I don’t expect him to understand. I don’t really want him to understand—I just don’t want to be left here alone. That’s all he needs to know.

“Stupid girl.” He mutters the words under his breath.

“Pardon me, Your Highness, I already admitted it was stupid. But I am not a girl.”

He glares at me for a second. “What are you going to do about your foot? You can’t walk on it like that. And I’m not about to carry you—”

“I would never ask you to do such a thing.” I return the glare. “While you were out yesterday, I found these.” I walk over to the small box near the kitchen where I found the cans of food. I pull out a musty pair of hiking boots—they’re probably four sizes too big for me, but they’re better than nothing. “I promise I won’t complain about my feet. But we have a bigger problem.”

He lifts a brow. “And what might that be?”

“Water. We have the cans from last night, but they aren’t going to hold much. Even if we open up a few more and eat what’s inside, it isn’t like we have a way to carry them.”

“Which is why you should stay here. Really, Ms. Simpson, you’re being entirely too stubborn about this.”

I ignore him—he can say what he wants, but I’m not about to stay in this place alone. “I think we need to look around outside. See if there’s something that might hold more water.”

“I will take a look outside then.” He motions at the moldy boots. “You can put those on while I’m looking.”

I nod in agreement and he walks outside. I grab the boots and limp over to the door—there’s no way I’m going to let him sneak away.

But it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to do anything of the sort. He’s looking in the back of the rusty pickup in the front yard, throwing items out from the back.

I put on the boots and walk over to help.

He doesn’t even look up. “Really, Ms. Simpson. If you can’t take me at my word—”

“I think we already went over this. You don’t take me at mine. Why would I take you at yours?”

He glances up, giving me an expression I don’t really recognize—some combination of exasperation and disgust, I think. He blinks at me a few times before he lifts something out of the cab of the truck and holds it up.

It’s a watering can.

He frowns. “It’s not exactly what I had in mind. I’d hoped for a canteen or some such item. Something a little more appropriate for drinking—”

“It has a handle and it’ll hold a lot of water.” I can’t help but grin. “It’s perfect.”

He lifts a brow but doesn’t say anything else.

We walk back into the house. Andrew fills the watering can while I gather what’s left of the food, the cups and the first aid kit. I pull the cushion of the chair off and rip the seam before I pull the stuffing out to make a sort of bag to carry everything in.

“Ingenious.” Andrew shakes his head. “I really must learn more about these Girl Scouts you’ve been carrying on about. Perhaps you would like to help start this training in Montovia. If you’re still planning to come, that is.”

I don’t respond to the last part of it—I still can’t imagine getting on an airplane at this point, and I still don’t see what the big deal is about going there at all.

I let out a sigh. “It isn’t like the Girl Scouts taught me this.” My voice drops a little. “I don’t think anything can prepare you for this.”

He watches me for a moment in silence. “Indeed. I must say, though, that you’ve surprised me.” He glances at the bed before he turns his gaze back to me. “And considering what is in that bed, I’m even more impressed that you didn’t throw a fit last night.”

I lift a brow. “I’m not much of a fit thrower, Your Highness. If I should ever throw a fit, you’ll know something is really wrong.”

He doesn’t say anything—he only nods.

I smile. “Shall we go then? I think we have everything.”

He lifts the watering can and we walk out the door.

We walk in silence for some time, following the dirt road for at least a few miles before he speaks to me again.

“Is your foot all right?”

I look over at him, but his attention is focused on the road ahead—not that there’s much of a road at all. It’s little more than a dirt path, really, and there’s no sign of any life or anything else for as far as I can see.

But I nod. “It’s fine. You wrapped it well. Did you learn first aid in the military?”

He turns to me with a small glare. “Among other things, yes.”

I’m not sure what’s got him so hot about my question—he didn’t seem to mind talking about his military service when we were talking about airplanes, so I’m not sure what the big deal is.

We walk another few miles in silence before we stop in a clearing for water and to share a can of beets. I’m not feeling especially hungry, though, and I let him have most of the can. I’m starting to feel a little hot, to be honest, and I’m almost afraid my foot might be getting infected. But I’m not going to worry about that now. Right now, I just want to make it back to civilization. Back to a warm bed and a hot shower. Not that I would mind sharing either of those things with Andrew…

Oh my God. I did not just think that.

I glance over at him, but he’s focused entirely on the can of beets. He seems to sense me looking at him and he glances up at me, frowning. “You should have some more of these. Before I eat the entire can.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’m really not that hungry. I drank all that water before we left.” I force a smile. “Besides, I’ve never really liked beets.”

He lifts a brow. “Neither have I.” The corners of his mouth tick up into what I swear is almost a smile. “But I must say, I’ve never had them pickled before. The flavor is…interesting.”

I smile and after a few seconds I’m rewarded with something that I’m almost sure could pass for a smile from him.

“Shall we continue on? You should have another cup of water before we continue, especially if you’re going to insist on not eating.” He dips my cup into the watering can and hands it to me. His voice lowers a bit. “It’s your foot, isn’t it?”

I take the water from him and shake my head. “It’s fine. I already told you.”

He nods. “I estimate we may have six or seven more kilometers before we reach the main road. Of course, main road may be an overstatement—there’s no way to know how well traveled it will be. Or if it is traveled at all. There’s a possibility we may have to spend the night outside again if we can’t flag down assistance.”

“Then we should press on.” I force another smile. “I wouldn’t want you to have to suffer through another night with me.”

His mouth falls open as though he’s about to say something, but he clamps it closed almost as quickly. He stands without another word, lifting the watering can and motioning for me to join him.

We walk for another three or four miles before we find the end of the dirt road, but as Andrew feared, the paved road that intersects it seems almost as poorly traveled as the one we were just on.

We look at each other—I can see he’s just as worried as I am. But he nods and motions with his head in the direction of the town we saw yesterday when we were looking for the cabin.

I nod in silence, following beside him and trying to keep up with his pace as best I can. I know he’s going a lot slower than he wants, but he probably has no idea I’m probably moving about three times as fast as I want. The pain in my foot is almost unbearable, and I’m doing everything I can to not limp too much and show how much I’m hurting.

We walk for several more miles, stopping every once in a while to take a drink from the now nearly empty watering can. We haven’t seen anything—no cars have passed and we haven’t seen any houses. It’s almost like it’s a road to nowhere.

I have no idea how much ground we’ve covered, only that the sun is dipping low in the sky and I know we’ve been out here most of the day. And we’ve seen exactly nothing. And I’m pretty sure if we stop, I’m not going to be able to get going again in the morning. If we even make it to morning with no more water.

He seems to sense the same thing, but he hasn’t said much to me all day. And Andrew is impossible to read, even when we aren’t in the middle of nowhere.

“What do you want to do?” I decide I need to break the silence, if only for my own sense of wellbeing. “Do you want to try to find a place to make camp for the night? I don’t think we have much daylight left—”

“We’ll continue on. We have another hour of daylight, at least—”

He stops talking, turning to look behind him.

It takes me a second, but then I hear what he does. The unmistakable rumble of an engine. There’s a car—maybe a truck—far off in the distance behind us.

The vehicle is probably at least half a mile away, but Andrew begins waving his arms. After a few minutes, when the truck is in full view, I wave my arms, too.

The truck passes us, not even slowing down.

I have to blink back the tears that sting at my eyes. And Andrew’s mouth has fallen open and he stares at the truck that has sped off into the distance.

He finally turns to me. “If we were in Montovia, that person would have stopped. If we were in Montovia, that person would have helped. If we were in Montovia—”

“Well, we aren’t in Montovia, Your Highness, as you may have noticed.” Tears sting at my eyes again. I don’t want to be embarrassed about the people who also happen to live in my country—not that all three hundred million or so of them are assholes like the one who just passed us without a single thought, but still… It’s a little hard to argue with him, especially after what’s just happened. After someone ignored two people who are clearly in need of assistance. Who so obviously don’t belong—

My thoughts are interrupted by the same sound we heard before. We both turn to look down the road and see another truck, coming from the same direction.

Both Andrew and I start to jump up and down, waving our arms as soon as the truck is close enough to see us on the side of the road.

And this time, the truck stops.

Two young men get out of the cab, though they are still a short distance from us. Andrew takes me by the arm and we walk quickly over to meet them.

I stop in my tracks, though, only a second later. My eyes widen and I suck in a breath a breath when I see what the man who had been sitting in the passenger seat has in his hands.

It’s a rifle. And he’s pointing it at us.