The last of his things were packed in his locked suitcase. Dimitri took one last look around his hotel room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He shrugged on his coat and his cap, and left the room without another glance.

He walked out of the Hotel Britannique and onto the brightly lit street, his heart heavier than his pockets. The ticket back to Russia he had purchased had cost him most of his savings. His thoughts flitted briefly to the reward money the dowager empress had offered him yesterday. He knew he wouldn't accept it even now. Everything he had worked for to get to that reward seemed meaningless in the face of his new feelings.

Dimitri snorted, flicking some dust off his coat. When had he gotten so sentimental? Since you met that orphan-turned-princess, that's when, his inner voice said. Who would have thought that he would have the great fortune of actually finding the lost Grand Duchess Anastasia? He lost himself in the memories of his childhood as a kitchen boy. He had never really interacted with any members of the royal family, only stealing occasional glances during grand functions and dinners. He had saved her and her grandmother, he remembered that much. He had seen her little face so full of the fear he had shared during the attack on the palace. And now, ten years later, here they were: a kitchen boy-turned-conman and a lost princess, parting ways after he had rescued her yet again.

The distant sound of a steam engine snapped Dimitri back to the present. He had walked all the way to the train station immersed in his thoughts. He scanned the crowd for the shortest line at the ticket booth and walked to the closest one, setting his suitcase down. It was all for the best anyway, he thought to himself. He had nothing to do in Paris, so mother Russia was his only option. Vlad wasn't coming with him, not this time; the man was planning to stay in Paris with Sophie. The two of them were going to wed, and Dimitri couldn't begrudge him his happiness. They had said their fond farewells on the steps of the theatre, hoping that someday they would meet again, be it in Paris, Moscow or anywhere else in the world.

As for Anya—his heart plummeted further at the thought of her—she was happily reunited with her family now. He felt that he had somewhat atoned for lying to her. He had never felt bad for lying before, until she had slapped him at the theatre. It was at that moment that Dimitri knew he was no longer just a greedy conman. She had been more calm at their last encounter earlier today, but it didn't change the fact that there was still a large social gap between them that he could never cross. She was a princess and he was a penniless man. He had nothing better to offer her other than his silent goodwill, and so he had left.

The line moved forward a little so that there was only one person in front of Dimitri before he reached the booth. He dug into his coat pocket for his train ticket, but instead pulled out a blooming rose. It was the same one that Anya had pinned on him during their Parisian shopping spree. He inhaled its fresh scent and couldn't help but smile. The smell reminded him of their first dance together on the ship, how beautiful she had looked in her opera dress, how excited she had been to finally be in Paris. Despite everything she was the same Anya who had wandered into the old palace in rags, the same Anya who wasn't afraid to tell him off, the same Anya who had broken through his sarcastic facade and captured his heart.

"Monsieur! Monsieur!" The woman in front of him patted his shoulder, signaling that it was his turn at the ticket booth. Dimitri snapped back to the present, and in that moment made a quick decision. He picked up his suitcase and turned away, hurrying out of the station as fast as he could. If he had nothing to lose anyway, then he was determined to speak to her again, tell her how he really felt, and damn any social constraints that stood in their way.

He marched along a narrow street and out into a large square. Socialites wandered about, heading off for an evening of music and revelry or perhaps a party thrown by one of their fellow elites. Dimitri zig zagged around them, heedless of anyone in the crowd until a low voice called out to him, "Would you like an apple, monsieur?"

A woman dressed in drab skirts sat on a bench with a basket of apples next to her. She combed her fingers through her long black hair and leered at Dimitri. He glanced on either side of her; there were no other merchants around, and she didn't seem to be fancy enough to cater to the people who frequented this square. "Ah… No thank you, mademoiselle," he said, turning to leave but she called out to him again.

"But monsieur, I have an apple here that is meant for you!"

"I'm sorry but I'm in a hurry," he said without looking at her. He felt someone grab his arm and he turned to find the woman's hand clenched tightly around his forearm, her red eyes gleaming from the streetlight next to the bench.

"You should listen to me, monsieur. You don't want to upset the balance between order and chaos."

"Uh, that's not really my intention," he said. This woman had no idea how to subtly charm her customers, did she? He felt a stab of pity along with a compulsive need to consider her an amateur in his head. He tried to pull away, but the woman was surprisingly strong and kept her tight grip on his arm. "Can you let go now, please?" He really hoped he wouldn't have to call for the gendarmes.

"Take it," she whispered, pushing something into his hand. He looked down to see an old metal apple, copper perhaps. She wasn't even going to give him a real apple? Now he was convinced she was a loony.

She released his arm and he felt the blood rushing freely back into his hand, numbing it a bit. "Bonsoir!" she twittered, turning back to her basket.

Dimitri turned and muttered "whatever" before tossing the apple aside and hurrying down a dim street. He had no time to talk to crazy people, he had to get to Anya and change the course of his life. As he walked past, he instinctively plunged his hand into his coat pocket to search for the rose again, but instead felt something hard and cold. Frowning, he pulled it out only to see that it was a copper apple. Hadn't he thrown it away? Maybe the woman had slipped another one into his coat, though why she would do so was beyond him. He threw it away and kept on walking. This should be a shortcut to where the ball was taking place, and Dimitri smiled as he saw the opening to the palace garden. He was so close… until his foot rolled onto something and he almost fell over. Cursing, he looked down only to see another copper apple.

"Alright, what is going on?"Hhe bent down to pick it up. He turned it around in his hands, but could find nothing out of the ordinary. Well, not until it started to glow. Dimitri gaped at the apple. "What in the—?" It suddenly flashed so brilliantly that he shut his eyes with a grunt. When the blinding light subsided, he opened them again.

It was bright and sunny where he had been standing under moonlight only moments before. The quiet had been replaced by the hustle and bustle of yells and activity. Dimitri 'oomphed' when someone bumped into him, and he turned around to see a bulky shirtless man carrying a barrel tromp past him. His eyes darted this way and that, feeling increasingly ill at ease. This wasn't Paris at all.