When they came upon the Black Legion she noticed Aldrik’s tent had almost been completely loaded up into the cart with the rest of the Imperial items, but she didn’t see the man anywhere.

“Don’t let the other soldiers bother you,” Daniel said, coming to a stop. “They’re not bad people, they’re just—” he paused, looking to the heavens for inspiration, “—a little stupid.”

Vhalla grinned.

“Vhal!” Fritz ran over. “We were looking for you.” He practically skidded to a halt to give her escort a full assessment.

“Fritz, this is Daniel. Daniel, Fritz,” she introduced.

Daniel extended his palm in greeting.

“You best be nice to our Vhal!” Fritz said, ignoring Daniel’s hand and pointing in his face.

“My, you didn’t warn me you had bodyguards,” Daniel chuckled, taking Fritz’s hand from his face and shaking it. “You have my word, only kindness and care from me.” The low draw of a horn echoed through the forest and the last soldiers fell into place like a great migration. “Oops, must get back. Come up and ride with us if you can!” Daniel called, already hurrying to the front.

“He’s cute,” Fritz swooned.

“Fritz!” Vhalla scolded.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.” Fritz rolled his eyes.

In truth, Vhalla hadn’t. She ran back over to Lightning to find Larel already on horseback, waiting along with Fritz’s mount. “Sorry,” she apologized.

“Yet again, Vhalla, you have nothing to be sorry for.” Larel’s smiled brightly. “You seem to be in better spirits.”

Vhalla mounted Lightning with a nod, concealing a guilty smile. She had enjoyed herself.

It turned out to be just as Craig and Daniel had said. The host was a slightly structured mass today compared to the neat rows and careful placement of the day before. But she, Fritz, and Larel gravitated to the same place in line. The two were instantly involved in some heated debate that carried over from breakfast and Vhalla drifted in and out of the conversation, thinking about Daniel’s and Craig’s offer.

It wasn’t until Aldrik shifted in his saddle that she even realized he was there.

Vhalla turned and her mouth dropped agape. “Your ... hair.” It was a thought that escaped as sound. His raven hair was limp, falling perfectly straight around his face. The prince had long bangs that tapered in front, falling below his eyebrows, and messy cut layers throughout. They were elements of an Aldrik that Vhalla had no idea even existed, so different from how he usually wore his hair in the palace.

He glanced at her, momentary annoyance furrowing his brow. “You did not really think I would take time to fix my hair while at war, did you?” Aldrik’s low tones betrayed his amusement, and it instantly placed her under a spell.

“Well, I may like it,” Vhalla mused. His coy smirk encouraged boldness.