Page 109 of The Truth About Myths
Luis' peeked at the door. She looked in the same direction, and there she saw him. Just a flash, but he was there. Henrique. Her heart halted for five seconds and then squished painfully. She didn't expect to see him again, and there he was, more handsome than Zeus.
The king stopped speaking. The room burst into applause. In a trance, Isabel allowed her brother to pull her to her feet.
Isabel pressed his hand. "Thank you."
He kissed her cheek and bowed, then moved back graciously. The Duchess of Beira hugged her, and a queue of courtiers awaited to congratulate her.
She had come full circle from a persona non grata to a national hero, yet she could not muster the will to care. All that mattered was reaching the brooding male at the fringes of the salon.
Isabel went to her toes and started to make way among the crush of people, absently nodding and smiling. When she finally arrived at the door, he was no longer there.
Chapter 43
"I am not afraid of the darkness. Real death is preferable to a life without living."Vasco da Gama
Thewell-wisher’swordsbarelygrazed her conscience. The sounds of laughter, claps, and clicking glasses were muffled. Isabel couldn't process what had happened, her brother's change of heart, her change of fortune, what it all meant. All that pierced the fog clouding her thoughts was that Henrique was in the palace and that she must find him. On rubbery legs, she disengaged herself from the throng. She knew where he would be.
The secret door gaped open. Instead of moonlight spilling from the glass panels, sunshine warmed the carpet above the threshold. Isabel halted, waiting for every part of her to catch up—the princess, the woman, the warrior, the peasant, the timid and the bold, the moral and the passionate.
Collecting all the pieces of herself, she crossed into the garden.
A soft breeze ruffled the grass and the daffodils. The sky was the blue of myth. The pond reflected the acacias, a mirror for dragonflies. Heart speeding, she scanned the willows.
Henrique sat among the flower beds, his back to her, an arm flung over his knee. Warmth radiated from her chest, a burst of energy so strong it dazzled everything that was not him. Weak, dizzy with relief, with joy, she lowered her weight by his side. She held to the grass blades, restraining herself from curling close to him, from tasting the sun on his lips.
"It was you," she whispered.
"No, it was—" He didn't finish. He raked his fingers through his hair and kept his gaze on the lake. Then he sighed. "No more lies. Yes, I spoke to Luis. But we agreed he wouldn't tell you."
She peeked at him, and her breath caught. Not only had he saved her from scandal, but he also had planned to keep it a secret. He did it selflessly, not trying to gain her favor. Instead, he had tried to protect her image of her older brother. For that, he had been too late. Luis had already shattered her trust. “Thank you.”
Was that why he came? To shield her from scandal? Her chin dipped down, and she took a shuddering breath, her throat clogged by unspoken words. Did the invisible threads bonding them die? Now, a rift was in its place, filled with uncomfortable silences and unshed tears. Pain bloomed in her chest, exquisitely acute, the pain of being close and unable to touch. Cleaning up her tears, she shifted to leave.
He held her hand. Isabel stopped breathing. He turned to look at her for the first time, and the emotion she saw in his blue eyes drowned her. The bond shimmered into life, snapping into place, thread after thread.
She opened her mouth to speak, and her words collided with his.
He touched her lips, silencing her. "I'm a selfish bastard. Forgive me?"
"I love you, too." A laughing sob escaped her throat, and she flung her arms around his neck. "I should have said it before I left, and it's been choking me ever since."
He pulled her into his lap. Isabel kissed him desperately, holding both sides of his face to keep herself grounded in reality, afraid he would vanish.
"Shh. I'm here now. I won't leave you again."
The excitement, the travel, the dread, the fear of losing him, of war, crashed down on her, and she cried against his neck. He massaged her back in the soothing way she loved so well.
"My brave, beautiful princess. My fierce Joan of Arc."
"I'm not fierce, and the heavens know I'm not brave. When I had to leave you, it was the hardest thing I've ever done. It tore me in two."
He cleaned her tears and kissed the top of her nose. "You showed me patriotism comes in different shapes. Canastra's patriotism is greed for power. Luis' is self-interest. For Pedro Daun, it is love, but not for the country. To Alfonso—"
"I know you hate him, but he loves Spain. I convinced him to desist by appealing to hispundonor."
Henrique kissed her fingers. "Hispundonoris another name for vanity and pride. Do you know who is the only being I know who possesses truepundonor?"
Isabel shook her head.
