Aldrik ducked his head under the flap and walked into the orange glow of tent beyond. Vhalla paused, assuring herself that there was no reason to be nervous. She was only about to enter the personal quarters of the crown prince of the realm, no matter how makeshift they were. Gripping her fingers tightly, she gathered her resolve and walked in behind him.

His tent seemed more spacious on the inside. To the left of the entrance, furs and thick blankets were piled on top of chopped brush to make a sleeping pallet. Her sleepless nights must be catching up to her because the sight of it was oddly appealing. Around the perimeter hung thin disks, flames burning impossibly above the steel braziers. To the right, a large rug of great finery had been unrolled upon the bare ground, a number of pillows and a small floor table atop it.

Aldrik stood on the opposite side of the room removing his greaves and gauntlets.

“Come and help me with the plate?” he asked casually, catching her off-guard.

“M-my prince?” Vhalla stumbled over her words. It was as though the second they were out of sight she was in a different world with a different man.

“Since when are you formal in private?” Aldrik arched a dark eyebrow. “Some help?”

He turned and raised his arms. Vhalla noticed a small seam on the back left of his plate. She crossed the room hastily and began fussing with the latches underneath.

“How, um, how do you get it on?” she inquired, desperate to talk over the blood rushing in her ears.

“I have help—a squire,” he explained logically. Vhalla’s clumsy fingers finally undid the last clasp and he unhinged it, slipping out through the side. Aldrik placed the plate on the ground and began to unfasten his scale.

“Aldrik, is this really ...” Vhalla swallowed, taking a step back and looking away.

“Do you think me naked under my armor?” A small grin curled up the corners of his mouth as he slid off his scale, leaving just chainmail beneath.

“Your armor is the same as mine,” she observed, inspecting the thin links curiously.

“Of course it is.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Vhalla watched it cascade back into place around his fingers.

“Why?” She felt like she was missing something obvious.

“I made it.” His eyes caught hers, and Vhalla couldn’t find words between her surprise and the look he was giving her.

“Why?” Vhalla repeated again, remembering Larel telling her once about how Firebearers were jewelers or smiths due to their ability to manage flames.

“Why? Why do I make my own armor, my parrot?” Aldrik had to know that her inquiry was more than him making his armor. “Because I do not trust other craftsmen with something as important as my life.”