Aldrik began to pull away from her. Vhalla gripped his hands with both of hers, willing him to stay. “D-don’t, Aldrik. Please, don’t leave me yet. I know you have to but not, not yet.”

Her eyes nearly broke him.

“Aldrik, please,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He eased her back down onto the chaise, standing at its side. Aldrik leaned forward, smoothing her hair away from her face one more time and pressed his lips to her temple. Vhalla sobbed.

“I will return as soon as I can.”

“Promise me.” She gripped for his fingers again. “Promise, and I’ll believe it.”

“I promise, and I will never break a promise to you, my Vhalla.” He took his hand from hers and straightened. Vhalla watched as the stony façade of the crown prince slipped back into place. He wore the distance of nobility, the ferocity of the Fire Lord, and the armor of his title. He was a warrior ready to do battle.

Vhalla balled her hands into fists and buried her eyes in the pads of her palms, letting out a wail the moment the door closed behind Aldrik and his uncle. “It’s my fault, it’s my fault.”

“It is not.” She hadn’t been speaking to the younger prince, but he responded.

“What do you know?” Vhalla spat bitterly. “You know nothing about your brother, nothing about me. You’ve never even tried to know. You were too busy with your misplaced warnings. So just be quiet for once.”

The prince obliged her for a time as he placed gauze over the wound, coating it in a sticky substance that turned icy as it hardened. He pressed on her shoulder lightly and Vhalla understood that he needed her on her stomach to access the wound on her calf. The prince began stitching the deep wound without even warning her first.

“That one had poison in it,” she mumbled.

“What?” His fingers stopped. “Are you sure?”

“It was affecting my magic.” Vhalla nodded, her tears subsiding into numbness.

“I’ll need to get someone else to see to that.” The prince fumbled among the vials of elixirs, salves, and antidotes. “I have no idea which is which for poisons.”

“Aldrik will know.” Vhalla was certain. Prince Baldair returned to his stitching and packing the wound with a thick salve. When he was finished, he came around the chaise to kneel before her face. The prince dipped his first two fingers into the tin and began to massage the ointment over Vhalla’s black eye. “Thank you, my prince,” she begrudgingly offered.

“Baldair,” he corrected.

“Baldair?” The name sounded surprisingly easy on her tongue.

“You call Aldrik by his name; it’s weird to have you continue to call me by my title.” Baldair packed up his case and stood. “I’ll fetch Elecia; she’ll see about an antidote.”