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She knew he was worried about her. Everyone was. And that concern was the most suffocating thing of all.

“Oh…” She buried her face in the crook of Bayo’s neck, unable to hide the reddening of her cheeks.

“I was also wondering if you wanted to get lunch,” Elian said. “There’s a small bakery around the corner. They have the same meat pies we used to sneak from banquet tables when we were kids. I know you do not remember, but I thought it might be fun to try.” There was a nervous edge to the words, mingling with the faintest note of hope that made butterflies frolic in her stomach.

Thicket lifted her head only to find the man from earlier at the edge of the Plaza. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his stained tunic, damp with dirt and sweat as he reached for a folded tent and secured it to the side of a wagon. She gave Bayo one last pat before rising. “I can’t.”

Elian followed her gaze. His eyes softened, that pinch of concern returning to chase away the butterflies. “This isn’t something you can change overnight by forcing yourself into their lives. They just need some time to adjust to the idea of your memories being gone.”

Thicket bit the inside of her lip. She knew he had a point, but her people had suffered so much because of her already. Even if they didn’t accept her, the least she could do was help.

She wanted to be seen as useful, not just some fragile victim.

Thicket backed away. “I’m sorry. The bakery sounds lovely, but… this is something I need to do. Maybe we can go after the Pyre?”

Elian opened his mouth but she didn’t give him the chance to argue as she turned her back and strode into the crowd, Bayo at her heels.

Chapter Two

Thicket darted past the bustle, dodging carts piled with wood scraps and flowers and a group of men hauling a large beam hidden below a stained cloth. When Thicket finally made it to the opposite end of the Plaza, she slumped against a vacant wall. Leaves tickled her bare cheeks and neck as she rested her head against it. Through the crowd, she caught sight of Elian’s noticeable blond hair vanishing down one of the side streets. She clutched the loose fabric above her chest only to feel the stiff pendant that had once tethered her to her kiwi. Her fingers tightened around it, wishing her kiwi were there to help fill the yawning cavern that had become her heart.

“This is starting to get sad to watch.”

Thicket’s head swiveled to see Marcellus leaning against the wall beside her, arms crossed as he leveled her one of his sharp, unreadable looks. “Even I’m starting to feel bad for Delmore.”

She scowled. Since returning from Dymree and officially assuming her role as Crown Princess, she had been surrounded by guards. They kept their distance, but she could still feel their gazes shift her way every so often. Marcellus, however, remained by her side at all times, never going further than a few dozen feet. While she was growing used to his constant presence, she doubted she would grow accustomed to his sharp, unabashed tongue.

She thought he had finally opened up to her when he disobeyed General Cales’ orders to take her away from the battle. He had finally called her Thicket. But directly afterwards, his walls had slammed back into place and if he even bothered to address her directly, it was always Princess.

“No one asked for your opinion.”

Marcellus’ gaze raked over her, tracking everything from her frizzy locks to the dirt smudged across her face and dress. “You’ll find that we often don’t get the things we ask for.”

Thicket rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the Plaza. “You see anyone who needs help?”

Marcellus huffed and crouched down to scratch Bayo’s ears. The wolf leaned into his touch, eyes morphing into delighted crescent moons. “Why do you even bother? If they are upset because your memories were stolen, that’s their problem. Not yours.”

Thicket shrank further into the wall, praying she could disappear through the tangled mass of flowers and vines. “Not you, too.”

He shrugged. “I’m just stating the obvious.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Fine. Keep wasting your time.” His eyes flicked upward to something across the Plaza. “Speaking of, you’re late.”

Thicket’s head whirled in the direction of the clock tower. Sure enough, the minute hand was well into noon, which was when she was supposed to meet Lotta for her lessons.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she demanded.

“I just did.”

“Ugh,” Thicket grunted, pushing off the wall.

“Princesses never rush,” Marcellus called after her.

She ignored him, navigating her way through the crowd. Bayo acted as a good deterrent, parting a clear pathway for her to zip under the clock tower’s archway and through the narrow streets. By the time she barreled through the front door, she was sweating and out of breath. Marcellus stepped in a second later, as dry and unbothered as if he had meandered the entire way.

Curse him and his unnatural athleticism.