As far as Vhalla was concerned the palace had three worlds wrapped within it. The innermost world was the lowest in society; it was tucked away in closet-like spaces with servant dormitories, apprentice rooms, and hallways that ran through walls. It was the roughhewn stone, chipping mortar, and stairs that were not quite evenly spaced. Candlewax dripping down the walls was their artwork and all the pleasurable scents of the plumbing—the palace’s and Empire’s sophisticated aqueduct system was their perfume.

Above that world was the public world. This had the showy rooms common folk were permitted to see and the halls nobles and ministers walked through. It was polished and swept with fresco artwork and stone sculptures.

This was where Vhalla walked today. Not completely unorthodox for an apprentice, she enjoyed the beauty of the palace at her leisure. Most of the halls stood empty as Court was in session and the ministers were at work.

Vhalla had never stepped foot in the last world of the palace. Not unless she counted passing through in secret stairwells behind a prince. The quarters for royalty and their high ranking noble guests were closed off with a gold-gilded gate. The most dangerous guards were posted day and night, keeping out all who would presume to force entry. Vhalla had only set eyes upon it once as a curious girl before she had been shooed away.

Vhalla did not know what she was looking for, she simply walked. Spiraling upward and downward she drifted from one thing to the next. She passed one or two other servants, but they asked her nothing and she offered nothing.

Vhalla might not have had a goal when she started this meander, but she knew she had found it when she saw it.

Through an upper window Vhalla gazed upon a garden she had never seen before, hidden within a palace courtyard. Graveled pathways spiraled through the dense hedges, plants, and trees. Many of them were beginning to lose their green foliage, changing into the fall orange and reds. The trees looked aflame as they swayed in the bright sunlight.

She spotted a gate through the windows as Vhalla spiraled around the garden. However, none of the stairwells up or down led her to a passage that connected to it. Frustrated but determined, she found the lowest window she could. It was almost impossible to see over the hedge positioned right before it.

Opening the window, Vhalla stepped over the stone and landed lightly in the garden below. She could barely close the portal behind her and would need to find something to stand on to return later. The wind ruffling her hair, Vhalla plunged through the bushes and into another world.

A breeze swept down the mountainside, stopping Vhalla in her tracks. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. The world was alive around her, and each gust of air was like the whisper of a lover upon silk.

In awe, she held out a hand, inspecting it as though she could see the air visibly slipping between her fingers. This was more than the soft huffs that managed to breeze through her window. She could not see it, but she could feel it. Not in the way that one normally feels a breeze. No, recalling Larel’s words, Vhalla could feel the essence of the wind. It was as though she could grab it and close her fingers around something finer than any silk or chiffon.

An upward gust drew her gaze skyward, and Vhalla’s breath hitched in her throat. Towering high above her was Imperial Housing. Her whole body tingled at the sight. It was the first time she laid eyes on the golden spires since her fall.

She had no reason to be alive. The spires were astonishingly high with a straight drop down. Vhalla tried to imagine what she might have hit, but nothing seemed to make sense. All the ledges and decorations were to the sides of the tower; it was a far descent before there was anything that could’ve broken her fall. From her current vantage she could discern that she would’ve had to have moved a good six or seven body lengths in the air to have hit anything. It all seemed vastly impossible.

Shaking the painful memories from her mind, Vhalla gripped her bag and began walking through the garden. She had seen an unorthodox structure from the windows and attempting to find it was a much better use of her time than musing over princes and near-death experiences.

Fortunately, all paths seemed to wind toward her goal and Vhalla’s heart beat in a weird rhythm at its beauty.

The building looked almost like a birdcage. Silverwork arched together, holding large panes of swirled glass upright as walls. At its apex stood a silver sun. Vhalla fidgeted with her fingers, thinking. She had only ever seen the blazing sun of the Empire crafted in gold.

The glass had a touch of fog to it. While she could make out hazy shapes and green blurs, it was impossible to discern what was inside from where she presently stood. Three silver steps led up to an arched door.

Her hand paused on the silver handle. Her heart was racing but she couldn’t place why.

Roses assaulted her senses upon entering. They grew along the outer walls and up a large central post. The temperature within the greenhouse-like structure was warm, perfectly kept for ensuring the Western crimson flowers stayed in bloom.

Her slippers did not make a sound as she walked lightly over to the pillar, inspecting one of the buds. Movement drew her attention past the stunning foliage to a silver bench in the back, opposite the door.

She was not alone.

A man sat hunched over an open ledger and seemed to be deeply engrossed in the notes he was taking. Vhalla’s blood ran cold, and she took a step back. This was not supposed to happen. Out of all the people in the world she was not meant to meet this man clad in black, with his slicked back hair and dark eyes.

Vhalla was debating how best to make her escape when his pen stopped and his chin slowly rose. His eyes widened, and his brow furrowed as his lips parted slightly in shock. The deep, rich voice that broke the silence made her teeth grind.

“Are you real?” Prince Aldrik whispered in obvious surprise.

WITH ANNOYANCE, VHALLA wiped the confusion off her face.

“Of course I’m real, and I was just leaving.” She turned, starting for the door.

“Wait!” He was on his feet, papers scattering across the floor. She looked back at his clumsy and haphazard movement. “Wait.”

“Is that an order, my prince?” Vhalla focused her gaze on the door handle. A quiet anger rose in her.

“Yes. No. No, it is not. If you want to go then go; but please, just—wait.” He sighed and ran a hand over his hair, adjusting his long double-breasted coat.

“Why?” she demanded. Vhalla half-turned toward him, her hand still on the door handle.

“Because,” he cleared his throat, attempting to continue with more conviction, “I want to talk to you.”

“And if I don’t want to talk to you?” she sighed.

“Then go.” He stood, his posture slack. When she made no motion in his direction, he knelt and began to pick up his papers.

Vhalla stood in limbo, watching this strange, frustrating, and infuriating man on the floor, collecting his scattered parchment. With another soft sigh, the apprentice within got the better of her, and Vhalla walked over to kneel across from her prince, collecting a few papers within reach and holding them out expectantly.

He looked up at her and took the papers from her hands, his jaw slightly slack and lips parted.

She waited for a moment. Receiving nothing she stood and turned for the door, frustrated. What had she expected? He was a prince, and—if the palace gossip was to be believed—he never thought of anyone beyond himself.

“I am sorry.” It was so soft she barely heard it over the rustling of the trees. Vhalla held the halfway open door. Surely she’d only imagined it, she took another step. “Vhalla, I am sorry.”