Dobrunka with tears streaming down her cheeks bid her mother good-by. Dobromil lifted her to the saddle in front of him and away they went like the wind.
The town was in great excitement. There was much hurrying to and fro as the troops were being put in readiness for the morrow. A crowd had gathered at the palace gates and as a young man came galloping up, holding in front of him a lady lovely as the day, the shout went up:
“Here he is! Here he is!”
The people in the courtyard took up the cry and as Dobromil rode through the gate all of them with one voice shouted out:
“Long live our beautiful queen! Long live our noble king!”
Dobrunka was struck with amazement.
“Are you really the king, Dobromil?” she asked, looking into his proud and happy face.
“Yes,” he said. “Aren’t you glad that I am?”
“I love you,” Dobrunka said, “and so whatever you are makes no difference to me. But why did you deceive me?”
“I did not deceive you. I told you that your dream would be realized if you took me for your husband.”