30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

"Love as if you would one day hate, and hate as if you would one day love." - Bias of PrieneHenrique stood at the ballroom’s fringes while the couple danced under the light of a thousand candles. Everything was correct in the waltz. At least a palm separated their chests. Alfonso led her into unimaginative steps, stiff as the stick in the mud he was. When he smiled at something Isabel said, the entire company sighed.

Alfonso had the right to smile into her eyes and bring her closer at every measure. He had the right to splay his hand over the small of her back and listen as her heart pulsed with the waltz’s one-two-three. He had the right to her hand’s weight in his and to square his chest as he paraded the most stunning woman around the ballroom. Alfonso had the right.

Then why did it feel so wrong?

A knot obstructed Henrique’s esophagus, and no amount of brandy would make it recede. A lucid part of him tried to command his legs to leave the room and repel the pain, as any wounded animal would. But his skin had become bark, rigid, stuck in the same place like a gnarled oak. Thank God for it. Otherwise, the Spanish aristocracy would learn the mess within. He wanted to shout to them that the woman in Alfonso’s arms was his and that, no, they could not have this particular princess, not for a ball, not for their political machinations, and not in blazing hell for breeding their next prince.

What had happened to his principles? Seek pleasure, avoid pain? She’d shoved her royal self into his beliefs, that’s what. After her, pleasure and pain became the same, swelling and ebbing, scraping to show peaks underneath the physical. A deeper meaning to things.

Perhaps it was only he who saw it.

More fool him.

"Well, then. I can’t say I’m surprised." Dio turned his back to the couple. "On to the card tables, shall we? All this royal sweetness is making me thirsty."

Dio’s voice faded with the last strings of the waltz. Isabel’s skirts twirled around her ankles and then stilled. Henrique stopped breathing. Alfonso leaned in, aimed for her cheek, and then kissed her lips. Isabel startled and pulled away. Even with the distance separating them, her eyes sought Henrique’s. He crushed the brandy tumbler. His vision tunneled at the Spanish rooster, and a primitive urge gripped him to grab the prince by his lapels and shake the smile out of his Bourbon face.

The ballroom swirled around him. The guests’ faces turned into mythological monsters, watching the tragedy unfold. Henrique hit the side table with his glass, sloshing liquid over the rim.

He advanced, a foreign bloodthirst fueling his moves.

A hand over his arm forced him to stop. Henrique eyed Dio with murderous intent.

"Are you sure you should congratulate her in your state? You’ve been drinking since last night’s dinner."

Henrique panted. What would he do? Grab her like a Neanderthal and take her to his cave? Dio was right. He didn’t belong here. With a last glance at the princess, Henrique strode through the French doors and into the gardens.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"To the tavern. Care to join me?" He had experienced enough pain for a lifetime.

"A Castilian maid might wash the breath of Lady Montijo from my neck. Good God, the lady is ferocious. But are you sure you should go?"

Henrique trampled the grass, not caring for Dio’s tone. "I don’t know what you mean."

"Self-deception isn’t one of your poisons."

Henrique whirled and grabbed Dio by the lapels. The pent-up rage threatened to engulf him. "Stay out of this."

Dio’s lips opened in a smile full of teeth. "I’ve known all along. You love her. That’s why you have Hercules’ club up your ass. Go after her. It’s not too late."

Henrique released his friend, disgusted with himself. Isabel had used him. He had taunted her for keeping her passionate side on a leash, and she showed how wrong he was. What they shared meant nothing to her. She chose a royal prince. Whether for political reasons or sentimental ones, what was the difference? He had shown her his true self, and she chose another.

Henrique’s long strides carried him to the brightly lit stables. Halting, he caught his timepiece. Half-past twelve in the morning. Why were all the torches burning?

Dio caught up with him. "As much as I love a good debauchery, I don’t think—"

"Silence." Henrique lifted his hand.

The carriage house had trains of baggage being lifted to the coaches. Servants bustled about, carrying boxes and baskets.

Henrique intercepted a groom. "What is going on?"

"The royals leave for Madrid in the morning, patron."

One of Canastra’s guards glared at the servant, and the boy lowered his hat and scurried away.

Dio lifted his brows. "Well, it seems our stay in Comillas has ended."

"The hell it has." The rooster would not take Isabel from here. Henrique was her escort. The king had entrusted him with his sister. He would not allow Canastra and Alfonso to steal the princess from under their noses.

Henrique stalked out of the stables.

Canastra’s minions patrolled the house. A contingent of armed men had swelled their numbers. Henrique recognized the blue and gold uniform of the Guardia Civil. The hairs on the back of his arm stood on end. Canastra and Alfonso had gained the Guardia’s support. What would Pedro Daun think of this?

Warming his heels, Dio panted. "Did they come for the ball?"

Henrique didn’t know and believed the answer wouldn’t please them. "Let’s find Canastra."

When they arrived at the palace’s entrance, the two guards eyed them disdainfully.

Outside Canastra’s study, light spilled from the closed door. Henrique was about to twist the knob when voices from inside made him pause.

Asking Dio to be quiet, Henrique listened.

"You will face them in battle. You will conquer them with your courage. You will keep them with my cunning." Canastra’s speech resounded with cheap rhetoric and political extremism, leaving a sour taste in Henrique’s mouth.

"It’s too soon for Madrid." Alfonso sounded shrill and out of breath. "Without the army’s support, Aosta will repel us as he did with the Carlist forces.”

"It is natural to be afraid. Battle is foreign to you—"

"I’m ready to die for Spain." Silence. "But I won’t risk my bride."

Henrique gritted his teeth at the possessive note in Alfonso’s statement. The clock struck the hour. Their conversation became hushed. Henrique shut his eyes, trying to hear.

"No cost is too high. We have come this far—"

"I’ve followed your advice since Sandhurst, and your support proved invaluable. But Isabel returns to Lisbon. After we conquer Madrid and I regain my throne, I will ask for her hand officially."

"No!" Canastra screeched. "I could have chosen any royal princess for you…"

Henrique locked his jaw. Canastra’s blackmail finally made sense. He’d planned the betrothal from the start.

"But unlike the other European princesses, Isabel is more than a well-connected bride." Canastra’s voice assumed the low, measured cadence of a preacher. "She is her brother’s presumptive heir—"

"You go too far. Isabel’s brother is young, recently married, and can no doubt sire many children before Isabel has to inherit," Alfonso said.

"What about the curse? No Braganza’s heir will ascend to the throne unless they find the friar’s grave. I assure you, they won’t."

Alfonso scoffed. "I cannot believe it. You will resuscitate some moth-ridden myth?"

"I’m quite competent at resuscitation," Canastra said, and Henrique could see the sneer in his voice. "Why, if it wasn’t for my powers, you would still be exiled."

"If my mother had not made you a duke, you would have no power."

"Perhaps Your Highness would like to try his luck with the old aristocracy then? Oh, wait, they are too busy fawning over the man who usurped your throne.”

Silence.

Dio frowned. "What are they saying?"

"I think Alfonso is sulking," Henrique whispered. And so he should if he had to rely on such vipers as Canastra.

"If my strategy is unacceptable to Your Highness, we’ll retreat. Wait for the army to support us. Perhaps one year or two. You hoped to return to Palacio Real, but Madrid will stay there. You can always go back to exile—"

"No!" A pause, heavy breathing. "No. What is your plan?"

Henrique suppressed a snort. What a wimp. And he wanted to marry Isabel? She would maneuver him better than he steered his automobile.

Canastra cleared his throat. Henrique could well imagine his feline smile. "We will garner the army with the promise of a united Iberian kingdom."

Dio sucked in a breath. Henrique signaled for him to move away from the door. He needed to hear the whole thing.

"I promised Isabel I wouldn’t jeopardize her brother’s throne," Alfonso said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"You worry yourself about wooing your bride. I will gather the army’s support."

Henrique paced the expanse of his bedchamber. When the clock struck four in the morning, he kicked the ottoman, sending it crashing to the wall. Too fast. Things were happening too fast. Two hours ago, his valet had left to comb the harbor for Pedro’s yacht. But even Almoster could not amass a force in such a short time. The muscles on his chest and shoulders were stiffer than the marble under his feet. The only thing worse than Spain putting its hands on Portugal was the prospect of Alfonso putting his hands on Isabel.

Dawn hadn’t broken the night’s darkness, but the palace was awake. Servants and grooms readied carriages outside. Isabel was closeted inside her bedchamber, guarded by Lady Montijo. The dragon had sent him away, refusing him a word with the princess. He could bet the old patriotic lady was in league with Canastra.

Dio entered his room, closing the door behind him.

Henrique eyed his friend. "And?"

"Canastra sent Rafaela away. The scoundrel isn’t taking any chances. Two guards hound your door. I told you the Spaniards had ulterior motives." Dio paced to the window and cast an alarmed look outside. Dropping the curtains, he groaned. "We must escape before they revive the inquisition and use our flesh for kindling. My flammability is uncertain, but with the amount of brandy you have ingested these past few days, I’m sure you will burn brighter than a fiesta bonfire."

Henrique ignored Dio’s rant. Come the morning, Canastra and Alfonso would take Isabel to Madrid, and she would be lost to him forever. Portuguese independence would exist only in history books, soon to become a myth, like the country’s great navigations.

Curse the princess for her gullibility. He brushed his chest, unable to soothe the pain inside. The image of her dancing in Alfonso’s arms would haunt him into Hades. Henrique exhaled and dropped onto his bed. He tried to hold on to his rightful anger, but then...

The way she looked at him before the proposal… Had Henrique pushed her into this? Stirred her passions without committing himself? Kept silent when she needed more from him? Through the years, he had achieved a balance with women, allowing him to take what he wanted without giving false hope. But with Isabel, it was not caution that kept him from speaking, from accepting her offer, but fear.

The fear of showing too much of himself was nothing compared to the panic twisting his gut now. If he stayed in this room, arms crossed, Isabel would be carted to Madrid, out of reach, her life at risk, and if Canastra’s plan worked, she would help destroy what her ancestors had fought so hard to achieve.

And yet... Canastra’s machinations put Isabel’s welfare back into Henrique’s hands. The realization was like electricity coursing through his limbs.

Henrique stood. "I can’t allow it."

Dio pinched the bridge of his nose. "If they know that we know what we know… We must leave. Now."

"I won’t allow Isabel to marry Alfonso."

"What? The bacteria have infected your intellect. We are in Canastra’s country and alone against his horde of political allies and gruesome-looking militia. What can we possibly do? For Heaven’s sake, I’m a poet, and you are a scientist."

"Is it not part of a hero’s quest to face formidable odds?"

Dio exhaled, lifting his palms. "Hero? It was a metaphor. Don’t place this burden on my shoulders. This coat is brand new."

Henrique paced, his fists pressing against his temples. "We need a plan."

"You cannot deal with too much on your hands. Remember the three bugs?"

"Do you mind? I’m thinking."

Dio ignored his glare. "You were on a nature walk when you found a couple of rare bugs. You had to take them to the house. But on your way back, another turned up. Since you already had your hands occupied, you had the brilliant idea to put it in your mouth."

Henrique grimaced. He had forgotten the blasted afternoon. The Coleoptera secreted acid in his tongue, and he lost the sense of taste for a week.

Dio chuckled, shaking his head. "As any lady could tell, your mouth is a lousy place for safekeeping."

Henrique stilled. "Safekeeping. You are a genius. I cannot stop Canastra’s plans, but I can spirit away a princess."

A shadow fell over the window, and then the glass opened to reveal a figure cloaked in black. Henrique had prepared to attack the newcomer when he recognized Pedro.

"Are you in league with Canastra and mean to scare us to death?" Dio drawled.

Pedro sheathed his pistol. "I came as soon as I received the message. Canastra caught your girl?" His tone was as sharp as a saber.

Henrique nodded, gritting his teeth. “Not for long. I’m getting her back.”