He took them anyway, though she turned her face away, recoiling.
“My dear, Annalía.” He rudely called her by her first name as though their engagement had lasted more than one week and wasn’t born of coercion.
“Pascal.” Her tone was scathing.
He drew back, releasing her hands to scrutinize her. “I didn’t think you could be as lovely as they’ve said, but you are.”
She stared at the ceiling and he tsk-tsked. “Won’t say thank you? Now where are your famed manners?”
“Famed?”
“Quite. All the Andorrans love to whisper about the royal concealed in their midst. How else do you think I found out about you?”
She gave him a blasé look.
“They say other things about your simmering Castilian blood,” he murmured, drawing closer. “I can hardly wait to get to the bottom of the rumors.”
“My manners?” she hastily asked. “Is that why you chose me?”
He moved to a polite distance, but gave her a look that let her know he was patronizing her. “No, I will wed you because marrying the daughter of the oldest family in the land is strategic.”
“Why all this trouble for tiny Andorra? I can understand why someone like you would set your sights so low, but why not Monaco?” She tapped her cheek. “Isn’t the Vatican a country?”
He chuckled. She hadn’t meant to entertain him—she’d meant to make a point.
Taking a seat behind his desk, he motioned for her to sit as well. She didn’t. He motioned more sharply, and something unsettling flashed in his eyes.
Gritting her teeth, she sat. “You want Spain, don’t you? Those are the rumors.”
“Yes. After I’ve solidified my place here.”
She gave a sharp scoffing sound. “How original. What would you be? The sixth general du jour to try in the last two decades?”
He laughed again, seemingly delighted with her, and the smoothness of the sound grated on her nerves. “I’d be the sixth general to succeed in the last fifteen years. But unlike my predecessors, I will have something that the others didn’t.” He stood to approach once again, then touched her face, and she knew every fear she’d had about him was true.
The queen and her general weren’t good rulers, but they had to be better than Pascal. If she could get a message to Aleix, he could warn the outside. “You said in your letter that you would free my brother and his men as soon as we marry. How can I trust you to keep your word?”
“Because my first priority will be your happiness,” he said so suavely.
She raised her hand to stop him. “I’ve agreed to this charade, but I refuse to pretend when it’s only you and I.”
He inclined his head. “Very well. Llorente will be my supporter. He’s descended from kings—he’ll be a worthy enticement in the eyes of the people.”
“Never.”
“Just as you would never agree to marry me?” He smiled down at her. “I’ve found that all it takes is the right incentive to make anyone do as I wish.” When he touched her lip with a too-soft finger, she cringed. “Now there’s a dress laid out for you in your room. Go upstairs and get ready for a dinner tonight. We are having guests.”
Ordered. Another cretin was ordering her. She rose and regarded him with all the arrogance bred into her, then turned to leave.
“And Annalía?” She froze, shoulders tensing. “Any servant found helping you communicate with your brother will be publicly eviscerated.”
She turned back to him, lips parted, aghast. His seemingly genuine smile was still in place, his expression earnest. His broad shoulders filled out his uniform and his medals were colorful and proud. Her future husband was perfect.
A perfect monster.
Well into the night, Aleixandre Mateo Llorente pounded on his cell door, yelling until his throat—and the bottoms of his fists—were raw. Today Pascal had notified him that they would be brothers.
Annalía was going to wed a killer thinking to save him, but Aleix knew he would never leave this windowless, dank room alive.
He also knew nothing would prevent her from going through with it, and that conviction ate at his gut. The marriage would only damn them both. How he wished for one minute with her—to convince her that she was no martyr, especially for such a lost cause, to shake some sense into her. “God damn you all,” he bellowed. “Open this door.”
And then someone…did, but the shock of light blinded him after so many days of darkness. When his eyes painfully adjusted, he found a young woman there with her hair free and clad in nothing but a gauzy nightgown. His breath whistled in. She was beautiful, even with her eyes heavy lidded as if she were still half asleep. And even with the gun she had trained on him.