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.
"If you don't shut your mouth," she snapped. "I'll kill you myself."
This he never expected. "I apologize if my wish for freedom - and my wish not to die - have disturbed your sleep."
She shrugged. "I reside directly above you. You must cease knocking on the door."
"Who are you?"
She frowned. "What purpose would it serve to tell you?"
"A dying man's last wish?"
She shrugged again. "I am Olivia."
She couldn't be his daughter. "Olivia Pascal?" he asked in a low tone.
Her chin went up either proudly or defensively. "Sí."
"I should take your threat more seriously then. If your blood is any indication, you are capable of any atrocity."
Her smile was a cruel curve of her lips. "Very capable. I'm also capable of whistling for the guards to beat you again just on a whim."
In a heartbeat he started for her. She took one step back, but coolly cocked the hammer, her hand steady. "Don't be a fool." Her voice was hard, her face like marble. "I'll do it just so I sleep better."
Assured she would, he moved to lean against the wall, arms crossed. "I've never heard of that. Someone who sleeps better at night because they killed someone."
"Who said killed? I only have permission to maim you until your sister is wed." She began closing the door. "But I promise to wish them well for you."
Court's hand shot out to wrench Vitale through the doorway. "What did you say?" he demanded as he slammed the door behind him.
The others raised their eyebrows when Court dragged Vitale to the parlor, then tossed him into a chair.
"I said you are a pig, an ingrate. My mistress saved your life - "
"You said something about a marriage."
He refused to answer so Court jostled him until he said, "That's where she's gone!" He gestured heatedly. "To save her brother. The general was holding him to force her."
"She's gone to marry him?"
When Vitale nodded, Niall said, "Aye, Court, a real spoiled, calculating woman. Marrying Pascal to save her brother's life. She's chilling."
"This canna be right. The rumors were that he was marrying some Spanish royal. Not Andorran nobility. How do you account for that?" Court recalled her snapping to him, I'm Castilian, but royal?
Vitale hesitated. "Why should I tell you?"
"Because if you do, I might just decide to go get her back."
His eyes widened and he blurted, "She and her brother are the last direct descendants of the ancient House of Castile. They hold the last titles."
"That's impossible. Her father was no' Castilian."
"The titles passed through the mother."
When Court still looked unconvinced, Niall added, "Some houses can pass down matrilineally."
"This is insane. That would make her.... That would mean she's..." Court could barely believe what he was hearing, even while thinking that this would handily explain her arrogance. "Why did she no' plead for her family's help?"
"She did. As I told you before, she and her brother are estranged from the family and shun that life, but she swallowed her pride and attempted to contact them. We think the message never made it out of Andorra."
Niall whistled and said, "Pascal's a clever bastard. He's going after Isabella's crown."
"But that would mean Annalía's useless to him while her brother's still alive. The minute he has her, Llorente's dead."
"No, he won't be," Vitale declared emphatically. "Pascal will try to use Master Llorente as a figurehead."
"Wrong." Court shook his head, giving Vitale the same expression he knew his five men were giving him as well. "Your master's going to be killed if he is no' already."
"And you just ensured she'd go," Niall muttered from behind him. "Good on you, Court."
He shoved a hand through his hair. "Damn it! Why did she no' ask again or explain everything?"
Vitale cast him a black look. "She told me just before she rode for Pascal that she would rather be a murderer's wife and possibly have access to free Llorente than be a mercenary's whore and have to trust a fiend like you with her brother's life. She said six or half a dozen - either way was unbearable."
When Court pictured her alone and afraid in Pascal's always darkened home, he had an off feeling in his chest, like a painful shifting. "Oh, bloody hell, Vitale. You might've mentioned this earlier."
"Six or half a dozen?" Niall swore under his breath. "Court, you really are cursed."
Chapter Nine
Last night for the dinner welcoming several odious supporters of the general, Annalía had been given a demure yet luxurious gown. Tonight Pascal had sent her a wholly red, ridiculously low-cut farce to wear. While everyone else enjoyed the village festival, she and Pascal were to have a private dinner. Just the two of them. With a dress like this, Annalía could guess why.
She was endeavoring to work it higher over her br**sts with hopping and yanking when Olivia entered without knocking. The witch strolled straight to the wardrobe to survey Annalía's clothes with an acquisitive gleam in her eyes. This morning her jewelry had suffered the same indignity.
"What do you want?"
"Tell me," Olivia said casually as she took out, appraised, and returned a gown, "why he is unmarried."
In an instant, Annalía had her whirled around and her hands clenched around Olivia's arms. "You've seen Aleix?" She could tell she'd surprised her. "Have you?"
Olivia shoved her arms loose. "Why isn't he married?" she stubbornly asked again.
Did her curiosity mean she was attracted to Aleix? All the women in the village thought he was handsome with his tall build and his somber, golden-colored eyes. Mare de Déu, could this spawn of Pascal have feelings for him? And how could she use that to their advantage?
"He's a widower," she admitted, though she felt as if she dangled a bare foot to a viper. "His wife died in childbirth."
Olivia's face was a blank slate. Annalía couldn't read her. "He has a child?"
"No, his daughter died as well."
Olivia shrugged. So that Annalía wouldn't slap her, she forced herself to imagine that Olivia hiked her shoulders every time something particularly upsetting was said.
"Why are you interested?"
She ran her finger across the coverlet on her way to the window. "I was merely curious about my father's prisoner."
"Let me tell you more," Annalía said as she perched on the edge of the bed. Olivia turned to stare out the window, but she didn't say no.
"Aleix is a good man, a strong man. He lives in a beautiful manor overlooking pastures filled with his champion horses. Each day he watches them run, and though he says nothing, I know how pleased he is with them."
Had her shoulders relaxed somewhat? "He's very intelligent and well read. He went to school overseas at Cambridge. He's somber now, but he wasn't always." Annalía decided then to divulge something she considered private. "He's just very lonely up on his mountain."
Olivia shrugged again. "I can't abide this prattle any longer." She crossed the room to the door.
"He's here, isn't he?" Annalía asked. "I'm in the far end of this house because he's in the other."