“Is that so? Very fine clothes for a cheap whore. Do you like her face?” The woman ran the point of the arrow down Vhalla’s cheek, leaving a dripping red line in its wake.

Vhalla winced softly, her lower lip trembling.

“Why soil your weapon with her blood?” Aldrik tried, attempting to glance away casually.

“She has a nice figure. What about her breasts?” Two more cuts were upon her body and Vhalla felt tears on her cheeks.

“Enough,” Aldrik said softly, his eyes were back on her.

“Enough? She’s not just a whore?” the woman sneered. “What about her legs? Want to see them?” The woman lifted the hem of his jacket and Vhalla’s tattered skirts with the arrow, making a deep incision along the way.

“Enough!” Aldrik cried.

Vhalla looked at him and saw the panic in his eyes. The woman had won. The Northerner knew it too as she let out a laugh and released Vhalla, the broken library girl falling to the ground.

Vhalla stared at the world lifelessly. She would be torture for Aldrik to watch her die. They would kill him next. His, Sareem’s, and Roan’s deaths would all be on her hands.

“Don’t kill him,” she whispered.

The woman’s laugh quieted and she leaned over Vhalla. “What was that, you little shit? I didn’t hear it,” she snarled.

“Don’t kill him,” Vhalla repeated. She never took her eyes of Aldrik. “Do what you will to me, but don’t kill him, please.” Vhalla struggled to sit.

The woman laughed again. “You are nothing,” she snarled. “You are less than nothing. You were only something because it was amusing to hurt you.”

“And now it is no longer amusing,” the man said, raising his sword.

“No,” Vhalla whispered.

Aldrik stared at her unmoving. He didn’t try to run or flee—he simply stared.

“This ends now!” The man brought his sword down over Aldrik’s head.

“No!” Vhalla screamed. In less than a second, the only sound that filled her ears was the wind of the man’s sword cutting the air.

VHALLA SHIFTED ON the cracked and uneven stone floor and cried out in pain. Her shoulder felt swollen and hot; simple movements were agonizing. She tried to prop herself up but she fell back to the floor with a dull thud. Dried blood and smoke were crusted around her eyes; trying to rub it off was pointless as her hands were coated as well.

The room was a simple square, and the air was heavy with the stench of excrement and bodies. One wall had a large portal with a great iron door made of interlocking bars fastened with a padlock larger than her fists. She saw the shoulder armor of two palace guards on either side.

“Hello?” Little more than a dry rasp escaped her throat.

The guards turned and looked through the bars. One had a large mole on his left cheek. The other had two front teeth that caused him to look like a rat.

“Oh, she’s awake,” mole man said. “Better go ring the bells.” Rat man scampered off.

“Where? Where am I?” Vhalla asked, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

“What does it look like? A prison cell.” The man picked his nose and flicked it at her.

“Why?” Vhalla’s head hurt and the warm pulsing of her shoulder didn’t help either.

“Oh, clever. I see you’re trying to play the innocent right away.” Mole man shook his head. “The Senate’ll see right through that.”

She sighed and placed her head back on the floor, closing her eyes. This man was frustrating, and not in the charming way that Aldrik managed. Aldrik, Vhalla opened her eyes as the night began to replay in her mind: Roan, Sareem, the woman, the arrow, Aldrik on his knees with a sword to his throat, the man raising his blade for the final blow. Then—nothing, she had no further memories.

“Sir, sir!” Mole man looked back at her with mild annoyance. “The crown prince.” She struggled to sit, Vhalla wanted to stand but she ended up mostly crawling to the bars, gripping them for support. Her whole body felt so exhausted it could barely move. “Prince Aldrik, he, where is he?”

“Why do you want to know? Going to make another attempt on his life?” The man looked at her queerly.

“What?” she exclaimed in shock. “No! I want to know if he is all right!”

“To my knowledge the prince is alive and well.”

Vhalla let out a large sigh and rested her forehead against a bar. It was cool on her flushed skin. Aldrik was alive and safe. She must have passed out, and he overpowered them somehow.

“Thank the Mother,” Vhalla breathed before a choked strangle escaped at the memory of her friends who had not made it. Her moment was interrupted by the clip of two pairs of boots down the hallway.

“Yes, she just woke.” It was rat man from earlier. She tried to listen carefully to hear the other set of footsteps. They fell heavy. It wasn’t her prince. Aldrik would come soon. He’d sort this out and she’d be on her way. Vhalla looked up as the men stopped before her cell. Anyone, she would take anyone over the man who stood before her.

Egmun grinned gleefully down at her, and her blood curdled. He wore his golden senatorial chain over a blue robe.

“Well, I can’t say I am entirely surprised to meet you here.” He picked lint off his sleeve nonchalantly. Vhalla stared at him blankly. “It was only a matter of time.” Losing interest in his clothing, he approached the door of her cage, his words as slow and deliberate as his movements.

“You common folk are attracted to the glamor of noble life like—like a moth to a flame,” he said with a wicked smile. “So sad you often fly too close and simply burn away.”

Vhalla couldn’t keep her face from dropping into a frown as he spoke. She was growing to detest everything about this man, and every time he opened his mouth, he succeeded in reminding her why. He was smart, and she quickly realized that it made him dangerous.

“What do you want with me?” she asked, attempting to force her voice to stay as level as possible, to not betray any fear or panic.

“Oh, it’s nothing I want with you. I honestly just want you to crawl back under the rock you came from and never come out again. But, well, you made that difficult for yourself when you attacked the crown prince.” He put his hands in the air before dropping them. “Now, we will need to see you properly punished for your transgressions.”

“What?” Vhalla’s voice rose sharply. “I didn’t—”

“Denials?” the senator hissed. “You must sing a different song before the trial.”

“But I didn’t do anything.” Vhalla repeated.

“Guards,” Egmun sighed. “I think our prisoner may need her memory jarred.”

Rat and Mole exchanged a look Vhalla had a difficult time reading before they started for the cell door. The moment the door opened and the two armored men entered Vhalla knew it hadn’t been a good look. Vhalla put as much distance between her and the men as the cell would allow, ignoring the screaming pain in her shoulder.

These men were there to protect her. But they stared down at her with the same look of contempt the Northerners had.

“Don’t...” Vhalla whimpered out of instinct.

“Denials still?” the senator hummed, leaning against the wall beyond.

Mole heard a command that Vhalla hadn’t in Egmun’s voice and his fist was in her hair. She cried out in agony, grabbing at his tense wrists as he practically lifted her off the floor. The man threw her against the wall and the back of her head cracked loudly.

She slumped, blinking away stars in a blurry daze. Mole was on her again before she had time to decide which of the four of him was real. His boot connected with her stomach, again and again. She tried to lift her hand to blow them away with magic, but no sorcery crackled beneath her fingertips. There wasn’t even time to panic as Mole stomped upon the appendage, the bones crunching. Vhalla didn’t feel the next strike to her ribs; she could only feel the dirt and gravel covering the floor pressed against her cheek.