She must have caught Bran’s slip.
Bran and Dristan share a glance, but then Bran nods.
Rosie’s eyes travel over Galinor, and she frowns, thinking. Her gaze then moves to Irving, who is next to her.
“Who are you really? How do you fit with a lady, two southern princes, and…?” She shakes her head. “Who knows what the rest of you are.”
Irving looks uncomfortable—not an expression that often graces his face. “I’m Irving of Primewood.”
Since the troupes don’t often travel through Primewood, it’s not all that surprising that Rosie doesn’t know what that means.
“Are you all after Dimitri because of what he did to Anwen?” she asks Irving. “Or are you truly after the king’s horse?”
Irving looks at me as if he wants me to jump in. Is it my imagination, or does he look worried? When has he cared enough to be concerned?
“It’s all right,” I say. “I’ll explain.”
I tell her my story—of meeting Irving in Lauramore and dumping cider on Galinor, of searching and finally finding the fairies, and of our horses being stolen.
She listens intently. Her expression changes little, but her eyes are a window to her disbelief. She turns back to Irving and quietly hisses, “You’re a prince.”
Irving winces. “I truly do want to find Anwen’s horse.”
“And you asked me to marry you. What kind of game were you playing?”
He looks shocked, and the rest of us stay quiet.
“It wasn’t a game…”
“You rush to her honor”—Rosie sharply motions toward me—“And then you do the same thing to me that Dimitri did to her?”
Irving sets his hand on her arm, but she shrugs it off.
“What was I?” she demands, her voice increasingly shrill. “A lark? An amusement?”
Irving’s eyes are wide, and his mouth works, but he seems unable to form a complete thought.
Rosie leans forward, her eyes sparking with anger in the dim firelight. “Or did you use me to find Dimitri?”
“It’s not like that!” Irving finally exclaims, irritated now. “I asked you to marry me, and I meant it!”
Rosie narrows her eyes. “Of course you did. Primewood would welcome a Bandolian queen.”
Irving tosses his hands in the air. “I don’t care what they think! It’s my life—my happiness—not theirs.”
I believe it’s time to give them some privacy. I stand, and the others follow me. Apparently, we’re all eager to be away from their argument.
My mind is still so consumed with my own mess, I can’t think of Irving’s problems now.
Is it true? Did Dimitri search me out just to obtain the changeling stone?
As much as it hurts to believe it, in my heart, I know he did. How didn’t I see it sooner?
Marigold steps into the cart. I’m about to go in behind her when Galinor sets a hand on my shoulder, stopping me.
I pause on the first step and turn in the dark to face him. The sounds of late summer hum around us. Crickets chirp in the grass, and a soft breeze blows through the trees.
Dristan and Bran retire to the large tent they are sharing with Galinor, and Irving and Rosie continue to bicker at the campfire around the front of the wagon.
