37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

"Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again."Homer, The IliadThe muted tones of dawn pierced through the arrow slits. A scratch at the door cut through Isabel sharper than a scimitar. Though she had been waiting for it, the long night hours the only company for her conscience, it still startled her. Eyes gritty, throat sore, Isabel pulled her legs from beneath his and stood on the cold floor. She moved as if underground, dirt pressing down on her, invading her lungs. Like a fugitive, she dressed quickly, and placed her crown atop her head. The weight had increased tenfold since the last time she wore it. Hands shaking, she adjusted the letter to the left so Henrique would not miss it, resisting the urge to rip it. The medal had been a mistake. Why on earth did she place the gold piece inside the envelope? He had rejected it once. But the white paper filled with righteous justifications seemed too naked, too wrong.

The scratch again. The housekeeper, the carriage—Salamanca.

A hurried knock.

The noise would wake him.

Yes. Awake, please. Keep me here against my will.

All her life, she had professed to be a patriot beyond reproach. Always choosing duty to the detriment of personal wishes. Scoffing when others rebelled against the strict demands of royalty life. Her gaze lingered on Henrique, his sharp, manly features now reposed, perhaps dreaming. She loved his wit, his intelligence, his tenderness, his lust. By God, how foolish she’d been. So righteous in her virtues when she had not been challenged in her beliefs. Virtue was easy when it had no cost. When she had to choose between sleeping late or attending charity functions, wearing revealing gowns or maintaining her modesty, and opening herself to friendship and love versus keeping an aura of royalty… She took a shuddering sigh and swallowed a sob. This was hard. It was not fair. A choice between him and everything else.

If she remained in her lover’s arms, no one would place the responsibility on her shoulders. But could she live with herself knowing she could have changed the fate of two nations? Could she enjoy this new happiness at the expense of thousands of her subjects? People who depended on her for moral support, for confidence, for stability?

Guilt-ridden if she stayed, miserable if she went.

Henrique had fallen in love with the courageous Isabel. She cleaned the tears racing down her cheeks. Not a woman who placed herself above all others.

Chest so constricted that breathing became a struggle, she forced her legs to move past the pillows, the table, the bed. Him.

Trembling, she opened the door and passed the threshold to the other side. Unable to face the understanding in the housekeeper’s eyes, Isabel turned the key.

Outside their heaven, everything was foreign. The coat of armor, the scent of iron and smoke, the servant’s harsh breaths.

"Your Highness, the carriage awaits."