I suppose I can’t blame William for being angry with me, but he doesn’t understand my reasoning. He’s never bothered to stop for even a moment to listen—this is all about his desire to rule a country. Still, as I watch him walk away, there’s a sharp twisting in my stomach that is only slightly less intense than the same sharp turning of something in my chest. I can only barely fight the tears that well in my eyes.

The truth is still too painful for me to speak about, and I’m sure that even if William did ask, I wouldn’t be able to tell him. Carter was there for me back then. Emily, too. And if I’d been anywhere other than America, I can’t even imagine the scandal I would have suffered.

I just need to get away now. I just… It’s too bad William stormed off the way he did. I’ve always wanted to go to Bali.

I shake my head to clear that voice—when did that happen, anyway? When did I begin to care about spending time with my husband? When did I begin to think of anything but getting the hell out of Rosvalia?

I’m not able to pinpoint the exact moment I began to care, but there is no doubt about it—I do. There may even be something slightly more pronounced than caring here.

But he doesn’t understand me. He believes he does, but truly, he does not.

Because you’ve never given him the chance…

A single tear spills down my cheek, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand. I look around at the Christmas festival—we’d had so much fun together only a few moments ago. And he had to go and ruin it with one of his stupid games—

No. I had to go and ruin it.

It’s true. William has been mostly wonderful to me since the brutal games we played with each other after our wedding night. And I…have been much less than wonderful. I’ve been awful to him, exactly the type of noblewoman I swore I would never become.

I have to go after him.

I weave through the crowded marketplace, searching everywhere for William. But there are too many people. Far too many people. And it isn’t long before I’m feeling somewhat claustrophobic, crushed between the bodies of strangers trying to get to the next stall, or the dance floor, or wherever it is they are going.

I see an open bench and I take a seat before anyone else can occupy it. I’m not certain how long I sit and watch the revelry, but it feels like hours. I know I need to go after William, but I realize I have no way to find him. My bags went ahead of us to the hotel when we left the train, and with them my phone.

I stand with a start as I realize not only my phone has gone ahead, but my bag with my wallet and identification as well.

I’m alone in a city I’ve visited only once before. Alone, with no money, no identification, no phone, no…

Suddenly, I’m mesmerized again by the crowd. At how easy it would be to join them, to lose myself among the people. I’m still a mess from the earlier sprinkler disaster, and few would recognize me in my current state.

I could do it. I could join the crowd. Blend in among them. Find some man to take me home tonight and make a new life for myself.

But for how long? How long could I honestly get away with trying to pretend I belong here? For that matter, how long can I get away with it in America? Certainly, graduate school holds some appeal, but for me, it isn’t necessary. I’ve already accomplished much more than most people my age—I’ve published a book, held a mostly successful international conference… What exactly will I get from going to graduate school?

Nothing. Nothing but the opportunity to leave Rosvalia.

I’ll admit that the thought still holds some appeal, but much less than it did before. I have a life in Rosvalia now. I have a husband—one who does more than tolerate me, at least for the moment. I could build a life there. Perhaps not one with four male heirs, but William and I could certainly try. We might even be able to break with tradition and find ourselves a home outside the palace walls. Surely we could—

There is no we any longer, remember? He left you. He left you without understanding your reasoning for the choices you’ve made in your life. Without understanding what was taken from you…

I have to find him. But first, I need to go to the hotel. Unfortunately, I have no money for a taxi—or even for bus fare, for that matter—let alone a phone to call one.

My only hope is to catch him before he leaves Berlin. And I know there’s only one place he’ll be going.

I race through the crowd, hoping I remember the location of the train station. It isn’t far—I remember that much. And after asking a few passersby which way to go, I make my way there in far less time than I normally would have taken, particularly in the shoes I’m wearing.

I’m out of breath by the time I reach the station, and it is far busier than I would have expected for the late hour. But I know which train he’ll be waiting for—there aren’t many express trains to Montovia, but something tells me that’s exactly where he’ll be.

I take a quick glance at the departures board to find the right platform—of course, it’s the one furthest from where I am, but thankfully, it is also the train departing latest. If I’m reading the arrivals section correctly, the train hasn’t even come into the station yet. Which means I won’t have to search the train for him at all—only the platform.

I make my way through the crowded station to the correct platform, and as I expected, William is waiting near the end. He’s reading something—it’s too far away for me to see what it is. I make my way over to him and stand in front of him.

He doesn’t look up—he doesn’t even seem to notice I’m there.

It’s then that I finally see what it is he’s holding in his hands and another tear spills down my cheek.

William hasn’t lifted his gaze at all from the book. “Did you know your poetry had been translated to German? It reads a little differently in this language. Oddly, it’s not quite as macabre—most of it, anyway.”

I bite my trembling bottom lip. If I so much as speak a word, I’m going to lose it.

He finally lifts his gaze to mine. “You need to tell me what this is really about.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.” My voice is so shaky I barely recognize it.

He nods, looking back down at the book before he closes it and puts it in his back pocket. “The train should be here in a few minutes.”

“I know. I…”

He finally meets my gaze. “You what?”

I shake my head again. There’s so much I want to say, but I don’t know how to say any of it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, William.”