I roll my eyes. Next to me, Galinor snorts.
“Troupe name?” the bored guard asks.
For once, Irving has no response. He opens his mouth and then closes it again.
Rosie leans over Irving and bats her eyelashes at the guard. “We are The Great Balodenkas,” she says sweetly.
Irving told Rosie we are tracking down a horse stolen from the king—which is not exactly a lie, considering Mara did come from royal stock. It’s not exactly the truth, either. Rosie hasn’t questioned his story, but she has certainly noticed how bad we are at blending in. She’s been immensely helpful.
The guard is mesmerized by Rosie’s pretty face.
Her smile widens. “May we enter now?”
The guard shakes himself and steps aside, holding out his hand as a welcome. “Of course.”
Irving kisses Rosie square on the mouth once we’re in the gates. “You are a treasure.”
Marigold rolls her eyes, but we don’t get too workedup over the declaration. Rosieisa treasure. She’s incredibly knowledgeable about the troupes’ traveling routes, festival schedules, and customs. She’s also surprisingly sweet and very humble despite her disarming beauty.
“What does Balodenka mean?” Irving asks her.
Rosie’s smile falters for just a moment. “It was my father’s name.”
“Ah.” Irving’s own smile softens. “Thank you for lending it to us.”
He kisses her again, and I look away.
I ache for whatever strange, fleeting thing it is they have found.
My eyes travel to Galinor…as they seem prone to do lately. Noticing my attention has drifted to him, the prince raises a brow in question, and I quickly avert my gaze.
I’ve gotten used to Bran and Dristan in their performer’s garb. I’ve even grown accustomed to Irving’s ostentatious ensemble—which we later found out was courtesy of Rosie herself.
But I can’t get over Galinor.
Before we left Crayhope, he bought a white shirt similar to the ones Bran and Dristan favor. He wears it now under the vest I hastily constructed for him. But at Rosie’s insistence, he’s rolled the sleeves up high on his muscular, tanned arms.
The prince refuses to wear any scarves except for a long, woven one that ties at his waist. Even that he hates.
Whether he likes it or not, he looks good. No matter what village we enter, women watch him, practically fanning their faces when he so much as glances their way.
Again, I glance his way.Again, he catches me. A crooked smile tugs at his lips, and my cheeks flush as I pretend I was looking past him.
“Go that way,” Rosie says once she and Irving remember we exist. “There’s an open grassy area where we usually set up camp.”
Irving steers the cart toward the left, following Rosie’s instructions. As we ride, I keep my eyes peeled for Dimitri. The closer to Lenrook we’ve traveled, the more my stomach has tightened with knots.
What will I do when I see Dimitri again? What will he say? How will I respond?
I fidget with my reins. The scene I played over and over in my mind in those first few weeks doesn’t hold the appeal it once did. I had imagined Dimitri lighting with joy as soon as he saw me. He would fall to his knees, give me back the changeling stone, and offer an excellent reason why he abandoned me. And just like that, we’d be together again.
But now…
I glance at Galinor, feeling torn.
The other troupes barely spare us a glance as we make our way through them. Those who do notice us are set at ease by Rosie’s calls of Bandolian greetings. Irving parks the cart, and the rest of us climb down from our horses, sore and tired from the ride.
Marigold looks about, nervous. I turn to see what she’s staring at. A small crowd of children has gathered, waiting for us to entertain them.
