Seventy-eight
Penelope Peters
I was in Owain. The capital of Wales. I didn’t know the city. The only thing I remembered about it was where the palace was. Because I’d gone there on a class trip. I had no money; I didn’t even have a cell phone. But I knew that I couldn’t stay in the hospital. Whatever was happening, I didn’t trust the people at the hospital. The King. The Queen. Whoever the hell Gwyneth Godford was. What I did know was that I had an emerald ring on my finger. And Gwyneth had talked about me being engaged to someone else. Someone who definitely wasn’t Cadoc, whatever grand delusions the Prince had about me.
I needed to get home.
I needed to escape.
It was fall, I realized as I walked around Owain. I could tell that
