“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Do you even know how we met?” Aldrik stood and began to pace the room. “How I met Larel?”

“She told me once,” Vhalla whispered, feeling the anger radiating off of him.

“She told me I saved her, that I was the prince from all the stories who saves the helpless girl.” Aldrik chuckled; sorrow waged a war against self-loathing in the darkness of his eyes. “I always told her she was foolish, and I never told her how much I needed those words. I never even thanked her for them. How silly she was thinking that I saved her when she was the one saving me.”

“I know, you were close ...” Vhalla pulled herself into a seated position.

“You have no idea.” He rounded to face her. “You likely grew up surrounded by friends and people who enjoyed your company. Even in my best of years I was strange and distanced by nobility and magic. There was only one person among my peers who saw me as anything but their prince. I had Larel. And even-even after I pushed her away she came back. She was a far better friend than I ever deserved.”

“That’s not tr—”

“And when she came to me, paper in hand to march with you, I told her she wasn’t ready.”

It was her fault.

“I knew she wasn’t trained enough, wasn’t built for war. But I thought—” His hands gripped her shoulders suddenly. “I thought I could protect her. Just like I thought I could protect you.”

Vhalla couldn’t find words.

“But here you are, bruised and sliced open by an attempt on your life. There is no reason other than just ... luck that you were not also in a pool of blood next to her. Don’t you know I saw that?” He shook her and it made Vhalla wince from the pain in her back. Aldrik stopped and stared into her wide eyes, dropping his head. “Larel is dead and you may as well have died—I protected no one.”

He sat gripping her shoulders, his hair covering his face. At the first breath she thought he was going to speak more, but he let it out slowly, then another shaky breath, filled with more silence. The quivers were small at first, and started in his shoulders before finding their way to his hands despite his fighting.

She heard it, that breath, the one his tears were let loose upon. Vhalla heard the strange, choked noise rise from his throat as he finally gave into his own overwhelming grief. He was tired, he was over-worked, and he had lost the person whom he had considered his best friend. Aldrik—the crown prince, the future Emperor, Fire Lord, ruler of the Black Legion, sorcerer—was only a man. And men could be broken.