Eventually, the people around her faded one by one in the hallways until Vhalla was alone. The garden appeared before her, and Vhalla entered through the same window as last time. It was a nice fall day, perfect for the festival. Some of the smaller plants had already begun to go dormant for the winter, and she wondered how long until the roses also began to fall.
The gardens and gazebo were deserted. Vhalla assured herself that she had only beaten him there, that he hadn’t forgotten. She wandered uncertainly throughout the gazebo, inspecting the roses. Thankfully, Aldrik did not keep her waiting for long.
Vhalla turned away from the center post of roses as she heard the click of his boots up the steps. Her heart pounded, and her mouth was dry. The prince fumbled with the door a moment before pushing it open. In one arm he balanced a decently sized wicker basket that emitted a tempting aroma.
They stared at each other, as though in disbelief. Vhalla swallowed. He straightened, adjusting the box.
“Hello,” she smiled. They had spent countless hours together. Nothing was different about this meeting, she reassured herself. Even if this meeting seemed to have no other purpose than for him to see her.
“Good afternoon,” he responded. Something in the resonance of his voice gave Vhalla pause. “You are fast this morning.”
“I had nothing else to do,” Vhalla replied, denying any kind of excitement—even to herself—over the meeting. He crossed the room, sitting on the far bench. Vhalla followed and took her prior seat at his side.
“I am beginning to think you never work. I will have to have a talk with our Master of Tome,” he declared in his princely tone.
Vhalla playfully stuck her tongue out like a child. “If I am not working, I think it may be because a certain Imperial Prince keeps taking me from work,” she retorted.
“Ah, you have me.” Aldrik grinned.
“It’s the festival, anyway.” Vhalla shrugged to hide her defensiveness at the notion that Aldrik may think she was lazy.
“It is,” he agreed. Opening the basket Aldrik revealed multiple trays of food, stacked upon each other. Vhalla had only heard the kitchen staff speak of preparing such luxuries, and the house servants whisper about sneaking bites in-between dinner for nobility. “I thought, perhaps, you had not eaten.”
Vhalla stared at the rows of carefully cut tea sandwiches. There was white bread, tan bread, bread with oats, and small rolls with brown crusts. She saw slices of cured ham and peppered turkey sneaking out from the sides, resting in beds of fresh produce. It seemed to practically glisten.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” she had to ask. “That food isn’t really meant for me.” He gave her a peculiar stare. “Staff, servants, we don’t eat food like this.”
“Well, now you do,” Aldrik said easily, lifting up the top tier to her. Vhalla’s stomach growled loudly enough to remind her that she had skipped dinner last night. Her face flushed bright red. “You cannot argue with that,” he chuckled.
Vhalla decided on an egg sandwich. The egg did not have the rubbery flavor or consistency like when they had been sitting for too long. There was not a mass of cream or butter sauce upon it either to hide the stale ingredients. Every flavor shined, and she stared at the small morsel in awe.
“What do the servants and staff eat?” the prince asked.
She regarded him curiously. “Sometimes stews, sometimes a rice hash, sometimes bread and meat.” Vhalla shrugged. “Normally whatever the kitchen has on hand. Two day old nights is how we refer to the worst nights. It’s things that the kitchen really should’ve discarded a day or two ago but covered in some kind of gravy or salt, and passes it off as food.” He’d stopped eating to stare at her, and she laughed at his still, almost horrified, look. “It really isn’t so bad. What do you normally eat?”
“Whatever I ask for,” he said, obviously.
Vhalla laughed louder. “It must be nice to be the prince.” She grinned, grabbing a few grapes from the tray and popping them into her mouth before starting on another sandwich.
He paused, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. “I suppose, in some ways,” Aldrik spoke slowly, and Vhalla swallowed her food to listen. “In others, I think I would rather be more common.”
“Other ways like what?” Vhalla asked quietly.
“You are free to make your own choices. I have...obligations,” he sighed cryptically.
“Obligations? Such as?” she asked, taking a small bite and listening intently.
“Well, my parrot,” he retorted and grinned at her scowl. “Lately, I have done a lot in my father’s absence. I have approved this or that, checked on the state of the Empire and capital, met with most of the ministers and senators,” he explained.
Vhalla was reminded of the day prior. She busied her mouth with another bite of food. Aldrik uncorked a bottle and passed it to her. What she had expected to be water was actually tea with a fruity flavor. It was refreshing and delicious; it almost made her forget the embarrassing moment from the precession of senators.
“I was at the Senate meetings yesterday.” He was apparently not going to let the possibility for an uncomfortable confrontation slide. It was his turn to avoid her stare. She watched him shift uneasily on the bench, completely ignoring the food. Could the prince even feel genuinely awkward?
“I know.” Vhalla instantly wished she had thought of something better to say.
“That boy you were with...” Aldrik began slowly, his spoken grace suddenly failing him.
“He’s my friend,” Vhalla responded quickly, her lips on overdrive. “His name is Sareem. We’ve been friends for years. He’s like a brother, really. He asked to take me out, and I agreed because I thought it was the right thing to do but, well, of course I had fun, he can be a laugh. But he’s just a friend.”
The prince stared at her intently through her uncomfortable and hasty proclamation. Obsidian eyes pinned her to the spot, and Vhalla met them with all the honesty she could muster. Sareem was only a friend, she realized as she looked at the prince. He was nothing more to her. Vhalla swallowed hard, keenly aware of a dangerous feeling that had rooted in her chest over the past months without her consent. What was she doing?
“He is...only a friend.” She didn’t know why she was whispering, or which one of them she was reassuring.
Aldrik’s eyes relaxed, the intensity in them fading into a warm heat that pulsed down to her toes with each beat of her heart. The corners of his mouth came next; instead of relaxing into their normal thin line, they eased upward into a small smile. Vhalla bit her lip, trying to hide her reaction to his joy—and failed.
“Friends are good to have,” the prince said suddenly, turning away and resituating the trays. He reached for a sliced strawberry. Vhalla did the same and they chewed away the moment.
“Are you and Larel only friends?” She wanted to hit herself the moment the question slipped from her lips. It wasn’t any of her business, and the prince’s answer wouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter how comfortable he had seemed in the other woman’s room. He could be with whoever he pleased, Vhalla reminded herself.
“Larel,” Aldrik said after a thoughtful second. Vhalla shifted uneasily at his pause. Heat began to rise to her cheeks, she had been so foolish. “I suppose she is like Sareem is to you. I have known her since I was a child. She was different from the others and seemed to be willing to speak with me, work with me, without fawning over the prince.”
Vhalla inspected the hem of her shirt. They were both Western, she mused, and Vhalla had no idea if Larel had a noble background or not. Most apprentices had some connection to nobility, which was how they became apprentices rather than servants.
“Do not fidget,” Aldrik said gently, resting his fingertips on the back of her hand. Vhalla jumped at the contact. “Yes, she is just a friend.”