“Your lives,” she said matter-of-factly, surprised at the coolness her logic created in her voice. Prince Baldair actually had a somewhat horrified expression. Vhalla met the Emperor’s eyes. “If you three stayed at the center, you would have been in the middle of the storm, little more than a dozen horse lengths apart. If one of you died there is a great chance that whatever killed that person would kill those near him; the closer the proximity, the greater the odds of death. You three die, we all lose. If the Emperor and all heirs were suddenly lost, this realm has more than one battlefront.”

The Emperor rubbed his chin. “Go on.”

“You would all run in different directions with the fastest riders prepared to give their lives for you. It would be the best chance for survival,” Vhalla explained simply.

“You know that means half the host would be left behind on foot.” The Emperor regarded her thoughtfully.

“I know that.” She nodded. “They would be left to chance.” The word chance sounded nicer than death.

The younger prince seemed horrified, and Vhalla would have to turn to see Aldrik’s expression. The Emperor was almost too analytical in the way he seemed to calculate her words against an invisible tally. Vhalla brought her hands together, wringing them.

“You do have some intelligence to you,” the Emperor said lightly.

“My lord, if I am intelligent it is because you have filled your castle with good teachers.” She thought back to Mohned with a pang of homesickness.

“Ah, Vhalla, do not be so modest. Knowledge and power are a dangerous combination, and you appear to have both in quantity.” The Emperor turned and motioned toward the table that had been set with food.

Each person sat in turn. Aldrik pulled out her chair for her, though he didn’t offer her so much as a glance. Vhalla wondered what exactly had changed his demeanor. Clearly, whatever his concerns were they factored in calculated restraint. Aldrik sat to her right, Prince Baldair to her left, and the Emperor across.

Vhalla had not seen food so fine or a table so cluttered with silverware, glasses, and plates since she had dined with Prince Baldair back at the palace. The meal was hot and fresh and she barely managed to contain a particularly loud stomach grumble by placing a hand over her abdomen. She was careful to eat after the three royals had served themselves. Propriety was a convenient excuse. Vhalla had no idea which forks were meant to be used when or why they used a different fork for every dish—she just followed.

“This is an incredibly peculiar situation, don’t you think, Miss Yarl?” the Emperor started.

“Vhalla is fine,” she said, unsure if it was appropriate to offer. It felt weird having both of his sons call her by her first name and to have the man who sat above both of them be more formal.