang of frustration through her. Every last thing Vhalla could have been angry about came to her then in the wake of her fear and shame.

“What do you care?” she spat at him. Aldrik blinked as though she’d slapped him across the face. “You, you’ve gone behind my back; you’ve become a puppeteer in my life; you lied to me; you threw me off a roof; you taught me recklessly; you forged my signature.” It was hopeless, the tears came freely. “You wouldn’t even speak for me!”

He grabbed her upper arms fiercely, and Vhalla twisted frantically.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieked in horror. Aldrik released her, shock and pain across his face. She held herself, feeling every emotion come tumbling through her eyes. “I-I’m just a pitiable thing to you, worthless trash, why would you touch me?” Vhalla pressed her eyelids closed and curled into a seated ball of sobs.

By the time he finally moved, her stomach hurt from her crying. Vhalla expected him to leave. She wanted him to hate her so that she could validate the hate she felt in herself. However, he didn’t go. Hatred would have been easier than the frustration and pain that was rife upon his face.

The prince’s mouth opened and closed, but his silver tongue failed him. Frustrated, he grabbed the pillow next to him and stood in a half turn, throwing it toward the wall. It incinerated in a burst of flame before hitting anything. He stood with his back to her, panting softly.

“I,” his voice was deep and ragged, “I am not a good man. Maybe I have never been a good man. Out of that sham of a trial the hardest part was to hear you waste words to defend me when all I wanted you to do was defend yourself.”

“I would’ve let the city burn had it not been for you.” He chuckled, and it was a crazed and crackling sound, void of its normal velvety hues. Vhalla struggled to believe his words. “I was in no position to leave the palace wounded as I am, so I would have sat in the safest place I could find and waited it out.” He turned, searching her face.

“Does it shock you? Aren’t you disgusted with your prince? I would’ve been happier watching the flames consume half the damn city to purge the filth, even if it meant sacrificing the good with it. Those are my subjects! People I am sworn to protect!” He threw out his hands. “You’re right, about it all. I wanted you. The moment I found out what you were, I wanted you like a prize to be captured and put on my shelf. And you, Vhalla, you made it so easy to manipulate you to walk right where I wanted you to. You, with your transparent innocence.”

“Stop,” she whispered. His words stung deeply.

“Like an ignorant fool, you trusted me and never once questioned my guiding hand—even knowing my reputation!” Vhalla looked away; she didn’t want to hear anymore. “You’re right, I had it all lined up. The master knew as soon as I suspected, but he would not go against the will of the crown prince, not even to warn you. The Minister of Sorcery didn’t know what he had in you, he may have let you go! It fell to me to ensure that you fell and awoke to your powers. You may have gone to the master in your own time, but all those choices you thought you had? That paper was signed while you were still recovering from your fall! The master knew you were already gone, even if you did not know it yourself. All I had to do was keep pushing you along, being your guiding and caring teacher, and I could’ve had your magic doing whatever my will desired!”

“Aldrik, please...” she begged him, tears choking her.

“And then...” His voice audibly softened. Aldrik’s shoulders slumped and his arms hung limply. “Then I realized I just wanted you around. My days were better when they involved you. I enjoyed your thoughts. It was thrilling to see you discover magic. You had a mad hopefulness about sorcery that I have not felt in almost a decade. I started finding excuses to take you away, not because you needed my teaching but because, because I wanted to see you. I looked forward to our meetings and—like that, Vhalla—your opinion mattered to the crown prince of the Empire. You mattered for who you were, not for your magic and what some dusty texts say Windwalkers may or may not be able to do.”

She blinked up at him, speechless.

“I wanted your forgiveness, as though that innocent acceptance would absolve me of all the blood on my hands. I wanted to see you well and happy. I wanted to see you flourish, and I wanted only a small piece. To know that in you I had made something good. And I truly wanted to keep you from pain.” He balled his hands into fists.

“I knew the best way would have been to remove myself from your life and, by the Mother, I tried. But I was still too self-centered to tolerate that library boy. I should have encouraged you to go off and be with him. Then, despite my efforts, my brother had to meddle— only to torture me—and you wore that damn dress.” He fell down to his knees before her, his fists on the ground and head bowed. Aldrik took a deep breath, it wavered just slightly.

Vhalla’s head swirled as she tried to absorb everything.

“I spoke for you today,” he confessed. Vhalla’s heart skipped a beat. “I did not speak before not because I did not care, but because—because, I am not a good man, Vhalla. My voice is more likely to damn you than save you. There are people in this world—in that room—who will hurt you for the sake of hurting me.” He dropped his head again with a few bangs escaping from the perfect comb set his hair always had.

“People who already have.” He punched the ground with such force that Vhalla jumped and knew without a doubt his knuckles were bloody. If they were, then the pain was nothing to the prince as he continued to kneel rigidly.