It doesn’t take long to find the troupe. Whispers of a blonde street performer with a glasseln must be circling because Dimitri ends up finding us. He pushes through the crowds, curious. When our eyes meet, his jaw slackens. His gaze drifts from me to the glasseln and then back again.
Pika sits when I pause, waiting for our next move.
“Anwen, I can’t believe you’re here.” Dimitri steps forward. He hasn’t yet noticed Galinor by my side, or if he has, he’s ignoring him. He glances at Pika. “Is the glasseln safe?”
“For now,” I answer.
The crowd we’ve drawn moves back a few steps.
I stiffen when Dimitri suddenly closes the distance between us and crushes me to his chest. “Anwen, I can’t tell you—”
“Save your words,” I say, pushing him away.
Dimitri looks at me, hurt. He then glances at Galinor. His eyebrows knit, but he doesn’t acknowledge him. “Come on, let’s speak somewhere more private.”
He motions for me to follow him. Galinor nods me on, and he follows directly behind.
If Dimitri truly wanted to go somewhere more private, he wouldn’t be leading us to the middle of the festival. We walk through the streets, and Pika draws an even larger crowd. People gawk at her, treating her like she’s an act. This is exactly what I had hoped for. Dimitri is less likely to do something underhanded if there is a crowd of witnesses present.
Finally, he stops in a square not far from the eastern port. We’re in the heart of the festival now, and all aroundus there is music, laughter, and noise. There are tents nearby, many with performers doing their acts. Some juggle; some sing. Others are contortionists. They writhe this way and that, twisting their bodies into ghastly shapes. Everything delights the crowds.
Dimitri turns toward me, his eyes begging me to listen to him. “Wait here.” He holds up a hand. “Please, don’t leave.” He disappears into a tent that I recognize as his.
When he returns, he carries a large stack of parchment. He offers them to me and nods encouragingly when I don’t take them. I glance back at Galinor. Though he looks uneasy, he only shrugs.
I hesitantly take the papers and flip through the stack. “What are these?”
“I tried so many times,” Dimitri says. “But a message was never enough to tell you how truly sorry I am for what I did.”
They’re letters, and they’re all to me. None of them are finished; most have been crumpled up at some point.
I love you, I’m sorry. I love you, forgive me.
The sentiments make me a little sick. I look up, wishing I hadn’t read them.
Dimitri steps forward, and his hands find my face. “I’m so sorry, Anwen,” he breathes, his dark eyes searching mine. “I can’t tell you how sorry.”
Galinor tenses beside me, but he doesn’t interrupt. I pull Dimitri’s hands from my cheeks, but he grasps my fingers so I can’t easily pull away.
“I’ve hated myself every day for leaving you,” he says. “I wanted to go back immediately, but I knew you would never forgive me.”
I don’t know what to say. My heart feels as if it’s ice. Dimitri’s words—his apologies—should thaw it.
But they don’t.
“I want the stone back,” I say. “And my horse.”
Dimitri’s face falls. “That’s why you’re here?”
He sounds as if his heart is breaking, and I feel bad—I do. But not bad enough to give him what he wants. I don’t love Dimitri anymore. I’m not sure I ever truly did.
Dimitri’s hands find my face again, and he desperately wraps his fingers in my hair. “Stay, Anwen. Please, stay with me. Marry me. Never leave me again.”
The conversation is making me weary, and I sigh as I step back. “You think you care for me, Dimitri, but you don’t.”
I must finish this and get the stone so Galinor can take me away. I glance at the prince, needing to reassure myself he’s still at my side.
Dimitri’s eyes flash to Galinor, finally acknowledging him, “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”
