A rumbling chuckle resonated through his chest at her expression. “There was a letter.”
“What did the letter say?” Vhalla asked cautiously, easing her food back onto its plate. Aldrik had been so adamant that his father shouldn’t know of her. Wasn’t he keeping her magic a secret out of concern?
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 wouldneverforce 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.
