Page 104 of The Truth About Myths
The trip had turned into a disaster, but Luis had sent her there. Even knowing Canastra was a blackguard. "Your Majesty is right. I shouldn't have gone to Spain. It certainly wasn't my idea."
"The diplomatic mission was above your capabilities." He lifted his eyebrows, his mouth pressed into an unforgivable line.
Diplomatic mission? For whom? Luis only cared about his own skin. The realization pierced her in the chest. Her own brother and king. Isabel closed her eyes. "I know about the letters," she said, hating the weakness of her voice. "He blackmailed you, didn't he? So you sent me there, not knowing what his plans were. How could you?"
His mouth gaped, giving him the appearance of a bull fish. Glancing away from her, he brushed his nose. "The pressures of the throne, my popularity, I couldn't—You won't speak of it again. I forbid it."
"I was a pawn in Canastra's schemes to destroy Portugal, and you won't talk about it?"
"Talking won't make a difference. Our borders are already under martial law, and I swear, if the Bourbon tries to breach our Torres Vedras, I will lead the troops myself." He used a high pitch, a bravado she knew too well. He then pushed away from the mantel and went to the altar. Bending forward, he placed his forehead at the Saint's feet. "It's this curse. Perhaps an enemy gunshot will end my torment."
When he had spoken about the Braganza's curse in the past, she always felt sorry for him, but now, she could see it for what it was—another attempt to manipulate her feelings.
"Sheath your sword. Your wife will endure you for many years. Alfonso won't invade."
He straightened, a frown forcing his pale brows to meet atop his nose. "Impossible."
Isabel dropped onto the couch, her legs still tired from the journey. "I went to his frigate and convinced him of a monarch's honor. Alfonso craves stability and a chance to return home. Now that he sits on the throne, he doesn't need Canastra's schemes."
"Thank God." Luis sprawled by her side and closed his eyes.
The anger and worry visibly lifted from her brother's shoulders. He had denied her brotherly comfort, but she still needed the king's support. Only Dom Luis could salvage her reputation. He could speak with the newspaper owner and forbid the publication. "Will you summon the journalist here? Threaten him with libel?"
He tugged at his collar and looked away.
"You won't allow them to publish it, will you?"
"My interference won't matter. Do you think I can stop the dreadful pennies? The gossip will spread like wildfire."
The air left her lungs in a rush, and she grabbed his arm. "Then stand by me. The Society of Catholic Ladies’ lunch is tomorrow. The gossip will die if you appear by my side and vouch for my character."
He tapped her hand affectionately. "The ministers called an emergency meeting yesterday. They forbade me to link myself to the scandal."
Scandal? If she had not spoken with Alfonso, they would have faced much worse. Isabel removed the flag from her reticule and passed it to him. "I gave you back your throne. Now I need you to give me back my reputation."
He eyed Portugal's colors as if she had presented him with a shroud. "The situation has been unstable. I cannot risk my popularity. I'm sorry, Bel."
Ice coursed through her veins, and she froze. Would he allow her to be vilified? Tears streamed down her eyes. "But I can't live here like this. I can't—"
She had already lost too much.
"You won't have to. I wired Aunt Rita in Bavaria. The court there is less rigid. At least until the scandal fades."
The scandal wouldn't fade. Not if the king turned his back on her and she escaped to a distant principality. It would be a declaration of guilt. The harsh winters, living among strangers... She could endure all. But never seeing Henrique again?
She clutched the flag to her chest, her voice a strangled whisper. "Don't ask this of me, please."
He placed his arm above her shoulder. It would have been better if he had kept his royal distance. The warmth of his touch hurt.
"Can you do this for me? For our country?"
Chapter 41
"I have seen only you, I have admired only you, I desire only you."Napoleon Bonaparte
Henriqueswirledtheportin his glass and eyed his friends. If they thought it strange he was drinking at ten in the morning, they wisely kept their silence. Pedro and Griffin exchanged worried looks. A fishy breeze lifted the cloth from the squalid table. The dockside tavern was a shitty place to say goodbye, except he had not invited them. Henrique glared at Dio, who had not only seen fit to ask their presence to cast him off but had also bought tickets to accompany him to London. As if he needed a babysitter, a bearded and overgrown one at that.
He sat facing the ocean. The city and everything in it stood behind him, and he wouldn't spare it a single glance. Still, the back of his neck burned. It was her. Isabel. The princess at the white palace atop the hill, her very own Olympus.
