“Yes?”
“May I touch you?”
The question caught her off-guard, and she blinked at him, trying to see his face clearly through the darkness. She shifted closer in her attempt, but it was pointless. The moon was beginning to wane and with it their nights had become heavier.
“What sort of a question is that?” she whispered.
“I swore I wouldn’t,” he reminded her. “But I wish to.”
“How?” Her heart was beginning to beat furiously in her chest.
“I don’t know, just yet.” Daniel shifted closer. “But, I want to find out. May I?”
Serien swallowed, her throat gummy. “You may.”
The words escaped—she hadn’t even known they had been hiding within her. The rough pads of his fingers, calloused from years of the sword, brushed up against her forehead, feeling where her face was in the darkness. They stilled, slowly tracing down her temple, over the curve of her cheek, along her jaw, to her chin. They brushed over her lips, and up her nose, as though he was an artist trying to recreate her likeness.
“Daniel ... I ...” her voice cracked. Tears threatened to spring forth from the ache in her chest that could split her in two. He was too kind.
“What? You what?” Sand ground beneath him as he shifted closer still. Serien could feel his warmth now. He was warmer than she expected him to be and it was such a soothing comfort. “What are we?”
Serien opened her mouth, trying to formulate an answer—but she didn’t have one. She didn’t know what she should call him, call them. He had gone beyond his call of duty as a friend and without her noticing he had begun to fill the holes her prior life had left in her. He comforted her in the night and he soothed away her fears for the day.
She pressed her eyes closed and pulled away. “I’m tired.”
Daniel didn’t ask the question again.
It took just over two weeks for Craig to finally confront Daniel about his new aloofness and odd habits. At which point Craig was finally in on the plot. It shocked Serien that it took his being sat down before her and practically told to notice the woman whose body she was inhabiting.
The moment he realized who she was, he pledged to protect her as well, and she had two teachers after that. Serien hadn’t realized her monopolization of Daniel’s time had been taxing on him, but the moment he didn’t have to be with her every second following the march, he was off doing other things, tending to Baldair’s demands or helping run the camp. She was cross with him for not telling her she’d been a burden and made sure he knew it.
Daniel only laughed. He would have done it for her no matter what, he assured her.
Serien had been born of blood and death, but even she was beginning to see the sun rise in all its colors. Perhaps it was the tireless support of Daniel—and Craig. Or perhaps it was because every day carried her closer to the final outpost of the West, where the host would split, and she would be with Aldrik again.
Some soldiers had called the final outpost a “fort” but that term was a very loose one. It had a makeshift wall constructed of giant timbers and packed clay, but within it was little more than the glorified tent cities she had come to know. There was no pomp or circumstance here, no cheers or pennons or ceremony. This was the edge of war, and there wasn’t time for such frivolous notions.
“We will rest here for the night,” the Emperor shouted over the troops, his voice carrying across the desert. “When we march tomorrow we will move as three hosts.”
The Emperor’s sons flanked him to his left and right. Each of the royals had the black shadow that had never left their sides. Other than the dust on their capes, the Windwalkers appeared no different than they had when they left the Crossroads.
“Each legion will be divided among my sons and me. We three will each take a separate route to Soricium to increase our odds of all making it.”
Serien recognized the name of the capital of the North, the last major blockade to the Empire’s victory. She crossed her arms over her chest. Using the memories of the other woman, a smirk appeared on her face knowing that Vhalla Yarl once advised the Emperor about splitting royalty.
“Your commanding majors will announce your assignments tomorrow. Prepare for war.”
SERIEN LAY AWAKE, listening to Daniel’s breathing. She watched as his chest rose and fell in the moonlight, punctuated by the soft sighs of dreamlands. She wondered what he saw behind his closed eyes. His dreams could in no way be as tortured as hers.
Being next to him was becoming painfully normal. She missed Fritz and Larel with an ache that could never be filled. But Daniel was kind and attentive. He was thoughtful and preempted her needs to a surprising degree.
Serien rolled onto her side. If things had been different, what would they be? She bit her lip.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Even as a hushed whisper, Prince Baldair’s voice carried.
“How many times must I tell you?” A voice, deep and dark as midnight, replied—its whispering tones echoing straight through Serien and into a woman who had been suppressed for weeks. “I will accept it no other way.”
“You and her ...” The voices grew near and Serien heard two sets of footsteps in the sand pass by Daniel’s tent.
“Again, how many times must I tell you?” She could see him pinching the bridge of his nose in her mind’s eye.
“I know,” Baldair muttered in disbelief. “You’ve thought this through, right?”
The question went ignored. “How is she?” The voices began to grow faint.
“Well cared for. I have my own looking out for her. They’re reporting into me and I’ve kept my promise, brother: she’s had everything she’s needed to be well.”
Serien glanced at Daniel.
“You mean the Easterner.”
“How did you know?” Baldair seemed as surprised as Serien.
“I must speak with ...” Their hushed whispers were almost out of earshot.
He was there. He was right there, a voice in the back of her mind echoed. If she moved now she would see him. Serien knew she couldn’t let herself. She’d been so careful to avoid the Black Legion at all costs. She knew what the sight of him would do to the other woman within her.
When his voice faded away entirely, her feet were under her, moving without thought. Serien made haste from the tent, praying she didn’t wake Daniel. She saw them in the distance, the two princes side by side, walking toward Baldair’s tent. A tiny mote of flame lit their path, and Serien staggered toward it, hypnotized.
His lean frame was swathed in black as if cut from the night itself. His elegant fingers curled around each other at the small of his back. His presence radiated the essence of poise to all who gazed upon him.
“Aldrik,” she breathed.
It should have been impossible for him to hear, but he turned anyway. He stilled as though he saw a specter. Baldair turned as well, curious to see what had so enthralled his sibling. The second he saw her, he knew.
She took another step forward, and Aldrik said nothing, his arms suddenly limp at his sides. Serien staggered across the gap between them. Her eyes were lost in Aldrik’s and the crown prince seemed to see nothing else either. They were both oblivious to Baldair’s nervous glances for any onlookers.
“Vhalla,” he whispered, holding out a hand to her.
Prince Baldair gripped his brother’s wrist. “In my tent.” He gave her a pointed glance, and she quickly followed behind them.
The moment they were both inside, Aldrik’s hands were in her hair. His long fingers wove themselves into the dark strands, as if trying to entangle himself with her very essence. She felt Serien melt away and, without the other woman’s armor, Vhalla was as naked as a babe, raw to the world and the emotions fighting within her.
She tilted her head upward, grabbing Aldrik’s face and pulling it toward her. The prince obliged, dipping his tall frame to crash his lips against hers. His chainmail dug into her chest and her fingers scratched against it, searching for a grip to cling to. She was desperate for him, for the life only he could instill in her.