Page 107 of The Truth About Myths
"By the saints, man, lower your voice. I'm trying to avert a scandal and keep our friendship, but if you assume your deeds, I will have no alternative but to—"
"Export her like an unwanted commodity?"
"What do you suggest I do? You ruined her, didn't you?"
Henrique looked into Luis’ eyes. "I took her maidenhead, yes. But if you imply that a man can ruin a woman of Isabel's caliber with his dick, then you are inflating our masculinity. It would take much more than a cock to ruin Isabel, but since I read in the newspaper that she is, indeed, ruined, then it was another instrument wielded by males—a crown."
"How dare you?” Luis’ voice became high-pitched. “I sent you to Spain to protect her, and you seduced her, my own sister."
"You plunged her into a viper’s nest."
Luis' face became blotched. "I had no choice."
Henrique took a shaky breath. He wanted to punch the king's head until there would be no hope of removing his blasted crown. But violence would serve only his temper. To help Isabel, he needed to use politics, not his fists.
"You have a choice now. You can go there and tell the press, the court, what Isabel did. Tell them she saved the country from a senseless war. Tell them she sacrificed her—her reputation for the country."
The king flushed, and a glimmer of sadness flickered in his pale gray eyes. If he didn't know the man for over twenty-five years, he might call it indigestion. "I can't. She tied up my hands. The reporter had pictures… The queen and the ministers put their differences aside and aligned in this. They strongly opposed me linking myself to her. It would reduce my popularity—"
"Forget about those idiots who hail themselves as ministers. Be a man, for Christ's sake, and protect your sister. She did the same for you."
"Not everyone can flaunt rules like thebon vivantHenrique Penafiel. Some of us have obligations to the country. If only you were a patriot—"
"If being a patriot means sacrificing a hero for public appearances, then I don't want to be a patriot. If this country, the country of Camões, of Vasco da Gama, of Eça de Queiroz, of The Avis Dynasty, will burn a true hero, it does not deserve my patriotism."
"Isabel accepted the need for exile. Tomorrow, she leaves to stay with our aunt in Germany."
His insides rebelled, and his hands turned into fists. Henrique had hoped Luis would prove honorable. Butpundonorwas in short supply these days. Henrique nodded, and as if he didn't have a care in the world, he strolled to the altar.
Luis watched him, his face tilted to the side.
Henrique dusted the image's feet and lit the single candle. "Really, Luis, you shouldn't neglect Saint John. He might never remove the curse."
Dom Luis eyed him with unease.
"Wouldn't offering candles and prayers directly to the offended friar's grave be more effective?"
"My mother, my grandfather. They spent their lives searching for the friar's mausoleum without luck."
"Is that so? Then this is your lucky day."
Luis stopped breathing.
Henrique removed seaweed from his soggy shirt. "I have the location of the friar's resting place."
The king went pale. "Impossible."
"It was with the letters from your Spanish mistress. Canastra didn't want to take any chances with your manipulation. Shrewd of him. Placing you between the cross and the bed, so to speak."
"Damn it, Henrique. Show more respect."
Henrique shrugged. "You want to save your future heirs? I'm more than happy to oblige. But first, you will rescue Isabel."
The king hesitated for three seconds, and then he nodded.
Henrique grinned, already turning to leave. "Always a pleasure doing business with you. Expect the location as soon as I get hold of my luggage. It might take a while, but then, the friar is not going anywhere. After two hundred years, I dare say he enjoys holding a grudge."
"What, then, you will run and tell her? Isabel asked me to protect her yesterday, and I… I had to deny her."
