Page 42 of The Truth About Myths
Sacrifices of any kind left a bitter taste in his mouth. The Penafiel family perpetrated them as a sort of unofficial motto. His father, with his fervent patriotism, was always ready to sacrifice for the sake of his country. Henrique should be excused if he had a distaste for the sacrifice chain. "Damn, you are good. You almost made me believe your crap. Save the haranguing for your soldiers, General."
"The country is counting on you."
"God have pity on their poor souls." Henrique turned to leave.
Pedro clasped his shoulder. "I need those letters. The king's popularity won’t resist the scandal. You will help me recover them."
They had shared more than a bivouac in Mozambique. Pedro knew Henrique didn't care for politics, and few things would compel him to do what he had no interest in accomplishing. They were well-matched in stubbornness. "Impossible. Canastra has guards and is surrounded by devoted aristocrats."
Pedro's expression hardened. "If Luis falls, think what will happen to your girl. The best she could hope for is an exile to Prussia."
Henrique clamped down his retort so he wouldn't give Pedro more ammunition. He should not concern himself with her, and yet… Isabel, with all her sacrifices for morality's sake, should not pay for her brother's indiscretions. Henrique glared at Pedro. Almoster was not the most powerful man in the kingdom for playing fair, was he?
"What do you want me to do?"
Chapter 14
"It is not the man who has too little that is poor, but the one who hankers after more."Seneca
Isabel'scalvesburnedwiththe quick steps she took to accompany Prince Alfonso's brisk walk. Was he in Spain to spend the summer? Or to threaten the Duke of Aosta? How challenging to glean his intentions while sprinting. Her skin was sticky from the ocean, and water dripped down her spine from her wet hair and her mind… Well, she forced her lips into a demure smile, hoping her appearance was composed while her insides had shifted. Sea bathing shattered a woman's inner world. The waves created extra space where she needed none, adding flashy colors to previously demure arrangements, exposing areas better kept secret. It was Henrique's fault. His and those squinting eyes and salty lips. Her first kiss, and he called it animal instincts. She stumbled on a loose rock and would have sprawled on her face if Alfonso had not caught her.
With a strong arm around her waist, he helped her regain her feet. "Am I walking too fast?"
Isabel peeked at him. When Canastra told her of Alfonso, she had pictured a conceited, self-important young man, much like other princes of her acquaintance. She had been wrong. Though he couldn't be a year older than her twenty-two, he wore sober clothes, no fancy uniforms or diamond studded links. The Spanish prince seemed reserved, serious even. She almost missed Henrique’s quips and jibs.
"Racing can do wonders for a woman's constitution, I'm told."
Alfonso pursed his lips. "My legs are better suited to marching in a field."
"Fair enough. We should have Canastra level all the pathways and flowerbeds into a parade ground," she said teasingly. "Then ladies could run in their dresses and not disgrace themselves."
He smiled for the first time, and it quite softened his austere face. "Princess Isabel de Orleans, you havegracia."
"Gracia? Is that the Spanish word for short-legged princesses?"
He chuckled and shook his head. "Graciais something everybody notices, but no one can explain. It's… A woman withgraciais more than beautiful. She illuminates her surroundings. She gives it character."
"Oh, thank you." Isabel gazed away. Everyone delighted in telling her just how dull she was. "I'm glad to learn the hidden meanings of Spanish words."
"I'll be happy to oblige. Especially if it will atone for tiring your short legs," he said solemnly.
Had he just made a joke? Startled, she glanced at him. Alfonso grinned and carried on.
They settled on a manageable speed, and Isabel felt her tension ebbing away. Despite the heat, or because of it, the scent of carnation and bluebells perfumed the air. Butterfly orchids poised over palm trees' trunks, giving the garden a fairytale aura. Walking with a gentleman without a constant flutter in her stomach was a welcomed reprieve.
"I didn't expect to have a screen of onlookers." Alfonso halted and glanced over his shoulder.
Isabel could well imagine the long line behind them crashing like domino pieces. “I’m used to it.”
A veritable procession followed them, filling the walkways with pastel dresses and formal court attire. Henrique trudged the beaten path as well. Isabel ignored the cold shivers racing through her body whenever she heard his voice.
"I forgot about this lack of privacy. My family walks through Paris' streets undisturbed. In Sandhurst, I'm treated like a regular cadet."
"I'm sure it must be wonderful to avoid the headlines and live a common life," Isabel said, analyzing his reactions for any trace of his true intentions.
He frowned and searched her expression. She had the impression she, too, was being studied. But why? Without another word, he changed course and tugged her into the garden's maze.
A striking group of sculptures representing the Minotaur Myth guarded the entrance. Theseus' marble muscles bulged as he wrestled with the grotesque half-man, half-bull figure.
