Page 75 of The Truth About Myths
Henrique didn't hear Dio's repartee. The trio of violinists struck the first notes of theHeart of Granada, and the assembly hushed.
Isabel appeared at the top of the stairs. Layers of white satin and silver thread embraced her torso and trailed to the floor like a moonlit wave. As she glided down, diamonds glittered on her cocoa hair and the hollow of her throat. She moved with the grace and the dignity of a true queen.
His gut tightened, and his mouth dropped open.
Lady Montijo rapped Henrique's forearm and said in her loud, deaf voice, like a person shouting from a cave into a strong wind. "If she isn't the most stunning princess I ever saw, I will eat up my turban. She will make a lovely bride."
Henrique groaned. He didn't need Montijo to express what passed through every male's head as Isabel crossed the ballroom. Their eyes met. He expected to see anger in her gaze, but he glimpsed confusion. Sadness even. Henrique started in her direction. Just as her joy had affected him, her hurt pierced him, their connection similar to the ones uniting atoms in a molecule. Before he could reach her, Alfonso was at her side, speaking close to her ear and escorting her to the dining room.
Henrique gritted his teeth and forced himself to stay away when every primal instinct clamored for him to pummel Alfonso back into exile. He didn't have to make a scene. He could wait to speak with her after dinner.
When the company settled at the lavishly decorated table, Alfonso stood. The Spanish aristocracy rose in unison.
Foreboding made the brandy churn in his stomach. All around him, people watched, excitement written clearly on their powdery faces. Why did he feel like the only one not privy to a joke?
He sought Isabel's gaze. She averted her eyes, interested in whatever French wine they had served tonight. Her face had the same color as the marble statues. The opposite of the brazen red of when he touched her.
Alfonso cleared his throat. His face was flushed, and he spoke with his chin up. "I'm sorry to make this announcement during such a convoluted period. As we speak, guards are searching for Lady Dolores, and her untimely disappearance will be accounted for."
Henrique scoffed. So that was what they decided to call Dolly's elopement? A disappearance?
Alfonso pulled Isabel to her feet.
Lady Montijo stopped harassing Dio and adjusted the trumpet to her ear.
Henrique's gut tightened, and he could not keep a scowl from his face as the Bourbon prince kissed Isabel's hand. For a second, Isabel's gaze found his. What he saw there curdled his blood. Regret dulled the emerald of her eyes.What have you done, Isa?
As Canastra lifted his glass, a villainous smile tugging his lips, and the footmen lined up the doors, their trays filled with champagne, Henrique knew. His stomach sunk, and he gripped the table to stay in his place.
"Still, I hope you all will find it in your hearts to appreciate our news, even in these trying times. With great honor, I inform you Isabel de Orleans, Princess of Portugal, has accepted to be my bride."
Chapter 29
"If I must lose because I am a woman, I want to lose like a man."Caterina Sforza, The Countess of Forli
Isabelfocusedonstitchingthe Portuguese flag. Shadows grew in her bedchamber, but the gas lamps were silent. The events of the past hours besieged her like a rioting crowd, but she refused to be affected by them. With gritty eyes, chest numb, she added carmine thread to the Braganza's coat of arms.
She told herself that accepting Alfonso's proposal had been the right thing. Seeing Henrique in another's embrace, and Dolly ruined by a rake, had shed her madness. Now, she saw her duty clearly.
Marrying Alfonso would bring stability to the peninsula. As Spain's queen, she would help him navigate the intricacies of political life. Her brother might grumble she didn't consult him, but he would understand she did the right thing.
Her chin trembled, and she shut her eyes. What if Alfonso didn't make her skin tingle and her heart flutter? Isabel de Orleans wasn't meant for a life of passion. Passion was for brazen women like Rafaela. Flying wasn't for her. No, she had been raised for a life of duty, protected within the walls of morality. Why was it so hard to breathe? There was no crippling pain inside those walls.
The needle slipped from her clammy hand, and she pricked the pad of her finger. Numbly, she watched as blood pooled on her skin. It was not blue, her blood. A sob escaped her throat, and her chest shook.
Sophie entered her room and gasped. She dropped a basket and kneeled at Isabel's feet.
"Here, let me take care of this.” She picked up the flag and shook the cloth. "See? No need to cry. You didn't stain it. It isn't my France's tricolor, but your design is beautiful. No one is better with needle and thread."
Sophie hung the flag over the back of the couch. "Prince Alfonso is outside, but my lady is indisposed. Should I tell him to come back later?"
Isabel cleaned the tears with a handkerchief and pinched her cheeks. "I shall see him now. Thank you, Sophie."
Alfonso stepped inside her bedchamber and bowed deeply. "I apologize for his sorrowful state. I found thesinvergüenzaalone in the tavern. The Guardia helped me haul him here."
The Guardia? But were they not a risk to Alfonso? Isabel jumped to her feet.
Two officers of the Guardia Civil invaded the room. Wearing blue jackets embellished with gold braids and the coat of arms of the Spanish monarchy, they cut an impressive figure. The plumed cockade atop the tricorne wavered as they dragged a moaning man inside.
