Certainly not Hector.
I wipe under my eyes to make sure my kohl has not smeared. Then I throw my shoulders back and lift my head high. Thus collected, I return to the entrance and to my personal guard.
He makes no effort to disguise his relief at seeing me. “I saw Conde Tristán,” he says. “He left in quite a hurry. Didn’t even notice I stood here.”
“We . . . we quarreled.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I can’t bear to be pitiable before him, so I wave it off. “It was nothing.”
But he is not fooled. When I take his offered arm, his free hand settles atop mine and squeezes gently. “Go back inside and dance,” he insists.
“What?”
“Have a good time. Dance with as many suitors as possible. Let them flatter you outrageously.” He’s so intent, his voice urgent.
“But none of it will be real. None of them will want me. My throne, yes. Prestige. A conquest. But not me.”
Silence stretches between us, and I realize I could not have given him a better opening to pay me ridiculous compliments. It probably sounded like I was begging for them.
“Elisa . . . I—”
“You’re right. I’ll go back inside and do my queenly duty.” I force brightness into my voice. “Who knows? Maybe Lord Liano has hidden depth of character.”
He sighs. “I hear he once chose a short spear for the hunt instead of the crossbow, just to give the javelina a fighting chance.”
“A man of true compassion!”
“He’d be glad to tell you about it.”
For the rest of the evening, I play the role of queen. I down another glass of wine to dull the sharpness in my chest, fix a smile on my face, and work hard to not step on anyone’s toes. I dance with everyone who asks, and I never lack partners. I’m told that I am radiant, that I have a beautiful smile, that I am a gifted dancer. They compliment me on my choice of gown, my speedy recovery, my political savvy. They extend condolences on my recent ordeal. They offer their personal services, suggest trade policy, beg me to raise taxes further, beg me to lower taxes.
Later, when I am finally back in my suite, Ximena helps me out of my gown. “How was it?” she asks. “Did you have a good time?”
I have run out of banalities and niceness. I have nothing to spare. “Fine,” I snap. “It was fine.”
“Will it cheer you up to know you have a letter from home?” She pulls a tiny leather canister from her apron pocket and waves it at me. “Just delivered from the dovecote.”
She drops it into my palm, and my heart does a little flip when I recognize the de Riqueza sunburst stamped into the leather. From Papá. Or maybe my sister. I haven’t spoken to either in over a year, except for a few brief messages like this one, via pigeon. I’m eager for news of home.
No, I correct myself. Joya d’Arena is my home now. My time in Orovalle feels like it happened to another girl, a different Elisa.
I open the canister, break the wax seal with a fingernail, and unroll the parchment. I’m glad to see my sister’s careful and lovely script.
Dearest Elisa,
Word reached me of your grave injuries. I’m glad to know you are recovering well. I pray for you every day.
I write because Papá’s council has asked that I begin seeking a husband in earnest. They suggest I choose from among Joya d’Arena’s most influential nobility to further strengthen ties between us. Ximena has written to me about Lord-Commander Hector of the Royal Guard and has suggested I consider him. There is no opinion I trust more than yours. Please tell me: What kind of man is he? Would I do well to open negotiations with him? Your earliest reply is most appreciated.
Papá sends his love.
Alodia
It feels as though someone is standing on my chest.
“Elisa?”
I look up from the parchment now crushed in my fist. Ximena studies me carefully while the guards exchange worried glances.
I can’t force the proper platitudes to my lips.
You knew this was coming, Elisa. Of course he will marry, and marry well. It is right and good that he become a prince consort. Would you rather Alodia marry someone who does not feel like family already?
“I need parchment,” I whisper. “And quill and ink.” I can’t seem to remember where I put them.
Fernando rushes to fetch the items from my writing desk. Ximena takes a step toward me, but I back into the atrium, shaking my head. I can’t even bear to look at her for wondering if she knew all along that I was falling in love with him.
By the time Fernando enters with the writing implements, my fist is to my lips, as if it can tramp down the nausea roiling in my belly. Get control of yourself. I take a deep breath. Then another. I force my jaw to unclench. Then I grab the ink and parchment and set them on the vanity.