Page 43 of The Truth About Myths
"As a prince of Athens, he could have had all earthly pleasures. But he abandoned his riches to stop the Minotaur's killing spree."
"He did his duty," Isabel said, and their eyes locked.
"You understand."
Did Alfonso perceive his duty was to gain the throne? While a man's duty boiled down to a 'do' or 'don't' type of decision, a woman's was far from simple. Isabel contemplated the third statue, the beautiful Ariadne. The princess admired Theseus. Would she have helped him flee the labyrinth if she knew the prince would seduce her and then leave her on a desert island, ruined? How easier would it be if women could remove feelings from the equation? Ariadne would then have stayed with her father, her heart intact.
Voices became louder as the onlookers approached, no doubt curious about their conversation.
Alfonso eyed them wearily. "Do you think they can follow us into the maze?"
"Do not underestimate human curiosity." Isabel glanced beyond her shoulder. Two couples had entered in their wake. At least Henrique was nowhere to be seen.
Alfonso increased his steps and took wild turns over the maze's path.
He halted. "Do you notice this scent?"
"What? I—"
He caught her forearm and guided her through a slit in the evergreen hedge. They emerged at the back of the palace, the stone structure crisscrossed by vines.
"Have you just cheated the maze?"
"I knew it." Smiling, he opened a door.
Then he took her parasol and, after folding it, escorted her over the threshold. Isabel scouted the path and, seeing no one, halted, reluctant to enter an empty corridor with him.
"You have nothing to fear from me. I'm a man ofpundonor." He placed his hand upon his heart.
Though she had yet to discover what the Spanish word meant, she didn't feel threatened. The prince radiated an aura of righteousness. It radiated from his clear eyes and how he didn't lower them from her face.
A few moments alone with him could make him disclose his goals. Lifting her chin, she accompanied him inside.
They entered a kitchen, of all places. Alfonso tugged her through service stations, his excitement growing with each step. Copper pans andjamonhaunches hung from the ceiling. Screams and hissing casseroles were punctuated by dough hitting and cutting.
Isabel took a moment to adjust from the peaceful rigidity of the garden to the aromatic chaos. Cloves and toasted chicory made her nose twitch. What could this foray mean? She'd been to a kitchen once in her adult life and doubted it was the natural habitat of an exiled prince.
He halted.
A maid rolled a white dough, and the scent of almonds and sugar made the air sweet. With their approach, the servant stopped and averted her eyes, her cheeks red.
“Turrons?”
She curtsied. “Yes, m’lord.”
"Can we have some, please?"
The maid placed the cubes in a basket, and Alfonso took them. Another set of doors, and they left the crowded kitchen. The vegetation wasn't as well tended at the palace's rear. He lowered himself to a patch of grass and, hooking his arm over a bent knee, motioned for her to do the same.
The sun had started its descent. The golden light favored him, smoothing his lankiness. After Alfonso offered her one sweet, he bit into the white cube. His eyes closed, and a deep sigh escaped his chest. The breeze ruffled his blond locks, and in pleasure, he looked younger.
When he noticed her stare, a blush colored his fair skin. "I have not eaten a turron for years."
"Do you miss Spain?"
"With my every breath."
She couldn't resist feeling his pain. How horrible to be ousted from his own home.
