Page 85 of The Truth About Myths
Henrique threw at her accusation upon accusation, and her head felt swollen with them. From the moment she had said yes to Alfonso, she had lived in a trance, wishing to turn back the clock, and if that didn't work, then at least she had hoped to speed time to a point when it didn't hurt so much.
"I didn't know," she whispered.
He stopped talking. The enormity of his claim descended over her shoulders, and Isabel covered her face with clammy palms. How could Alfonso do this to her? She gave him the flag, and he had promised to renounce any claim to the Portuguese throne.
She could not blame him, not really. Not even Canastra. The duke was an opportunistic aristocrat and would do whatever possible to grasp power. No, the fault was hers. If she had not acted so harshly… After she allowed passion in her life, all she fought to protect—her morals, her reputation—had come crashing down.
Henrique crouched at her feet. His warmth seeped through the bedsheet. She didn't move her legs.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you love him?"
She looked away.
He pulled her chin back to him. His scent brushed against her, making it impossible for her to hide. She stared into his twinkling, earnest blue gaze.
"Don't you think I deserve an explanation? After risking my limbs to take you away from Spain?"
He caressed the pleats on her forehead, and it was hard not to lean into his touch. "Have I not proved myself a faithful patriot?"
"Faithful?" The hurt of witnessing him kissing her cousin pierced her anew, and Isabel flinched. "I was there. I saw you with Rafaela." She hugged herself, her body folding. Perhaps if she shrunk, she could reduce the amount of pain she could absorb.
Henrique stood and raked his hand through his disheveled hair. "You accepted Alfonso's proposal because of Rafaela?" He shook his head and expelled a most ungentlemanly snort. "The irony of ironies. The patriotic princess risking her country's independence because of jealousy."
Isabel's cheeks burned as a wave of heat incinerated her veins. "I request an escort, my tiara, and my clothes. I'm leaving this ridiculous tower." She preferred to face the long journey back to Lisbon than spend another minute with Henrique.
His expression closed. "It seems Your Highness will have to make do with the current facilities."
Who was he to order her about? Isabel lifted her chin. "I would rather not."
"I will have to insist." He took hold of the key and opened the tower’s door.
Isabel gasped. "You cannot keep me a prisoner."
"I prefer to call you a pampered guest, but suit yourself."
Isabel flung a pillow at the door. Henrique closed it just in time, and the pathetic piece of fluff sailed half a distance and sprawled on the floor, defeated. Huffing, her cheeks burning and her chest heaving, Isabel threw its twins, and when her ammunition ended, she grabbed the empty pitcher and hurled it. The porcelain shattered into a million pieces.
She screamed her throat raw. How preposterous. Henrique could not keep her here. She would get out, one way or the other. She raced to the windows. A five-story drop to a rocky cliff promised a harrowing fall. She inspected the walls and peeked behind the tapestries. Nothing. The circular tower was a perfect prison.
Porcelain shards cracked under her soles, and she bent to pick up the mess. Tears flooded her nose and throat, and she lowered herself to the floor. Her brother had trusted her to exert her influence, to move about the chessboard as only a queen could. Instead, she had allowed Canastra and Alfonso to outmaneuver her. Shame curdled her stomach and hunched her shoulders, her head weighing unbearably. Still, it paled compared to Henrique's betrayal.
The door opened, and Isabel hastily stood. Three maids marched inside, their white and grey uniforms spotless. They bobbed a curtsy in unison and set up about their duties. If they thought anything strange about having a lady imprisoned in her master's room, they gave no signal.
A diminutive woman in her fifties carried fresh linens, and the door closed behind her. From the ominous click, Isabel inferred someone outside had locked it.
She returned Isabel's stare with an astute one, her birdlike head tilted to the side. "Your Highness, may I introduce myself? I'm Tia Antonia, the housekeeper of the Braganza Castle and a proud subject of His Majesty."
Isabel thrust her chin forward. "If you know who I am, how could you condone your master's keeping me here?"
"The master told me… everything. I understand the princess is our guest until the country's independence is no longer at risk."
"I must return to Lisbon and speak with the king. I need to right this wrong."
"Sometimes a right is done by staying put."
"I can't stay under your master's rule. I can't." Her cheek flushed, and she moved to the window.
The housekeeper's steps sounded behind her. "I have known him since he was a baby. All that bluster? Only on the outside. Drove his papa crazy, he did. But Master Henrique has a heart of gold. I bet my old eyes it's eating his insides to keep you locked here. He could never watch another creature suffering without suffering himself."
