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The prince was a memory. Her hand clasped the watch. He was a remnant of another period of her life, and she had to learn to leave him there.
She was Vhalla Yarl, Duchess in the West, Lady of the Southern Court, Hero of the North, and the Windwalker. Her name had become such an unnecessary mouthful.
Vhalla held it up, feeling the weight of it. A deep power coursed through her, seeping into her bones. She didn’t need it to cut through souls. She only needed it to cut through the shadows that threatened to swallow her whole. To cut down those who would use her. To hack away at the oppressive darkness that continued to try to smother her so she could defend a new dawn.
Something in the Western woman’s gaze reminded Vhalla of another set of eyes; a dark pair that also missed nothing, a pair she would never be able to look into again for as long as she lived.
“Senators, you exist so that the will of the people may be channeled to my father and to me.” Aldrik motioned to the masses that were growing by the second. “The people have spoken.”
“But a trial—”
“Is not needed for one who is so clearly innocent.” The crown prince pointed to thecrystal-laden irons. “Unless you have an alternate explanation for those?”
“She is a Lady of the Court.” Aldrik shifted his focus back on her. Everyone could’ve screamed at once, and Vhalla was certain she’d somehow still hear the frantic pulse in his neck as he stared at her once more. “She was given her freedom by the Emperor. And I, as the future Emperor, will pardon her for any crimes that were committed in her own defense against the Western madmen who call themselves the Knights of Jadar.”
“Put a title on her and she becomes bold. Do you think yourself powerful?”
“I know I am.”
Egmun - Vhalla
“I am not like him!” Victor slammed his open palm on the desk and leaned forward. “I have watched that man use sorcerers as tools. I have seen him degrade our people for the power that flows through them. I have endured him taking my students and teachers to be nothing more than cutthroats! I have watched him take a library girl and turn her into a “wretch of death” for no other reason than it suited him best.”
The palace was full of too many memories—memories of other lives, of a man who was capable of both hurting and loving her, of a man who had promised his future to her when he asked her to be his bride.
“Are you real?” A voice, deep as ever, broke the silence; eternal, yet fleeting like the midnight hour.
“You’ve asked me that before,” Vhalla replied.
Aldrik looked away, thought knitting his brow. “I have, haven’t I?”
“When I first met you here,” she affirmed softly.