“He was a good friend—special, like a brother.” Vhalla physically shook the images from her head, feeling another set of eyes fall on her from her left. Her sanity couldn’t handle another question on Sareem so she decided to take control of the conversation. “How long will we ride today?”

“Another two or three hours,” said a voice, dark as midnight.

Vhalla turned and looked up at the crown prince. “That’s all?”

Aldrik nodded. “It will take some time for a host this size to stop and set up camp. We don’t want to do it in the dark.”

Vhalla nodded and turned away before she became too entranced by him. Fritz and Larel began to talk between them, but Vhalla excluded herself from the conversation. She felt exhausted and passed the rest of the day in a daze.

When the sun was two-thirds of the way through the sky, the trumpet bellowed twice, calling for an all-stop.

“Make camp on the left side,” Major Reale barked, and the Black Legion followed her order.

Aldrik split off and dismounted between the Black Legion and the pole-arms. His father’s tent was erected in the center of the forward legion, and Aldrik’s went up at the edge.

The more experienced soldiers who knew what to do began to set up tents. The Imperial family members’ tents were significantly larger and rose up in a square with a pyramid roof. Groups of people ran over to assist each royal in setting up their temporary home.

It was a nice feeling to be out of the saddle. Vhalla stretched out her legs, ignoring the stiff ache, as she tied Lightning to a low-hanging tree branch. But she suspected the horse was smart enough not to run.

“Vhalla, we’re sharing,” Larel called, walking over to her with a bundle of canvas in her hands.

Relief settled over her as Vhalla pulled her bedroll off Lightning’s saddle. Larel was with her. She felt guilty that the woman had become her keeper, but Vhalla was too mentally and physically exhausted to waste much energy on such a small guilt.

Seasoned soldiers took personal effects from their saddlebags, like blankets or small pillows, and made themselves comfortable in their cramped spaces. Some regarded her with curiosity, some ambivalence, which was better than the one or two dirty glances she received even within the Black Legion.

Larel drove two posts, which suspended a length of canvas, into the ground. The product was a simple triangular tent. Privacy came in the form of two flaps in the front and back that could be tied closed. It was barely big enough for their two bedrolls.

“Dinner will be ready soon,” Larel announced after they’d finished settling.

“What’s for dinner?” Vhalla followed the Western woman as she walked toward one of the fire pits.

“Whatever the hunters can find with speed,” Larel answered.