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.”

“Well, now you do,” Aldrik said easily, lifting up the top tier to her. Vhalla’s stomach growled loudly enough to remind her that she had skipped dinner last night. Her face flushed bright red. “You cannot argue with that,” he chuckled.

Vhalla decided on an egg sandwich. The egg did not have the rubbery flavor or consistency like when they had been sitting for too long. There was not a mass of cream or butter sauce upon it either to hide the stale ingredients. Every flavor shined, and she stared at the small morsel in awe.

“What do the servants and staff eat?” the prince asked.

She regarded him curiously. “Sometimes stews, sometimes a rice hash, sometimes bread and meat.” Vhalla shrugged. “Normally whatever the kitchen has on hand. Two day old nights is how we refer to the worst nights. It’s things that the kitchen really should’ve discarded a day or two ago but covered in some kind of gravy or salt, and passes it off as food.” He’d stopped eating to stare at her, and she laughed at his still, almost horrified, look. “It really isn’t so bad. What do you normally eat?”

“Whatever I ask for,” he said, obviously.

Vhalla laughed louder. “It must be nice to be the prince.” She grinned, grabbing a few grapes from the tray and popping them into her mouth before starting on another sandwich.

He paused, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. “I suppose, in some ways,” Aldrik spoke slowly, and Vhalla swallowed her food to listen. “In others, I think I would rather be more common.”

“Other ways like what?” Vhalla asked quietly.

“You are free to make your own choices. I have...obligations,” he sighed cryptically.

“Obligations? Such as?” she asked, taking a small bite and listening intently.