“And if I don’t?” Vhalla was unable to say the words with any strength. She couldn’t even meet his eyes. The silence felt like it was crushing her skull.

His voice was gentle but there was a quivering restraint, as though his words were forced. “Then,” Aldrik began, “I think that would be the saddest thing to happen to the magical community in a long time.”

Vhalla sighed softly. Of course, it was the magical community. She was the Windwalker, first of her kind in almost a century and a half. The one with powers people wanted for reasons still unknown to her. She turned to the door without a word.

“I would miss teaching you.” Everything stopped as the sentence crossed his lips. Vhalla turned back to look at him, suddenly aware of how small the connecting passage really was. As if realizing the same thing the prince quickly broke eye contact to smooth his coat with his palm before slowly buttoning it. “So, when will I see you again?”

“What?” Vhalla blinked at the sudden and strange question. He had been doing well at seeing her by stealing her away. “You’re the crown prince. You can see me whenever you want. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

“Yes, well,” he muttered, running a hand over his hair. “Lunch, then, tomorrow? No, wait; I have business with Egmun.” He cursed at the foreign name. “The day after tomorrow, I will have time. But this is not an order from your prince.”

Something crept on the edge of Vhalla’s mind. He wasn’t stealing her away or leaving her with little choice—not that she had minded. He wasn’t ordering her as her prince. He hadn’t mentioned training or discussing sorcery or her future. If it wasn’t business or obligation, then what exactly was the reason behind this meeting?

“I’d love to.” She smiled, and the mask that the prince normally wore slipped long enough for her to see a flash of joy in his eyes. “I’ll meet you in the garden?”

He nodded, a little smile playing on his lips, causing a warm honey feeling in her stomach. Vhalla pushed on the door before the feeling spread into her blood and overpowered her senses. She emerged into the cool night air, the mysterious portal closing behind her to disappear as if nothing more than a stone wall.

She couldn’t stop a giggle from escaping as she all but skipped back to her room. There was no reason to be so happy, she reminded herself, and yet she was. She was going to have lunch with the prince.

Vhalla noticed nothing amiss as she pushed open her door. All her lightness vanished with one shift of her gaze.

Sareem sat on her bed holding the wrinkled gloves in his hands. He looked up at her with a mix of emotions flashing across his features. Dropping the gloves to the floor, he walked over and pulled her into a tight embrace, resting a hand on the back of her head.

Vhalla stood there pressed against him, his one arm tight around her arms, the other hand holding her face to his chest. After the initial shock wore off, a strange sensation spread through her, and Vhalla didn’t know if she wanted to hold him or push him off. Her arms stayed limp at her sides as a middle ground.

“I was so worried,” he whispered hoarsely. “You just, you screamed, and then you were on the ground.” He stroked her head as if to offer her comfort, but he was clearly more distraught than she was. “I didn’t know what to do. I told them I’d get a cleric, but after—after what you showed me, I knew it wasn’t a cleric you needed.” He rested his cheek on the top of her forehead a moment with a soft sigh. Vhalla remained still, allowing him to piece together his story.

“I went to the Tower entrance, a Tower entrance? I don’t even know the names of the people who answered. I simply said your name and they knew, they came without question, and I gave you to them. I didn’t even know their names.” His voice cracked. “And then they were frantic, and they took you. Vhalla, you didn’t move, you were hardly breathing. And they took you and I-I didn’t know if you were alive, so I waited.” He sounded so hopeless and pathetic that Vhalla couldn’t help but put her arms lightly around her friend’s waist and pat his back in a friendly manner.

They stood together as he slowly regained his composure. Eventually he released her and wiped his face with his palms.

“Sorry about that,” Sareem tried to laugh.

Vhalla shook her head. “I appreciate it, Sareem. Obviously, they did help. You did the right thing,” she tried to reassure him, and it looked like it worked. “Did any of the others ask?”

“Yeah, but I told them I found a cleric, and that it was the heat getting to your head. I stayed also to kick anyone out, saying you were here but needed rest,” Sareem added with a small nod.

Vhalla felt guilty for putting her friend through all this, no matter how unkind he had been to her about her magic.

“I’m sorry that you have to keep lying for someone like me.” She took a step away from him.

“Someone like you?” He looked honestly confused, which annoyed her slightly.

“A sorcerer,” she said directly, watching him hold back a wince at the word.

“I tried to tell you earlier. Even if you are a-a, someone with magic, you are still Vhalla.” He took a step closer to her. “You’re still the girl I met when I first came here. The girl who is always so lost in her books that she can never spare a boy like me a glance.” Vhalla took another small step to avoid his encroaching presence. Her back found the door. “The girl who I never had the courage to ask anywhere because I always thought I was too daft, too boring, too plain for her.”

“I’m nothing better than you, Sareem,” she whispered as he took another step forward.

“To me you always will be. I was frightened,” he whispered as he placed his hand beside her face, palm against the door. “I was frightened that your... development would take you away from me.” He looked away for only a brief moment before staring her down with his gray-blue eyes. “And then, today, I thought I really had lost you. As I sat here waiting, I realized I can’t keep waiting, or else I really will lose you.”

Frantically trying to think of a way to divert the conversation, Vhalla didn’t even have time to close her eyes before his lips were pressed against hers.

SAREEM WAS KISSING her.

It seemed the most improbable, impossible, farfetched thought, but as Vhalla stood pressed against her door—his right hand beside her face, his left having found her hip—it was an undeniable truth. His lips were soft, and his breath hot against her cheek. As time stretched, something seemed odd.

Vhalla tried to close her eyes; she tried to enjoy the kiss. But her mouth refused to move, and in the end, as he pulled away she leaned against the door feeling rather stupid. It had been some time since she had last kissed. Perhaps that was it, her awkwardness came from being out of practice. It wasn’t as though she ever considered herself an adept kisser in the first place.

She stared at him. He had a nice build; while not overly muscular, he was not portly either. He was tall and handsome with long hair. Logic forced Vhalla to admit that he really was one of the best matches someone like her could hope for.

It was frustrating that logic couldn’t force her to feel any chemistry with him. Perhaps it would grow in time. His devotion had been heart-warming and charming, in spite of his blatant issues with her magic. Vhalla knew plenty of people in long-term, happy relationships without fiery passion.

“Sareem...” she finally managed, breaking the silence.

“Vhalla, I-I hope I wasn’t too forward.” He straightened and looked away.

She felt like she could breathe again. “I-your-I am moved by your compassion.” Vhalla hoped she was off to a good start. He looked at her hopefully. She tried to swallow the odd guilt that sprung up at his hopeful stare. She wanted to refuse him, but she had no logical reason to. It wasn’t as though she was spoken for, and time was ticking for her if she were to assume the natural roles of womanhood.