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“Did you see me at my last one?” I asked her. “My brother died. That was the biggest crisis of my life. And the person who was with me at that moment is the person who will be with me in the future. Please, Sabina, stop, for all of our sakes. Stop.”
I didn’t wait to hear any more. Instead, I walked back out to where Balduin was still waiting, not just him but Ivan. Ivan smiled and nodded at me. And never more did I want to punch a man in the face.
“Thank you for dinner,” was all I said instead.
“The pleasure is ours, Your Highness.”
I couldn’t get into the car fast enough. I didn’t wave at the reporters, who were still waiting outside. I couldn’t even look back. I sat in my seat and urged them to go. It was only when I saw the red door fading in the background that I relaxed, rubbing my temple as I felt a headache coming. I thought of Sabina. Would she really just drop it? How would Ivan somehow twist all of this to paint me as some horrid villain? The playboy, womanizing prince. Once again, I could hear my brother lecturing me for my past. Was it Sabina’s fault for still trying? Or my fault for going to her before, knowing full well I’d one day have to toss her aside?
“Iskandar, am I an asshole?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
I scoffed, dropping my hand to look at him. “You could not have hesitated?”
“Sorry, sir. Are you an asshole?” He was silent for a good twenty seconds before saying, “Yes, sir.”
I shifted my gaze to Balduin, who nodded as he checked his messages.
“How unfortunate it must be for you all,” I grumbled.
“We all have assholes in us, sir,” Balduin replied. “It’s the better parts that make us overlook or forget.”
“Are you saying I am more of a better person than I am an asshole?” I didn’t know if I should be happy about how they phrased all of this.
“Exactly, sir.”
I chuckled. “Thank you. I think.”
Chapter 21
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Upon returning to the palace, I immediately went to the cherry gardens, knowing she’d be there, waiting, even if I were this late. And sure enough, there she was dressed in a flowing white gown with her hair pulled up into a messy bun, dancing in the middle of the gazebo, under the moonlight, like a muse from Virgil’s Aeneid. She held up her arm and watched her steps carefully as she practiced. I could hear the faint sound of “Awaken Dreams” by Benedictus von Heinrich, but I didn’t know where it came from until she missed a step—well, a few steps and stopped, clearly frustrated. She inhaled deeply before going to the gazebo’s edge, lifting her phone and restarting the music. Odette moved back to the middle and raised her hands.
I could not stand by and watch, so I ran up the gazebo’s steps and appeared in front of her, lifting her hand with my right and putting my left on the small of her back.
