Los Cielos

Los Cielos by Michelle L. Levigne Published by Awe-Struck E-Books, Inc. Copyright © 2008 ISBN: 978-1-58749-654-7 Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

Chapter One "I don’t really want to be a queen." Lita concentrated on tying bunches of Queen’s Crown with cotton thread, to hang upside down to dry. "Stuff and nonsense." Charles Van Worton snorted and traded amused glances with his widowed sister, Ermengarde St. Just. The little family had just settled in for another quiet, studious winter Sunday afternoon in the front parlor of their brownstone on the edge of the fashionable quarter of Manhattan. Van Worton, referred to by all who knew him as the Professor, spent Sundays reading from the week’s accumulation of newspapers, occasionally sharing something with his sister and their ward. Ermengarde sewed and studied whatever new educational pamphlet had come during the week. Lita had her own studies to pursue, along with tending the row of pots of the herb, Queen’s Crown, that was her sole province. When she finished those weekly tasks, she took up the papers the Professor had finished with and scanned them, making notes for herself about current world events. The quiet life suited them, though they were never loathe to accept an invitation to a friend’s house for an evening of chess or bridge or music. Charles Van Worton was wealthy enough that his peers tolerated his scholarly pursuits and vocal support of the Suffragist movement. Not a few were of the opinion that his support was mostly to placate charmingly outspoken Ermengarde. Still more of their acquaintances, both friends and detractors, decided that the two slightly eccentric, elderly folks were admitted into the best society solely for the sake of their ward, Miss Elizabeth Seal-Croft. Society matrons found her charming, despite being far too well educated for a proper young lady. Her wealth, quiet manners and dark, exotic good looks made up for the mystery of her parentage, which Van Worton and his sister declined to reveal. "You are destined to be a queen, my dear. It is a waste of energy to wish for something that will not happen," the Professor continued. "What will not happen is Prince Esteban sending for me." Lita tucked an ebony curl back into her comfortable Gibson Girl twist and picked up the bundles of flowers she had finished tying. "He does not want to marry me, any more than I wish to marry him." "How can you be sure of that?" Ermengarde murmured, most of her attention caught in the pamphlet reporting abuse suffered by women who attempted to vote the previous fall in Chicago. "It has been nearly a year since you heard from him." "Exactly. I write to him regularly, sharing what I have learned in my studies, asking

questions about the histories of our families and the geography of Los Cielos, and he barely responds to anything, when he deigns to write to me at all. He does not want to marry me. We should have considered the betrothal void when Emmanuel died. It is undignified for a man to inherit his brother’s intended bride, just as it is undignified for me to be treated like chattel and passed from one brother to another." She punctuated her pronouncement with a sharp nod and headed for the door. "You adored Emmanuel," the Professor observed placidly, folding the current newspaper onto his lap. "That could be part of it. You still have a broken heart." "I was a child." Lita blinked back a few tears and forced a careless smile onto her lips. "Emmanuel visited me twice a year since we were betrothed. He sent me presents and wrote me letters once a month. He treated me as an adult, despite fifteen years between us. He promised he would take me to Italy and France and Switzerland on our wedding trip. When I turned eighteen. I am twenty now. I am tired of waiting for a man who does not want to marry me. A man I have never met." She took a deep breath, visibly fighting for her usual serenity. "Most of all, I am tired of feeling like a disgruntled, spoiled child. Living in limbo as I do is not good for anyone’s nerves." "You? Nerves?" Ermengarde put down her pamphlet and indulged in a delicate snort. "Nervy, rather. And I’m proud of you for being able to speak your mind and analyze exactly what it is you feel. And I am sorry, my dearest child. As archaic as it is, with all the superstitions and un-provable history and phenomena associated with it, you must marry Prince Esteban. The future of the nation of Los Cielos depends on you." "Primitive pagan fertility rituals," the Professor said with a louder, deeper snort. "Rejoining two branches of one family, breaking a curse, bringing life back to a desert valley. Stuff and nonsense. It went out with a belief in faeries and witches. This is the dawn of the twentieth century, the age of reason." "Then you’ll write to Prince Esteban and tell him the betrothal is null and void?" Lita said, with no real hope of a positive answer. She wasn’t quite sure why she argued, because she believed, deep in her soul, in the history and heritage and destiny that had wrapped around her since the day she was born. What girl didn’t want to be a princess from a faerie tale, born in exile, raised in hiding, awaiting the day her betrothed prince came to claim her, to break the curse on an enchanted kingdom hidden in the mountains of the Pyrenees? Snow White and Sleeping Beauty and a dozen other princesses never knew the faces of their princes until they broke the curse imprisoning them and claimed them as brides, so why did the lack of communication with Prince Esteban bother her so much? "I’m sorry, my dear. I made a promise to your father. It was his last wish that you reclaim the throne of your ancestors." The Professor tossed aside his newspaper.

"Come, finish your task, and when you return, suppose we have a rousing game of chess?" Lita agreed, and hurried away to the dry, shadowed room where she hung the Queen’s Crown to dry. The sweet-sour aromatic flower, tiny golden buds on black stalks, only grew in the mountains around the valley of Los Cielos. She had no way of knowing if that was for sure, or just another story among many her father told her when she was a child. Botanist friends of the Professor’s had studied the flower and proclaimed it a totally unknown species, so Lita thought it could be true. She had grown Queen’s Crown all her life, drying it to use in tea or put the powder in cuts or make into a poultice to put on bruises, to speed healing. It soothed headaches and stomachaches and fevers. She imagined it was something like the legendary plants that healed deadly wounds when applied by royal hands. According to the Professor’s friends, she was the only one who could get it to grow. Despite the hundreds of seeds she gave them over the years, the plants never grew anywhere but in the tiny parlor garden under her care. Her chore took only a few minutes, but instead of returning immediately to the front parlor, she climbed the stairs to her suite of rooms. In her study, she settled down on the chaise set in front of the window for the best reading light, and opened the small trunk where she stored her treasures. Two framed portraits, miniatures painted in the old style, sat on top of the pile of letters and favorite books, dried flowers, maps and theater programs. She picked them up, one in each hand, and settled back on the chaise. In the right hand she held the portrait of her father, so elegant with his thick mass of blue-black curls, impossible to tame to the current fashions. His goatee framed a mouth that hovered between somber concentration and laughter. He looked off into the distance. During the torturous years of her adolescence, she had imagined her father’s gaze focused on the lost kingdom of Los Cielos. Lita had inherited her large black eyes, thick blue-black curls and her square, stubborn chin from him. The other portrait was of Prince Emmanuel, the heir to the other royal family that laid claim to the throne of Los Cielos. He smiled, just slightly, and she imagined she saw laughter in his big dark eyes. Square face, stern jaw, wide cheekbones, and a tangle of wind-tossed hair. He was a prince out of faerie tales. She remembered meeting him when she was only five years old. He was so tall, so broad-shouldered, so elegant. He quite won her heart when he bowed to her and didn’t get down on one knee and talk baby talk to her, like other adults did. He kissed her hand, like she had seen men do to grown women. They were betrothed when she was eight, when her father judged she was old enough to understand exactly what it meant. For a betrothal present, Emmanuel gave her a box of maps of the Pyrenees and sketches of Los Cielos, both the present arid wasteland, and the lush, fertile valley it had once been. Lita found that far more satisfying than the emerald earrings and necklace that came with the maps and sketches, and Emmanuel laughed when she told him so. He made her

promise that she wouldn’t dance with anyone but dancing teachers until he came to claim her first official dance when she turned fifteen. He sent her long letters and souvenirs from all the places where he traveled, and shared his ideas for how to reclaim the valley of Los Cielos, so it would once again be world-renowned for its lush vineyards and excellent wines. Emmanuel died when she was fourteen. Lita shuddered, remembering the telegram that came from Prince Esteban, so curtly announcing the death of his brother. No words of sympathy, no details. Five months later, a frustratingly short letter came with the details. Emmanuel had been set upon by thugs in Paris, murdered for his elegant evening clothes and his purse. His body had never been retrieved, thrown into the river and most likely devoured by fishes before it could wash up on a beach somewhere. Just as her father’s body had never been retrieved. She supposed it still lay under the pile of rocks from the avalanche that had killed him during his third attempt to find an entrance into Los Cielos. When she entered the valley, if she ever went to Los Cielos, Lita vowed to find the place where her father had died and retrieve his body for a proper burial. Until she could bury his remains, she supposed her dreams of her father, gray-haired and earnest, would continue to haunt her. He wore black like a priest, and tried to tell her something, but she could never hear his voice and his face was always blurred, so she couldn’t read his lips. In some ways, she supposed she refused to accept the deaths of either man. Lita had received a letter from Emmanuel, two months after his reported death, with no date on it, and so many postmarks from foreign countries she couldn’t track the route it had taken to reach her. She had been lucky enough to be home alone when the post was delivered, and never shared the contents with anyone, not even the Professor and Ermengarde. Angry tears tried to blur her eyes, and she blinked them away as she slipped the precious letter from the pocket she fashioned on the back of the tiny portrait. Lita hadn’t read the letter in nearly three months. She wondered how many more times she could read it before it fell to pieces in her hands. Mi Preciosa Infanta. My dearest Princess Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos. I fear that we shall not see each other again for a very long time. Longer than even you, so clever and wise, can imagine. The dangers that threaten our united throne grow closer as the weeks and months go by and our pending marriage approaches.

Dearest Lita, I cannot emphasize enough times, or strongly enough, that you must hold fast and refuse to believe the cruel things that you might hear in the weeks and months to come. Do not doubt me. I will come for you and make you a queen. You are already the queen of my heart, my inspiration to be the best king any kingdom could ever desire. I know I need not remind you to continue in your studies of agriculture and architecture and all the things our people will need, to emerge from the Dark Ages and join the twentieth century. You and I must lead them, their examples in all things. We will not be like other kings and queens, lording it over our people, dressing in silk and jewels earned by the sweat and pain and poverty of our people. We will be rather like benevolent landlords, devoted to their welfare. Thinking otherwise was the downfall of our ancestors. The royal sisters who destroyed and cursed Los Cielos were proud and cruel. They had been ordained to rule together, commanded before witnesses on the day the queen, their mother, died. But the older declared herself the heir and the younger created lies to prove her sister was illegitimate and unworthy to inherit. I have often asked myself, what did it matter? They were not inheriting from their father, but from their mother. It was her blood that determined their inheritance, not his. Be that as it may, the people were divided because the sisters were divided and there was little love in the people for the royal family, even before that argument began. The sisters fought and schemed and destroyed the vineyards so one would not profit if she succeeded in destroying the other. And when your ancestress realized what she had done and repented of her sins, her sister would not reconcile. My ancestress caused avalanches to fill and destroy the passages into the valley, and your ancestress led the people to safety through underground tunnels. She was the last to leave, and when she pulled the stone doors closed, she prayed to Heaven that no life would touch the valley of Los Cielos until the two sisters had reconciled and the divided family was united again. You and I must unite our divided family and bring life back to Los Cielos. We will see the valley green with vineyards again, and hear the music of water flowing from all the springs that are now dry. We will break the curse. I swear my life, my soul, my eternal destiny, to that task. Our destiny, my princess, will not permit us to die until it is fulfilled. Always remember that, and remember that I remain your adoring, faithful servant and guard, Prince Emmanuel Alberto Carlos de Veritas.

Chapter Two One lighting bolt struck ground at the tail end of the vicious spring storm. The power from the sky hit with a deafening crack, making sparks and shards of rock and moss spatter like shrapnel from a fractured cannon. The soldiers caught in the middle of the storm were painfully familiar with malfunctioning cannons and other weapons. Several of the older, scarred foot soldiers crossed themselves and muttered in the patois that was a mix of Spanish and French, prevalent here in the Pyrenees. The captain standing at the head of the troop, daring the turbulent winds to knock him off the plateau and the driving rain to blind him, only sneered and considered their reaction weakness. He marked the spot where the lighting bolt had struck ground, and when the rain slowed enough to allow the patrol to move forward again, he led the way. The narrow, steep-sided ravine would have been invisible at any other time, but the weird half-light of the storm cast shadows at odd angles and made it easy to see. Despite the captain’s usual cynicism, his mind churned with possibilities. His imagination conjured up visions of what he might find at the end of that lighting strike. His master would be pleased, and reward him greatly, if he finally succeeded in his quest. The lighting strike had cut a swath in the hard-baked clay, stripped away the tenuous moss that clung to the sides of the ravine, and revealed a hollow in the rock itself. The captain snapped his fingers. His lieutenant struck flint and lit the sealed lantern that hung from his saddle. The object of the captain’s mission was too important to leave in the hands of mere foot soldiers, or even his junior officers. He dismounted and climbed through the rubble torn out of the steep side of the ravine. It formed a rough staircase, letting him climb up to the gash cut through the rock. He ignored the mud and water smearing the pristine gray of his precisely creased uniform. He barely reacted when he slipped and fell, tearing his sleeve. The older soldiers crossed themselves again when the captain disappeared into the mouth of the small cave. His lantern illuminated the interior just long enough to give tantalizing glimpses of scarlet, azure and the glimmer of gold. Then the captain turned, blocking the opening with his back. He snapped orders, and his lieutenant and sergeant scurried to climb up and stand with their backs to the entrance, blocking it from everyone’s sight. When he came out more than an hour later, the captain’s jacket bulged with something rectangular, longer than his hand, tucked inside and held in place with his belt. He mounted his horse and rode away, leaving his lieutenant with orders.

The foot soldiers labored to cover the opening, dragging tree branches up to jam into the gaps between the boulders. Others brought handfuls of clay to plaster over the rubble, and strips of moss and weeds. A few dared to look inside and described a room cut from the rock, with glorious, holy paintings full of beautiful colors, edged with gold. The lieutenant didn’t bark orders to stop looking or be silent. A few of the older soldiers gave each other fearful looks, because such tolerance was unusual from an officer. When they finished, the lieutenant had them line up with their backs to the opening they had just hidden. He thanked them for their hard work, for their loyalty to the throne of Los Cielos. Then he and the sergeant opened fire. Before the echoes of the last shots faded, every man lay on the ground, either crippled by shots to the legs or felled by bullets to the head. The lieutenant and sergeant calmly walked through the sprawl of bleeding, weeping, cursing men and slit the throat of anyone who moved. Then they mounted their horses and followed their captain. Before the echoes of the horses’ hooves faded, shadows split from the darkness filling the ravine with the fall of night. Figures in black robes and hoods surrounded the dead and dying. They examined each man. All but two they left where they lay. The black-robed figures bound those two men with bandages torn from their robes and carried them away. *** An ancient Roman villa sat on a high plateau overlooking a wide, desolate valley where the beds of dead rivers writhed across the landscape. Lavishness and luxury filled the villa, in contrast to the devastated landscape that was once lush and greener than emeralds, while the winds moaned where the songs of vineyard workers once filled the air. The captain stood waiting on the wide balcony extending from the lip of the plateau, feeling like a vulture looking down on the dead landscape. Despite the rain that had fallen in torrents outside the valley, everything was parched and dusty inside, as it had been for the last two centuries. When he let himself think about that anomaly, whispers of legends insisted on striding through his mind. He didn’t put any more stock in the stories of the glory days of Los Cielos than he did tales of the Black Monks who guarded the valley and hid it from the eyes of the world. His only faith lay in his master, Prince Esteban Eduardo Mateo de Veritas. "You must have found something amazing, to come here in less than pristine condition," a rich, amused voice drawled from behind him. The captain went down on one knee and immediately dug inside his coat. "Majesty. Please honor me by taking this token of devotion and service from my humble hands."

His gloved hands supported a key carved of silver stone, streaked with veins of gold. It had the shape of a skeleton key, old-fashioned and simplistic, too big for any lock either captain or prince had ever seen. Despite its size, it felt as light as air in the captain’s hands, so he wondered if it were hollow inside. "The Key of Earth," Prince Esteban breathed. He raked a ring-encrusted, muscular hand through his raven curls, heavy with macassar oil, and stared at the mythical treasure resting on the captain’s filthy gloves. Not so mythical any longer, he realized a moment later. Tugging his crimson silk smoking jacket straight, he crossed the pavement and reached out his hand. The scars from old dueling wounds glimmered white in the fading afternoon light. His fingertips brushed the surface of the key and silver light illuminated those scars, making them look like ice. The key glowed softly like phosphorescent mold in deep, damp caves. Prince Esteban slid his fingers around the key and the light grew stronger. He laughed, a triumphant rasp, and clenched his fingers around the stone shaft. "Proof!" He raised it over his head, and the setting sun’s crimson rays fractured on the bars of the key and spilled like blood over his head. "I am the true heir to Los Cielos. I am the one who will make it a treasure again. The legends..." He growled and lowered his arm. "The legends are right, because the key does exist, but that doesn’t mean they’re totally right. Eh, my friend?" "The legends, Majesty, say the princess will unlock the prison that holds the heart of the rivers. If you now hold the key, then the legend lies." The captain stayed kneeling, but he raised his head and his black eyes glittered in satisfaction like his prince’s. "Indeed, if I hold the key, then what need do I have for the princess?" "She is now a liability," the captain offered. Prince Esteban nodded and took a step closer, to rest his heavy, scarred hand on the captain’s shoulder. "You are my friend because you battle the barriers that stand between me and my rightful throne. Continue in your loyal service, and you will have my eternal gratitude." "Majesty." The captain rose to his feet and bowed deeply. He strode up the steps from the balcony, putting the drought-stricken, abandoned valley of Los Cielos far behind him. Esteban turned to the valley and held the key out, as if the ghosts of ten generations could see his triumph. He shook his clenched fist.

"The key is mine. The throne is mine. Los Cielos is mine," he called, and his voice died in the rising moan of the winds rising up from the valley floor. *** When the moon climbed through the shreds of clouds and spilled down watery silver light, more soldiers crept through the ravine filled with death. They wore black uniforms, with the flower called Queen’s Crown embroidered on their shoulders and cuffs. A scar-faced man with black hair and eyes led them. They uncovered the cave the dead soldiers had buried, and their leader climbed inside. He said nothing, but the sternness of his expression when he climbed out of the cave made the men tremble. They crossed themselves as they re-buried the cave, and several of them paused to sprinkle the dead bodies with holy water and to whisper prayers over them. Then they followed their leader into the night.

Chapter Three Lita woke with her heart in her throat. The terror that turned her blood to ice water made her furious. She refused to be a trembling, teary child, dependent on the protection and guidance of others. "Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos," she chanted through gritted teeth. Four times, she chanted, until her heart slowed and she could hear the night song of insects through the rapid thudding in her ears. Around her, the brownstone mansion seemed to sigh and go back to sleep. Lita closed her eyes and listened, imagining invisible roots streaming out through her body, going through the imported rugs and floorboards and brick walls, penetrating the sidewalks and other barriers, until she could hear every sound, sense every movement in the neighborhood. Ermengarde might sigh and roll her eyes and mutter about Lita’s potent imagination. The Professor would nod, his gaze turning inward, and he would ask her probing questions about what she sensed when she sent her consciousness roaming. Lita knew better than to tell either of her guardians about this night’s awakening. Neither the recurring nightmare nor her need to assure herself the neighborhood was indeed safe was anyone’s business but her own. After all, she was twenty years old, only four months away from twenty-one, independently wealthy, a crack shot and expert horsewoman and qualified to work as a pharmacist, surgeon, midwife and lawyer, if she had been allowed to go beyond theory into actual hands-on practice. All her life, she had prepared herself for the harsh, heavy work involved in bringing a devastated nation back to life. All her life, it had seemed like little more than a particularly fascinating, sometimes infuriating and troublesome faerie tale. She had taken all the Professor’s lessons to heart, devouring every bit of knowledge, eagerly tackling every challenge. Why had she never fully accepted her destiny? It had certainly accepted her. Sighing, Lita climbed out of bed. She ignored her satin slippers sitting primly next to her bedside and padded across the Turkish rug in her bare feet, to her study in the other room and the desk overflowing with books and papers. The telegram had been folded and unfolded, rolled and flattened and turned into paper boats a dozen times since it came three days ago. The print was faded, the paper ready to tear in a dozen places. She could still read it.

Key found stop bring infant stop Lita snorted, imagining the telegraph operator deliberately dropping the ‘a’ at the end of ‘infant.’ It was infanta, meaning princess. Meaning Princess Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita, heir to the abandoned throne of Los Cielos. Why couldn’t the throne stay abandoned? Her father had visited the valley exactly four times in his life, trying to find a way to break the alleged curse that stole all the water and turned a fruitful, lush valley into a plain of dust and rock and heat. Supposedly, a member of the royal family was destined to find the mystical key, hidden for safekeeping by the Black Monks, then unlock the doors that would release the water and undo the great evil that had brought the curse down on the hidden valley two centuries ago. Lita’s father had died on his fourth visit to the valley, when she was twelve, and no one had any idea in this modern era of 1912 what great evil had caused the curse. Not that Lita believed in curses. She was sure with enough study and the Professor’s help, she could decipher the geological damage that had blocked the water tables and sent the rivers of the valley underground, or perhaps blocked them at their source. That was a far more logical explanation than someone inserting a mystical key into an equally mystical lock. According to Prince Esteban Eduardo Mateo de Veritas, now there was an actual key. According to Prince Emmanuel, the great evil had been the splitting of the royal house into two warring factions. The only way to heal the rift was to bring the two divisions back into one. Lita’s father had believed enough to betroth her to Emmanuel. The time had come to marry her prince, find the supposed lock that waited for the key, and bring life back to Los Cielos. Lita wondered if it was too ridiculous to consider running away to join the circus. According to the Professor, the inhabitants of that particular section of Spain still had to make their way into the nineteenth century--forget the twentieth. Lita thought she could do without the lovely conveniences of indoor plumbing, coal fires and gaslights. What she dreaded was the medieval mentality that likely awaited her as Esteban’s bride. Emmanuel had been a man of the world. He traveled and studied. He attended salons in Paris, studied philosophy in Germany, explored the wilds of Africa, invested in manufacturing plants and sponsored inventors in the United States, all for the purpose of making Los Cielos a rich and modern country someday. Lita

had adored him as the man who showered her with sweets and books, told her fantastic tales, bought her a pony against her governess’s wishes, encouraged her in unladylike scholarship, and wrote her long, detailed letters. Esteban had written Lita four letters since stating, without any inquiry into her wishes, that the betrothal would continue. He never left the mountains that sheltered the ruins of Los Cielos, and seemed dedicated to keeping the lost nation hidden from the world after it came back to life. If it ever came back to life. He had accepted his brother’s affianced bride out of duty and made no attempt to become familiar or even friendly with Lita. From the little bit of information the Professor had gleaned about the prince, he harkened back to the mindset prevalent when Spain was dominated by the Muslims: women were to be kept silent, secluded, with no say in the course of their lives, subject to the whims of their husbands, fathers and brothers. Lita, Ermengarde and the Professor supported the Suffragist Movement and education for all women. Lita shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of her life battling with Esteban. Her father should have put a codicil in the betrothal agreement, so she wouldn’t have been passed down like a family heirloom from one brother to another. She dearly loved her father, who had encouraged her education and had the wisdom to leave her as the ward of the Professor and Ermengarde when he returned to Spain, but in too many other things, he had been sorely lacking in foresight and basic common sense. After all, he believed in the prophecy strongly enough to commit her to marriage for the sake of a kingdom he would never rule. "Please, Papa, if you have any influence in Heaven, could you influence some of the saints to take a hand in things?" Lita whispered, as she picked up the tintype portrait of her father that had been taken just a month before he left on his final journey. In answer, the glass covering the tintype cracked. She gasped and dropped the frame. It made a dull thud on the carpet. Movement from the corner of her eye drew Lita to the window. There, on the moonlit grass of the park across the street, four dark shapes slowly drifted through the fog. She shivered and her heart picked up its pace. The four people were too far away for her to make out details, but she knew there would be nothing to see. They wore black masks and hooded cloaks over robes that covered them down to their shoes. All in black. The Black Monks had been in the shadows of her life since her birth. Lita trusted them to protect her. They had taught her to defend herself, and sometimes, if she was quite alone, spoke to her in whispers of Los Cielos and her destiny. She just wished she could trust them to give her some answers.

Her heart skipped a beat when she blinked and the Black Monks vanished, swallowed into the mist between one beat of her pulse and the next. *** Eduardo Mateo Carlos de Veritas crumpled the telegram in his fist and opened his mouth to swear, then stopped with a guilty start. He was inside a church, after all. He nodded apologetically to the draped figure behind the altar, then dipped his finger in the font of holy water and crossed himself before hurrying out of the church. The pouring rain did little to cool the heat that tore through him. Reynaldo, his manservant, followed close behind. The older man’s distress over the contents of the telegram kept him from fussing and raising the umbrella he constantly carried, no matter what the weather promised. "Watch the princess," Eduardo muttered. "How?" "If you must, introduce yourself to her," Reynaldo offered. "If I had known she was this close, I would have moved to the other side of the country," he snapped. He instantly regretted his tone, and opened his mouth to apologize. Reynaldo was more like a favorite uncle than a servant. He was certainly more of a father than Emmanuel, Esteban and Eduardo’s sire had ever been to them. "Understandable," the older man said. "Your brother said details would follow. Prepare to leave school and wait until that information comes. Then you will know how to act." "How to act." Eduardo nodded and continued down the street. Acting was easy. It was thinking and reasoning things through and doing the right thing that was hard. Becoming a student at Harvard had seemed like a good step in breaking free of his wild, dissolute and useless past. If he had known Princess Elizabelita lived in New York, would he have stayed in Cambridge? San Francisco seemed a far more sensible choice now. Not that he was a coward, but Eduardo knew he had a weakness for pretty faces and a tendency to damage innocence, rather than protect it. Emmanuel was dead now, and he wished to avoid the princess to honor his elder brother’s memory. "Such a lovely child. So innocent, but clever. So alive and alert and eager to learn. Independent. She absorbs books instead of reading them. And she’ll be a beauty, when she’s grown up. Sure to make half the men who meet her burn with hunger.

And she’ll be all mine. She adores me already," Emmanuel had boasted. Then his proud grin dimmed and his eyes turned introspective. "I must try to become worthy of her, before she realizes what a scoundrel I am. Yes, I must become worthy of my clever angel, so she can love me when she is a woman grown. She is the key to saving our kingdom. She will be the heart of our kingdom. I must protect her." He had uttered a bark of harsh laughter. "First, I must protect her from myself." Emmanuel had tried to change his life and died in the quest to revitalize Los Cielos. Eduardo had tried to reform his life, because someone needed to stand with Emmanuel, and he knew Esteban was more likely to slide a knife between their older brother’s ribs than support him. Seducing the innocent, scholarly princess now, even if it would frustrate Esteban, wouldn’t please Emmanuel’s ghost. How could he avoid temptation, if Esteban sent him now to watch over the princess? Why, Eduardo wondered for the hundredth time since receiving the telegram, did Esteban suddenly trust him with such a delicate assignment? As far as he knew, Esteban had no idea that he had reformed, leaving behind the drinking and brothels and gambling to pursue a life of scholarship and sobriety. Why would Esteban trust him within five hundred miles of his betrothed bride? "You realize, Reynaldo, this assignment of mine proves that virtue is not its own reward?" Eduardo said, punctuated with a single bark of laughter. "What good is strength, unless it is tested and exercised?" his companion countered. "I don’t want to go home to that vulture’s nest." Eduardo finally conceded to the increasing downpour and stepped under the awning of a fashionable storefront. "My grandfather should have given up and built his fortress somewhere else. Staying there, brooding over the wasteland, waiting for a miracle to change it back into a paradise, only proves insanity flows in our bloodline." "Your grandfather and his grandfather didn’t want to concede that the Los Cielos family has the right to hold the throne. Leaving their post would have been conceding that the curse was your ancestor’s fault, and not her sister’s." Eduardo snorted, but he nodded and bowed his head to study his drenched boots. "I don’t want to know what disaster will strike the world when the two branches of our miserable family are finally brought back together again. If the princess’s ancestors weren’t trying to kill mine, my predecessors were trying to kill hers." "High time there was peace and healing, then." *** "Anyone home?" The smooth baritone drifted up the four flights of stairs through the center of the house.

"Up here, Professor." Lita wiped her sweaty, dusty face with her sleeve because her hands were filthy with grime. "Ready, dear?" Ermengarde stepped back, pivoting her corpulent frame out of the way, and held her hands up to catch the battered green steamer trunk the girl slid off the top of the pile of trunks and valises and crates. "Step back, Aunt Ermie," she warned, and gave a good shove. The pile creaked and swayed. Lita skipped around the side of the pile, arms up in the air, and caught the leading edge of the trunk as it tipped downward. Lita ignored her guardian’s remonstrations to be careful, to wait until the Professor could bring in a few hired men, and not to tear her shirt. The Professor could have come home with one of his associates from the library. While the other elderly scholars might have the good breeding to ignore the sight of Lita in trousers, wearing a filthy shirt in front of guests could not be tolerated by anyone. Lita caught the trunk and eased it down to the gritty floorboards of the attic. It amazed her to consider that she would need two such things for her voyage to France, and Ermengarde might require at least four, to contain all her fresh undergarments, walking clothes, formal gowns for dinner at the captain’s table, and her hats. Lots of hats. At least three for everyday wear, and four for special occasions. Some women lived for their jewelry, others for their shoes. Ermengarde St. Just lived to wear hats. "There you are, my dears." The Professor paused in the attic doorway and surveyed the scene. "Excited about your voyage now, are we?" "I’m excited. Lita, of course, sees it as another unpleasant task. The sooner she faces it and gets it out of the way, the sooner she can arrange her life to suit her." Ermengarde beamed fondly at the girl she and her brother had raised to be an example to all modern women. "Quite right. Sensible." He stopped fussing with his pipe, which he constantly filled and trimmed but never lit. A frown brought clarity to his usually unfocussed, mild brown eyes. "Are you sure you won’t wait until I’ve delivered my paper to the symposium?" "The philological society of yours will take two months just to decide how they want to proceed and where to hold the banquet," Lita said. She wiped her face again and realized she had indeed torn the inside seam of her shirtsleeve. With a shrug, she stepped around the pile of valises and dug out the three that matched the trunk. "By the time they let you present your paper, the traveling season will be over. I don’t relish ocean travel at the start of winter. If I can find a ship to take me."

"There’s such a thing as being too devoted to duty." The crash came in the pause when Lita tried to come up with an answer that wasn’t sarcastic or downright petulant. Before either of her guardians could react, she slid past the Professor and flew down the stairs. She leaned over the banisters as she went, putting all her weight on the outer edge of the treads so they wouldn’t creak and give away her approach. The crash had come from a tall man falling face-first down the stairs leading from the front door into the entryway. The Professor had dropped his umbrella, hat, and portmanteau in a heap in front of the door, as usual. Ermengarde had sent the two household servants home for the evening already, so there had been no one to pick up after the absentminded gentleman. No one had lit the gaslights, leaving the entryway awash in shadows. All to the good, Lita decided. She paused at the first landing to assess the situation. A second man leaped from the shadows and snatched at her. She twisted sideways, grasped the banister and vaulted over it. She landed on Ermengarde’s potted tree, nearly toppling the enormous metal pot full of soil when she hit it square with her heels. Lita tucked and rolled and slammed square into the legs of a third man, who had been standing in the shadows. He cuffed her hard against the back of her head and yanked her to her feet. "Boy, where’s the princess?" he growled. Lita muffled a gasp of pique and gave him an elbow in the gut. He didn’t let go, and hit her harder, impacting with her temple to make her head ring. They didn’t realize who she was, and this buffoon thought she was a boy! She nearly laughed aloud, despite her dizzy feelings, when she realized Ermengarde was right. No one expected her to dress in boy’s clothes, so no one realized she was a girl. How could she use that to her advantage? The shadows around her suddenly split and turned solid. Lita stumbled backwards when one shadow leaped on the man holding her and wrenched her out of his grasp. She barely caught herself before her face hit the wall. When she turned, two shadows engulfed the man. Another shadow took the first man who had leaped at her. A fourth shadow knelt on the fallen man and bound his hands and feet, trussing him like she had seen calves handled during that one glorious, dusty, rustic trip out West when she was sixteen. The Black Monks had come to her rescue, far more literally than they ever had before.

As abruptly as it began, the battle ended. One shadow stepped into the spill of light coming down the stairwell, transforming into a figure in draping black robes, hood and mask. Blue-silver eyes peered at Lita through the eyeholes, and winked. "Thank you," she said, and crossed her arms over her chest before she bowed. The figure mirrored the gesture, then the four Black Monks bent and dragged away the three men. "Well, that was interesting," the Professor said, his words emphasized by the creak of the stairs. He carried the lantern Lita had taken upstairs to the attic, what felt like hours ago. "You must tell me everything that happened, my dear. I always have the bad luck of coming in at the very end. All I ever see are your guardians cleaning up after the crisis. Very disappointing." "Disappointing!" Ermengarde sniffed, her only concession to dismay. The shadowy people who had protected Lita all her life made Mrs. St. Just uneasy, even though she understood their presence was necessary. It wouldn’t do to advertise the fact that an exiled princess lived with the elderly, eccentric scholar and his widowed Suffragist sister. Lita needed bodyguards, and hiring them would have advertised her presence, as well as strained the pocketbooks of her guardians. The Black Monks, dedicated to the welfare of Los Cielos, filled the purpose conveniently. Lita bit her lip against grinning. It wouldn’t do to let Ermengarde know that sometimes the Black Monks crept into the house in the dead of night and spirited her away, to train her in their ancient skills, fighting hand-to-hand, with knives, clubs, and ropes, and how to move in silence and stealth. Even if she did reveal that particular secret to her guardians, she would never let them know that some of the Black Monks were women. Ermengarde was a Suffragist and permitted Lita to wear trousers when the occasion made it sensible, but even she would draw the line at some of the things the Black Monks did, labeling them as quite unladylike. *** It had taken all Lita’s skill in misdirection and subterfuge to keep Ermengarde from hearing about the Titanic disaster. Living in New York, that had taken some doing, but Ermengarde St. Just avoided gossip and spent her time in worthwhile pursuits and charities, and her friends were like-minded people with more important things on their minds. Still, Lita knew her grace period had ended when she and her guardian went to the ticketing office to obtain passage on the next ship crossing the ocean. Someone had made an effort to provide information to reassure people who were understandably nervous about the ocean crossing. A table had been filled with

brochures, pamphlets and copies of reports on the Titanic catastrophe for perusal. Lita privately thought the overemphasis on safety had the exact opposite effect. She had her ocean route planned down to the last detail before she and Ermengarde climbed into the hansom cab to go to the ticketing office, persuading her guardian that she understood such things would be another test of her diplomatic skills. "My dear..." Ermengarde came back from studying the wealth of information, misinformation and hyperbole displayed throughout the ticketing office, an entire fifteen minutes sooner than Lita anticipated. Wrinkles marred her soft, smooth forehead. "Must you cross this particular ocean? Couldn’t you take a longer route, say, by train to San Francisco and then to the Orient, and go overland from there? The Pacific is so named because it is ever so much safer, I believe." "That would take three times longer than I can afford. Esteban has sent for me. Time is of the essence." Lita knew the ticketing agent was listening avidly. She had nearly tripped over calling her unseen betrothed by name instead of title, but she knew better than to mention the word ‘prince’ where listening ears and strangers could hear. "Yes, but I simply don’t feel safe crossing the Atlantic." She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and worried it. That was a danger sign if Lita had ever seen one. "We won’t be going to England, Aunt Ermie. France is south of that route." Not very far south, but enough, Lita hoped, to reassure the woman. "And we won’t be taking the White Star line, but a much more established, reliable shipping line. We won’t go anywhere near the northern sea. No icebergs at all. My destiny won’t allow disaster to stop me." "Yes, dear, but your destiny doesn’t guarantee that I will arrive with you, or that either of us will be unharmed or unpleasantly detained along the way." Lita suspected Ermengarde enjoyed the argument. Well, that took away some of her guilt about playing her trump card. "If you really feel nervous, I can travel alone. You needn’t make the effort and inconvenience yourself for me." "Not on your life!" Ermengarde fanned her face with her gloved hand, as if fighting off vapors. A crinkle of mischief narrowed her eyes. "Nothing in this world can convince me to allow you to travel sans chaperon." A sigh of laughter escaped her. "Besides, this might be my only chance to leave the country and see something else of the world." "If you insist." Lita sighed dramatically and turned around to face the ticketing agent. He winked at her. She took it as a good sign that he wasn’t offended or agog by the discussion he had just witnessed. Lita hoped he wasn’t the meddling

kind of man who would repeat the story to the next dozen people who came in. "We’ll need a stateroom, please, on a lower deck for stability, but close enough to the stairways so we have fresh air. The next available ship bound for France." *** "Unfaithful?" Eduardo snorted at the irony of his brother’s paramount concern and the reason Esteban had asked him to stand guard over the princess. No one walking the Boston street past him reacted. Civilized people had the courtesy not to react when someone talked to himself. He liked that. He hadn’t seen Esteban in nine years, but he doubted his brother had changed his ways, his tastes or his privileged attitude. It would serve him right if Princess Elizabelita had grown weary of being made to wait for their wedding, and had decided to follow her heart instead of her duty. Esteban had two mistresses, the last time Eduardo thought to ask for news of home. Why did it matter to him if the princess wasn’t a virgin on their wedding night? Eduardo had been exposed to the modern thinking of the university long enough to believe that men and women had equal rights when it came to matters of the heart. If a man strayed from his marriage vows, then his wife had no obligation to honor hers. If the princess had a sweetheart or two, or had even taken a lover, Esteban had no right to complain. It wasn’t as if he had made any effort to secure her affections or loyalty, and certainly didn’t care if she looked like a hag or a horse or had remained the delightful, lovely child Emmanuel had worshiped. The sudden change in attitude in his older brother assured Eduardo that something was disastrously amiss. Esteban had instructed him to find the princess and watch her for three weeks, to discern her habits and friends, before approaching and introducing himself. Any men of marriageable age were to be investigated. Any time she left the house, especially if she left without suitable escort, she was to be followed. "And I must challenge and discourage any young man who appears to have more than a polite social connection to her," Eduardo murmured. He nearly crumpled his brother’s thick letter of instructions and doubts about the princess in his fist and slammed it down on the surface of his favorite café table. Duels were fine and admirable in Spain and France and the mountains surrounding Los Cielos, but not in modern-day, civilized New York. "Eddie." Jason Hopkins, who gladly told any stranger who asked that he was descended from the Mayflower’s passengers, settled down at the café table opposite Eduardo. "Why the gloomy face? Don’t tell me you didn’t get invited to the Ladies Guild tea?" "Just the opposite. They can’t survive without my impeccable manners and

exquisite tailoring." Eduardo leaped up from his chair and executed a bow, showing off his two-day-new frock coat. Unfortunately, the move left his letter from Esteban sitting unguarded on the table. Jason picked it up. "Heavens above--what in the world is that scrawl?" "Orders from my elder brother." "How can you obey him if you can’t read it? And what language is that?" Jason laughed and tossed the papers back at Eduardo. "Our estate is in the mountains between France and Spain. Therefore, so is the language." "Ah, no wonder you’re such a wonder with languages. You even have Monsieur Philipe dumbfounded with your skill." Jason lounged in his chair, pretending a wastrel attitude that only his closest friends didn’t believe. "You have very little accent, you know. It’s exceedingly unfair to the rest of us." "How?" Eduardo grinned, despite the fury at Esteban that still seethed in his veins. Leave it to Jason to be amusing, and yet highly informative and introspective at the same time. "That little touch of accent sets the girls’ hearts aflutter. It’s a good thing you’re a paragon of a gentleman, or you’d cut a swath through society that none of us could dare match." "Hmm. Yes. A gentleman." Eduardo knew Jason could never guess what a reprobate he had been only a few short years ago. Emmanuel’s death had shocked him enough to bring about an abrupt change in his goals, values, and behavior. That, and the deaths of Christine and Magnolia. Did his renovated and remade character require him to spy on Princess Elizabelita and ensure she hadn’t taken a lover? Did it require him to challenge any suitors, to protect his brother’s claim to the girl’s affections? Did Esteban even care about the girl’s loyalty and friendship, or did he only care that she didn’t bring a bastard to their marriage, to inherit the reunited throne of Los Cielos? After all, that was what had split the kingdom centuries ago. The two daughters of the queen were to share the throne between them, but the elder tried to displace the younger, and the younger claimed the elder was illegitimate. Their struggle for power, for the loyalty of the vinedressers and peasants of Los Cielos, had

destroyed the once-plentiful valley. Some legends said that magic had stolen the rivers, and only healing magic could restore them. Other legends said that only a daughter could bring healing, because a daughter had destroyed the prosperity of Los Cielos. Until this generation, only sons had been born to the two branches claiming exclusive rights to the throne. Marrying Princess Elizabelita and rejoining the two lines of the family into one was the only way to heal the land. Emmanuel had believed it enough to betroth himself to a child. Esteban had obviously believed it, because he demanded the right to inherit the betrothal when Emmanuel died. Eduardo wasn’t sure he believed in much of anything, except perhaps the doom levied on those who betrayed their duty to their family. "My duty as a gentleman tears me away." Eduardo grinned when Jason responded to his jibe with a mere snort. "How long will you be gone?" "I have no idea. It depends on the princess, I suppose." "Princess?" Jason sat up straight. "As in?" "A princess with no throne, descended from a prince with no throne, and on and on through history. My brother plans to marry her, so I have to dance attendance on her and keep the lines of communication open between our two families." He shrugged. Ironic, how easily the lie slipped from his lips. Old habits died hard. "We have more than enough landless, fortune-less princesses around." Jason subsided back into his chair again, dismissing Elizabelita with a wave of his hand. "Finish your duty and hurry back, will you? I want you to lead our fox hunts this year, and there’s no one who can mach your style as a marksman, or on the debate team." "Oh, yes, definitely. The end of civilization if the debate team doesn’t continue its relentless pace." Eduardo wondered what his elegant, rich friend would say if he knew the truth about him. Would his status as the younger brother of the prince and de facto ruler of a destitute kingdom cover over his other sins? Would Jason scorn him, or welcome him as a curiosity piece, if he knew Eduardo had been a drunkard and thief, had tried his hand at piracy and owned a bordello for two years? Would he applaud the reforms in his life, his attempt to become something worthwhile, a scholar? Or would Jason turn his back on Eduardo because his sins, his stupidity, had brought

about the deaths of his mistress and their innocent child, just days after he swore to reform? *** A cab pulled up in front of Professor Charles Van Worton’s brownstone, when Eduardo finally untangled the directions and arrived at the proper address. He settled down on a bench in the park across the street and watched the activity. The driver and his helper immediately got out and knocked on the front door. A red-haired girl in a gray maid’s uniform opened the door within seconds, meaning the cab was expected, and the two men went inside. They came out, carrying out valises and steamer trunks, and went back in again. Eduardo didn’t realize he had stood and started crossing the street toward the house until he heard a shout and looked around to see a hansom cab bearing down on him. When the second cab departed, Eduardo saw a white-haired, plump woman standing on the steps, wearing a long bottle green coat over her black dress, and an outrageous hat full of feathers and veils. She pulled on her gloves while she carried on a conversation with the driver, and his assistant secured the luggage to the outside of the cab. Eduardo relaxed and grinned at his foolishness. He had thought the princess-A young woman stepped outside, dressed all in dove gray that made her abundant mass of hair seem blue-black by comparison. Eduardo watched, his heart coming up in his throat, while she fixed a sensible gray, flat pancake of a hat in place with hatpins long enough to be seen from across the street. He didn’t pull free of the daze enfolding him until she pulled a veil down over her face with gray-gloved hands, obscuring her large, liquid dark eyes. That had to be Princess Elizabelita. And she was dressed for travel. Some of that load of luggage had to be hers. Where was she going? No wonder Esteban wanted the girl watched. Eduardo wondered if the princess had grown tired of waiting for her prince to marry her, and she had decided to take matters into her own hands. The creak of springs as the two women climbed into the cab woke him from the swirl of his thoughts. Eduardo muffled a string of curses and started across the street. The maid scurried out the front door and handed a package up into the cab. Eduardo heard a musical bubble of laughter and something jolted inside him. A girl who could laugh like that... He scolded himself to use his brain instead of his groin and slowed to a stop when

the cab pulled away from the curb. Fortunately for him, the maid stayed on the front steps, waving. Her smile looked excited, not relief that two difficult mistresses were gone, he noted. That said something for what things were like inside the household. "Where are they off to now?" he said. He offered his most harmless grin and jammed his hands into his pants pockets like a much younger man. "France." The maid folded her mouth tight shut and turned to go back into the house. Eduardo grinned. So, his attempt at making her think he was acquainted with the two ladies hadn’t worked. He liked this girl, who didn’t seize every opportunity to gossip. "I thought for sure she’d be going to Spain. What’s in France besides dressmakers and hat makers and cuisine?" "You know Miss Lita, then?" "Not half as much as I’d like to. I thought I’d come by and surprise her with a visit--I just came up from Princeton," he added, hoping to impress the girl. "Haven’t seen her since she...oh, was this tall." He measured up from the ground, estimating how tall the princess had been in the childish portrait Emmanuel had shown him. "She wore sapphire earrings and matching ribbons in her hair, and she had a locket with her parents’ portraits in it. Does she still wear the locket?" "Won’t take it off." The maid nodded and tugged her mobcap a little more securely down on her curls. "What makes you think Spain, instead of France?" "She still speaks fluent Spanish, doesn’t she?" "If that’s what you call it. A Spanish gent is courting my sister, and what I hear when I go home on my days off doesn’t sound like what Miss Lita spills when she’s--" Her eyes sparkled, despite her grimace. "Mustn’t gossip. It’s not nice at all." "Where Miss Lita is from, they speak Spanish and French. That’s probably what you heard." Eduardo filed that bit of information away for later. He had imagined the princess as an elitist, insisting on either pure French or pure Spanish. For her to practice her ancestors’ language had to mean something. What, exactly, he wasn’t sure. He nodded his thanks. "I’ll just have to come by when she returns. Do you know when that will be?" "Mrs. St. Just hopes to be home in the spring. If Miss Lita comes at all, well," the maid shrugged, and grinned delightedly, "it’ll be on her honeymoon trip."

"Ah, then I’m too late after all." Eduardo sighed dramatically, which earned a giggle from the maid. She blushed, stricken silent when he caught up her hand and kissed it gallantly. "If you get a chance to write to Miss Lita, please give her my good wishes, won’t you?" He left the maid nodding, her eyes bright as stars. Eduardo strolled down the street, fighting the desperate urge to run. In this upper-class neighborhood, anyone seen running would be immediately suspected of mischief. Decorum demanded a dignified pace. At the first opportunity, he hailed a cab and headed for the docks. With any luck, Princess Elizabelita’s ship would still be there. With any luck, he might even see her strolling the deck, delaying the moment when she had to settle into her stateroom. It would save him much time and trouble if he could follow her to her quarters instead of having to ask multitudes of discreet questions. He hoped his luck held, giving him time to purchase tickets and send for Reynaldo and his luggage. Eduardo could make do with borrowed clothes, or even stolen ones. He had certainly been reduced to that before. But if he wanted to get near the princess on this ocean voyage, he had to appear as uppercrust as she and her companion. He also had to be able to provide some competition, if she intended this voyage to meet or find or even run away with her lover. It had been several years since he had changed the course of his life, but Eduardo was confident in his ability to dazzle and distract a girl, and even sweep her off her feet, if necessary. Even princesses had weak points. He would find Elizabelita’s weaknesses and exploit them, and make sure she arrived in Los Cielos as unsullied as possible. Not that Esteban deserved a virginal, innocent bride, but Eduardo took this mission for Emmanuel’s sake. His oldest brother had adored the princess. She would still be innocent and pure, and madly in love with Emmanuel if he had lived. Eduardo wondered what it was like to be in love. He had been amused by Emmanuel’s infatuation with the princess and his resolve to become worthy of her. His amusement had been touched with just enough envy to realize that was the source of the sour note in his laughter. Eduardo knew that despite the solid, reputable, scholarly man he had become, there was still enough filth in his past, he would never deserve a pure, devoted love. That depressed him more than he wanted to admit. Almost enough to drive him back to the bottle. But Christine’s and Magnolia’s ghosts called when alcohol soaked his mind and body, and he couldn’t stand that. ***

The ship bound for France wasn’t due to leave until the next morning. Eduardo said his first thankful prayer in years, and with some judicious questioning, found the hotel where Mrs. Ermengarde St. Just and her young traveling companion, Miss Elizabeth Seal-Croft, had taken rooms for the night. He obtained a room, lied about his luggage still coming from the train station, and went to fetch Reynaldo. His manservant was loyal to a fault, brutally honest, and had stayed with Eduardo through his years of rehabilitation. Strange and sad to say, Eduardo had no idea if Reynaldo liked ocean voyages or hated them. He hoped Reynaldo wasn’t the iron constitution type who took one look at the rolling waves and turned green. He would need the man’s help, if only to distract the old woman so he could get close to the princess.

Chapter Four "Somewhere down there is your princess," Reynaldo said. "Yes. Somewhere." Eduardo sighed. He rested his well-muscled arms on the railing of the top deck of the ocean liner and wished he were back at Princeton. "You still think she's running away?" "What other answer could it be? " A bitter laugh escaped his strong lips. "Do you think she's traveling to meet Esteban? I can’t imagine him writing love letters to the girl, so either she’s decided to confront him and demand he follow through on the promise to marry her, or she has a lover and she’s running away to meet him. The maid did mention a honeymoon trip." "It's ironic you've been so close all this time. I wonder why Prince Esteban hasn’t asked you to check on her before this." Reynaldo waited, but Eduardo continued gazing down on the passengers milling around the lower deck. "I haven’t informed him that you’ve reformed, so unless he has another spy watching you, he still believes you a scoundrel. Maybe he didn’t trust you with his betrothed until now." He offered a crooked smile, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Maybe he feared you would seduce her, marry her, and try to steal the throne from him." "Steal what throne? Los Cielos is a wasteland. I don’t believe in a magical key and underground chambers. Or doors that must be unlocked by one specific, royal hand, to release the rivers to flow through our valley again. And why would he change his mind about me now, so he wants me to have contact with his princess? That is what worries me. What does he want?" Eduardo continued scanning the passengers milling the deck below him and shook his head, his face creasing even deeper with the weight of his thoughts. "Esteban isn’t the kind of man who cares about farmers and vineyards. He wants a quick return for his money, not something that will take years before there is any profit from his effort." "Sounds like you understand vineyards." "I’ve done some research. It must have been a lovely, peaceful, simple life." Eduardo flinched when he heard his voice turn soft and wistful. "A farmer’s life. Who’d want to be king of a valley full of farmers, treading grapes in the fall, pruning in the spring, waiting for the juice to rot into wine that people might want to buy?" He shook his head. "Not for me, any more than it’s for Esteban. So, what does he want from the valley, and why does he suddenly care what the princess does?" "He’s found some use for the valley, obviously, and needs to consolidate his claim

through her." "Obviously." Eduardo thought of that glimpse he had of Princess Elizabelita. "I wonder how many of her sweethearts know she's a princess?" "The question is, does she?" "Why wouldn’t she?" "To protect her. If she doesn’t know, if her guardians don’t know, if the only thing any of them knows is that she has been betrothed since childhood...it could have been much safer for her. If no one knows the truth, no one can spill the secret and endanger her." "True." Eduardo nodded. A crooked grin cracked the somber line of his mouth. He was grateful once again for Reynaldo’s wisdom and insight, and his loyalty. Only a year after the man came into his service, he revealed that Esteban had sent him as a spy, and swore loyalty to Eduardo, instead. "Yes, indeed. What if she doesn’t know who she really is?" But if she didn't know she was Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos, why did she flee? Why was she even now preparing to cross the ocean, when she should be waiting for her royal betrothed to fetch her home? *** Lita sighed and sank down into the closest available chair the moment the stateroom door closed behind the porter. What relief, to be able to just sit; no more decisions, no more holding back her curiosity, fighting not to gawk at all the fascinating sights on the way from the hotel to the docks. Now, for just a little, she could sit and be quiet and not think. Not worry that her father’s enemies knew she had been summoned home to Los Cielos and were even now closing in to kill her. Watching her from the shadows, around the next corner. Or rather, she thought with a tight, smug little smile, they could try to kill her. Between her self-defense lessons and the Black Monks, Lita suspected the Dissenters, who wanted Los Cielos to stay a wasteland and its people scattered, would have a hard time attaining their goal. "I'm starting to have my doubts about this plan, my dear." Ermengarde stepped through the door from the bedroom to the sitting room of their cabin. She didn't look a day over fifty, but she was nearly seventy and no closer to relaxing into graceful old age than the girl posing as her assistant. Her snowy hair and decorous jet black traveling suit were perfect foil to her sparkling sky blue eyes. She perched on the arm of the closest chair and studied the girl who had been her charge since childhood.

"You think I should stay at home, barricade myself in the Professor's study and hope Prince Esteban stirs himself to come fetch me before one of the Dissenters tries to kidnap me? He's proven he has no more interest in this marriage than I do. He only sent for me because events have proven he needs me. The legends do specify a princess." Lita fought not to sigh. Was it vanity to be wanted for something more than her heritage? Couldn’t Esteban at least lust after her a little? For all she knew, he had no idea what she even looked like, and didn’t care. "That sounds rather bitter. Doesn't every girl dream of marrying a prince?" Ermengarde slipped open the last latches on her traveling boots and sighed in delight. "You really are a faerie tale princess. Try to enjoy it." Lita gave a most unladylike snort, but still smiled, putting a sparkle in her midnight eyes. Her sensible dove gray traveling hat couldn't hide the glossy abundance of her raven curls, bursting to be set free of pins and clips and braids. Hidden in gray gloves, her hands could deal cards with lightning speed, whip together the most delicate soufflé or control the most spirited horse available to the uppercrust riding clubs of New York. She could tend the wounded with compassion and an iron stomach, man or beast, and then run upstairs to her guardian's library and find obscure references to support a philosophical debate carried on during the bandaging operation. When the Professor had been charged with the safety and education of a princess, he had vowed to make her a Renaissance woman-sensible, intelligent, and independent, as well as gracious and beautiful. He was an oddity in society: a man who thought women had brains to equal men. So now, Elizabeth Seal-Croft and her Aunt Ermengarde St. Just were about to cross the ocean, ostensibly for the elder lady to take a long-delayed tour of Europe. If the journey took longer than intended, and they didn’t go through Spain as Prince Esteban expected, and the hazards of fall travel postponed the moment that Lita met her intended husband, that would be a benefit, wouldn’t it? Lita knew better than to hope for infatuation, to be swept off her feet, and even more important, to capture Prince Esteban’s heart the moment they met. It would be nice, she knew, but why make an inescapable situation unpleasant, perhaps even unbearable, by hoping for something she might never have? It was far more sensible to prepare for a partnership than to hope for oneness with a man who could make her heart sing. Why make herself miserable, after all, married to one type of man and wanting another? "I do hate making you play the role of a servant, my dear," Ermengarde said, breaking into Lita’s thoughts. "If anyone is looking for me, they'll expect a helpless rich girl with a gaggle of servants, headed for Spain. Not a lady traveling to Paris and then Vienna with her

maid. This way, I get to move so much more freely--and pamper you for a change, dear Aunt Ermie." Lita smiled with a little more of her usual liveliness. "I wish the Professor could have come with us. It would be such fun, the three of us like always." "Poor Charles gets seasick. He won't admit it. He went out on the water in Boston when we were children and promptly lost his breakfast over the rail before we'd even cast off the mooring lines. No, dear, we're all three better off this way." A low, mournful blast filtered through the walls. The ship had left the docks. The two smiled at each other and hurried to get up and leave the room. They both wanted to see the Statue of Liberty as they passed it in the harbor. Lita vowed she would do and see and experience everything possible on this voyage and the overland trip through France and the Pyrenees. All too soon, she would be married and bound to the valley kingdom of Los Cielos, and her adventuring days would be over. *** Lita and Ermengarde had lunch in their cabin, that first day of the voyage, avoiding the noise and confusion that would prevail on board ship until the passengers had settled into the ship’s routine. Lita studied maps to plan the second leg of their journey, while her guardian read a French novel. While she made notes and drew on the various maps the Professor’s friends had obtained for her, she recited names and dates and figures under her breath. This was both to help her memory, and to practice speaking her father’s language, French and Spanish combined in an unpredictable patchwork that resembled neither parent tongue. She literally had no way of knowing if she spoke it correctly. Only her father and Prince Emmanuel had ever spoken it in her hearing. Her mother had been the sheltered daughter of an Italian scholar who knew more about the De Medici family than he did about the world around him. Until she met Prince Emmanuel, Lita had considered her father’s stories about their ancestral home as something just a little more solid than a faerie tale. Now, approaching the spinsterish age of twenty-one, she found her duties and heritage less like a faerie tale every time she considered them. Who honestly wanted to be a princess and make a marriage of state, to a man who had written her less than once a year since they had been betrothed? A man who likely had several mistresses, and who enjoyed battles and politics instead of working to make the secluded valley of Los Cielos a prosperous, fruitful place again. Why hadn’t he spent his time investigating the loss of water throughout the valley and the blight that destroyed the vineyards that had been Los Cielos’ livelihood? Why did he insist on living in the mountains that overshadowed the valley, instead of in the valley?

"Well," she muttered in her father’s tongue, "soon I shall find all my answers. I doubt I will like a single one of them." "You don’t sound happy, my dear," Ermengarde said without raising her head. "Are you sure you should be thinking such heavy thoughts? Maybe you should leave some things for your husband to consider." "You aren’t going to turn me into a useless bit of fluff to decorate the throne at this late date, are you?" Lita retorted. That earned a bubble of low laughter from her guardian. "I merely thought your betrothed might realize that the journey through France would be far more civilized and safe, and send someone to meet us. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about finding your way from the port to the mountains." "Considering Prince Esteban sent neither tickets nor instructions how to contact him, I seriously doubt he will have men waiting to meet us." And that suited Lita perfectly. She intended to learn everything she could about the countryside that surrounded her ancestral kingdom, first-hand. Traveling with an escort who treated her as a princess could raise a barrier that would effectively blind and deafen her. Lita didn’t want that. Every bit of information meant a little more power and freedom in her marriage. "He might. He could have been in such a hurry to send for you, that he didn’t even think about such things as schedules. It could even be that he has had men watching and guarding you all these years, and they know where you are right this moment. Perhaps he is the master of your mysterious guardians." "Aunt Ermie..." Lita sighed and kept her smile steady, when in reality the thought of the Black Monks reporting to Esteban made her shudder. She had mentioned her guards to Emmanuel during one of his first visits, and he admitted he only knew about the Black Monks as legends, not as reality. They had never shown themselves to him, in all the visits he paid her before his death. "What, my dear?" The lady tipped her head to one side, managing to look studious and serious instead of the vacuous expression the gesture gave to many of her friends. "You’re a romantic at heart. That’s all there is to it." Lita folded up the map on top of the pile. "I think Prince Esteban will have men watching the passes through the Pyrenees, but not the ports. And that means we must find our own way. I intend to astonish him with my intellectual skills, to ensure he doesn’t try to put me on a shelf once we’re married. After all, the throne is as much mine as it is his."

"The only difference being, you don’t want the wretched thing, and he does," Ermengarde murmured. "True. But just because I don’t want it doesn’t mean I can just hand everything over to him. I have responsibilities. You and the Professor ensured that was embroidered inside my heart and mind." The conversation stayed with Lita when she took a short walk along the upper deck. She thought with longing of the first class reserved deck, where she could walk without worrying about being accosted by unattached young men. Walking was for exercise. She found nothing romantic about miles and miles of shimmering ocean stretching out around her, but she imagined some young men would try to spill poetry on her, to convince her they were romantics and harmless. She wished she had chosen first class accommodations, with all the privacy, security and privileges that came with them. However, she had her limited purse to consider, and the knowledge that if someone were trying to catch or harm a princess, first class was where he would expect to find her. Most people were either napping after lunch, or occupied in the lounges or music room or other occupations the ship offered. Lita let herself relax as she made her way toward the prow. She thought of Los Cielos. When she married Prince Esteban, she might never see the ocean again. According to the little she knew of her betrothed, he never left the mountains surrounding the devastated valley. Lita imagined trying to convince him to take a journey, just for the excitement of it. He was probably as dry, dusty and hard as the valley their mutual ancestors had destroyed. "I wish I didn’t need him," she told the brisk ocean breeze. Lita paused to cross her arms on the railing and gaze out at the rolling water. It amused her a little to realize there was something tranquil and soothing about the vast expanse of bluegreen-brown reaching up to the white horizon line. "The truth is...healing will only come through true partnership and unity." Lita shook her head. The pressure of the task ahead of her apparently caused problems with her mind. She hardly ever talked to herself, and never aloud before this. At least she was alone in her musings, whether silent or spoken. She allowed herself to lean against the rail and look out over the ocean. Definitely, all that expanse of water didn’t strike her as romantic, but it was greatly soothing. She suspected she would miss the ocean, once she went inland to the mountains. Hairs stirred on the nape of her neck. She turned, half-expecting to see one of her black-robed protectors appear from the shadows. Instead, a man leaned against the railing perhaps ten yards to the right. He watched her.

When their gazes met, he stood up straight and tipped his hat to her. Lita hesitated a moment, barely long enough to consider what to do. She didn’t have cause to snub him, but if she was too welcoming, he might attach himself to her. She decided a slight inclining of the head would be polite, acknowledging his presence. Then she turned back to contemplating the water, and hoped he was sensitive enough to understand the signal that she wanted to be alone. "Pardon me, Madam, but why does your husband allow you to roam about without him to protect you?" "Protect?" Lita muffled a bubble of laughter that caught in her throat. She turned, and the man now stood only two yards away, watching her, lost in shadows. She swallowed her retort, that she needed no protection from a mere man. "Have we been introduced, sir?" The last words caught in her throat when he took a step closer, leaving the shade of the deck above them. The brilliant sunshine cast his dark curls in a blue-black sheen and revealed the bronze cast of his skin. She knew those wide, liquid black eyes, that Roman nose, the square jaw neatly trimmed with a fashionably short beard, and the thin line of moustache framing his generous, smiling mouth. She knew those wide shoulders, she knew the warmth of those long-fingered hands clasping her fingers, resting on her waist in a slow, decorous waltz. Emmanuel had danced with her, getting down on his knees to make her laugh, and fumbled through a short waltz with her on her twelfth birthday. He had apologized for not wearing gloves, because a gentleman always wore gloves when dancing with a lady. Her heart wanted to say this was Emmanuel, who had made her feel so grown up and elegant. Her mind knew Emmanuel was dead. This had to be Esteban. No one could look so much like Emmanuel as to be his mirror image, unless he was his brother. What was Esteban doing here? "Edward Fitzroy, Ma’am." He bowed, making an elegant sweeping gesture with the hand holding his hat. "Your accent doesn’t match your Anglo-Saxon surname." Lita silently blessed the Professor for filling her lessons with so much interesting trivia. "Caught out. It is my traveling name, to avoid...complications." He winked at her, shrugged, and turned to look over the railing again. Edward was Eduardo, Esteban’s second name. Fitzroy meant he was of royalty.

Lita thought of all the games, the puzzles and tests she and the Professor had enjoyed tossing at each other. Could this be a test? Esteban had come after her, and now he tested her. Should she play along, pretend to be blind to his resemblance to Emmanuel? Or could he possibly not know who she was? She hadn’t sat for a portrait since she was ten, and the Professor wanted to wait until photography had developed more as an art form before entrusting their likenesses to posterity. Perhaps Esteban didn’t know whom he addressed. In that case, he was only being friendly to a fellow traveler. She had a false name, just as he did. "I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Fitzroy. I am Elizabeth Seal-Croft." "Mr. Seal-Croft is a very lucky man." He bowed to her. "There is no such creature. And before you ask, I am betrothed." "Again, I must say, a very lucky man." "You, sir, are too familiar." She answered him with a slightly sharper tone than the laughter in his eyes warranted. Lita didn’t know what it was about him that made her feel unbalanced, as if the heel of her shoe threatened to snap off. "It is a failing." He shrugged again, making interesting ripples in the sleek cloth of his coat. "I have been dutifully warned, Miss Seal-Croft. I am a widower, myself. Don’t fear I will be an unwanted suitor. Perhaps we could be allies? You will protect me from marriage-minded young ladies and their mamas, and I will protect you from gentlemen who aren’t gentlemen?" "That sounds like a wise and fortuitous plan." Lita smiled and didn’t hesitate when he offered her the crook of his arm. She slid her hand into place and let him lead her down the deck, back toward the more populated portion of the ship. "I don’t suppose you play poker?" "Miss Seal-Croft, I’m shocked." He spoke with an affected British accent, earning a bubble of laughter from her. "Not for me. My aunt. Mrs. Ermengarde St. Just. She loves a good evening of poker. She despises men who play below their ability, just because she’s a lady." "I am duly warned." This can’t possibly be Prince Esteban. Lita let him lead her down the deck. They nodded and smiled to the few people they passed, who were only now venturing out into the sunshine and fresh air. He doesn’t leave Los Cielos. So who is this? And why does he wear Emmanuel’s face?

*** "She’s not fleeing to meet a lover," Eduardo said, the moment Reynaldo closed the door of their stateroom. "The maid said she would be returning on her honeymoon trip, if at all. Why would she say that?" "Perhaps the princess is traveling to meet your brother and force his hand, as you theorized," his servant offered, settling down in his chair again and putting his feet up. "Force Esteban? She’s pretty, but she’s not an empty-headed little dressmaker’s doll. A scholar raised her. Emmanuel said her father specifically asked that family to foster her, so she would have a superior education, to prepare her to hold the throne." "Then, something has happened back in Los Cielos, prompting the princess to act." Reynaldo picked up his whiskey and soda but didn’t sip. He watched Eduardo pace the length of their cabin. "I’ve been an idiot." He stopped short and his lips twisted as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or snarl. "I actually believed Esteban trusted me. Did I destroy my brain, with all those years of drinking and gambling and whoring?" "Some diseases have been shown--" Reynaldo grinned cheekily when his words earned a groan from his employer. "You are reforming your life, sir. You have been associating with people who, on the whole, are honorable. You have fallen out of the practice of expecting your closest blood-kin to destroy you." "Emmanuel was never a danger or threat to me," Eduardo muttered. He sank down on the end of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands. "It’s entirely possible Esteban sent for the princess, or told her to do something, and said not a word to me." "Or his telegram instructing you to escort the princess did not reach you." "He used to do this all the time when we were children." He raked his fingers through his hair and sat up again. "He would tell me one thing, when we had been instructed to do something else. Then, when I had trespassed against our tutors or whoever our father had set over us that month, Esteban was injured innocence, protesting he had given me my instructions but I refused to obey." He pounded his fist against his thigh. "What do you want to wager, he told me to do one thing and told the princess to do another? He’s just waiting for me to fall short, so he can punish me." "How? He has no access to your funds, he has no control over your life."

"And when he regains the throne of Los Cielos, after marrying the princess and uniting the two opposing claims to the valley? He will be a recognized monarch. He will have authority over the Black Monks." Reynaldo snorted and lifted his tumbler to take a large swallow of his drink. "The Black Monks are faerie tales. Stories to frighten naughty little children. Creatures of the night who protect the throne, with the power to be invisible, move without sound, strike without warning." "Prince Miguel was murdered, but the men who triggered the avalanche that killed him were caught and hanged before the dust had settled in the valley. No one saw who did it, no one heard anything. One witness saw shadows step away from the walls and swallow the fleeing murderers, but that is all." Eduardo shuddered. "I’ve seen things and done things I am ashamed of now. When you’ve been to the brink of Hell and returned, and you have doubts of Heaven ever being within your grasp...the Black Monks are more real than they were when I was a child, shivering in my nursery bed." "And if these Black Monks do exist, when Esteban takes the throne, he will send them to destroy you, to make his throne that much more secure?" Reynaldo nodded. He let his feet drop to the floor with a thud, and leaned forward to offer the glass to Eduardo. The prince saluted him with a nod and a lift of the glass before taking only a small mouthful of the amber liquid. It was all he allowed himself. He couldn’t trust himself to take more than a glass of wine in an evening of socializing. He choked, shook his head, then handed the tumbler back. "I wouldn’t put it past Esteban to order you to tell me you had been sent by him, so I would trust you, so you could be close for the right moment. You could have poisoned that glass, tossed me overboard, and pretended to be me for the remainder of the journey." "Sir--" "I trust you as much as if Emmanuel had sent you to watch over me, rather than Esteban." Eduardo stood and began pacing again. "I remember a day when that mouthful wouldn’t have affected me any more than warm water. Strange, how the things you adore turn into poison when you refuse to let them control you." He paused a moment, his back to Reynaldo, then nodded. "Esteban either thinks I can be a useful tool and asked me to watch the princess to test me, perhaps to test her. Or, he thinks to frustrate me and trap me and make it seem I am a faithless, lazy fool. Well, I shall take the weapon out of his hand. We are going to send a telegram to my dear brother."

"Rather expensive, telegrams at sea," Reynaldo murmured. He nodded, giving tacit support to the plan. "More expensive not to send one." He offered a wicked smile. "Just think how upset he’ll be, to know I actually talked with the princess. Perhaps more shocked to know she is crossing the ocean. Unless he did send for her. But he won’t dare be upset, because I’ll assure him she is as honorable and demure as she is lovely." "A very expensive telegram." The older man thought a moment. "Save that good news for your response to whatever he sends back to you. Reserve some ammunition once you have a better idea of your enemy’s position and resources."

Chapter Five Lita, as a rule, avoided poker games. Not because of the gambling, because Ermengarde only allowed pennies and pins when she gambled. Not because of the language, because the roughest souls restrained themselves when Ermengarde St. Just sat down at the table. She avoided poker because she hated the deception and the flaws in strategy that she saw displayed on so many occasions, and because destiny rested on the uncontrollable fall of the cards. She preferred chess because she could see all her opponent’s pieces and the playing board was limited, and everything rested on her wits. That made up for the utter boredom of sitting for hours at a time staring at carved marble figures on a red and white marble board. Lita never played poker, but Ermengarde and the Professor liked to have her sit on the sidelines and talk. They believed that observing people was an education in itself. Lita loathed embroidery and other frilly little feminine tasks. Usually she armed herself with a book and practiced her patience, because questions from her guardians and their guests usually interrupted the most interesting parts of the books. Tonight, sitting in the salon Ermengarde had reserved, Lita brought a book but never opened it. Edward Fitzroy’s conversation and his handsome face demanded all her attention. Most unsettling of all, every time she looked at him, he seemed to be watching her. Please, oh, please, be my prince. Lita sat up straight and nearly dropped her book as she realized no one had spoken those words--she had thought them. She hardly recognized the hungry need in her own voice. What was wrong with her? Hadn’t she already decided this handsome man couldn’t possibly be Prince Esteban? Despite his striking resemblance to Emmanuel and the odd coincidence in names, how could he be her betrothed? All the information the Professor gleaned from his many scholarly contacts in international circles confirmed that Prince Esteban never left the vicinity of the valley that was once Los Cielos. So how could this man be her prince, her betrothed? Unless he had come specifically looking for her? Had he decided to come meet her, perhaps spend the voyage getting to know her, at last? Had he perhaps arrived as they were leaving, and decided to follow rather than make himself

known? What did he think of her leaving New York without a proper escort? Was he scandalized or amused? Did he think her clever, pretending to be an ordinary girl, companion to an elderly lady? Lita felt Edward’s gaze on her and looked up. She forced herself to meet his eyes instead of looking away. Her face felt warm, but she prayed it wasn’t going pink with a blush. After all, she didn’t want him to think he affected her that much. She couldn’t afford maidenly vapors and delicacy. She couldn’t afford to let her future husband--if this was her future husband--think she was a bit of fluff who would meekly obey whatever plans he made for their shared kingdom. The key to unlock the ancient springs and bring life back to Los Cielos would turn only for her hand, because the prophecies all agreed that a princess would do it. No other. To bring prosperity back to her ancestors’ kingdom, she had to be strong. She had to be a worthy queen. No matter how handsome and refined Edward appeared, she couldn’t let him touch her heart or guide her thoughts in anything. If he was Prince Esteban in disguise, testing her. "Would you care to accompany me to the dancing salon?" Lita blinked and looked up, and her face burned with blush she knew everyone could see in the dimly lit corner of the poker parlor. Edward stood over her, his hand outstretched. She had been so lost in her thoughts she had completely ignored the conversation at the table and the fact that several players had stood up to leave. "Aunt Ermengarde?" Thankfully, her voice didn’t waver. "Run along and have a good time, dear. I trust Mr. Fitzroy to escort you decently. Three dances, sir," Ermengarde said, raising an admonishing eyebrow, "and no more." "If I had beaten you, Ma’am, would you have allowed me four or five?" Edward asked, bowing to Ermengarde with a flourish of an imaginary feathered cap. "I, sir, would be so miffed at your lack of gallantry in depriving an old lady of one of her few pleasures, I would refuse you even a single dance with my niece." Ermengarde chuckled, the sound low and rumbling like a sated, fat cat. "Mrs. St. Just, I’ll have you know you had me sweating the entire time we played. It wasn’t gallantry that made me the loser. My...my father taught me that when it comes to poker, there are no gentlemen and ladies." "Oh, go on with you. Have a good time and stay in well-lighted places. I’m sure if you’re too forward, my dear Lita will put you in your place. My brother scandalized our neighbors by teaching her the fine art of pugilism."

"Really?" Edward lifted one eyebrow as he turned back to Lita. She was hard pressed not to burst out laughing. "Consider me suitably warned." He bowed again and offered his bent elbow. "Miss Lita?" Lita fumbled to tug her gloves back on and wrap her shawl around her shoulders before standing and tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. How long had it been since a gentleman had escorted her this way? Since the last interminable dancing lesson she had taken? She couldn’t remember. Edward was certainly a change from the sweaty, gawky, brandy-breathed young society buck who had led her in a stumbling swirl around the ballroom floor. "I’m sorry, if this is an imposition," Edward said when they were outside, wreathed in a slight fog off the water. It muffled their footsteps and the voices of the passengers strolling the deck around them, and turned the lanterns into waterfalls of golden light spilling down into wide pools. "No. No imposition. You simply startled me. I wasn’t paying attention." "Yes, so I noticed. Interesting book?" "Hmm?" Lita glanced at the slim volume, tucked under her free arm. She chuckled and paused to slip it into her reticule. It didn’t quite fit, but at least it wouldn’t be in the way when she and Edward danced. "To be truthful, sir, I read only a few pages. It was much more interesting to watch the game and follow the talk among all my aunt’s opponents. And, I must admit, I was lost in thought." "Hmm, that makes me think you grew bored with us." He frowned, but laughter sparkled in his eyes. "Not bored. Have you ever experienced the way one thought leads to another, then to another, until you’ve landed on something totally opposite of where you started, and no idea how you arrived?" She waited until he nodded. "Somehow, I traveled from the poker game to...well, I was wondering about my betrothed." She watched him, hoping for a flicker of emotion, a guilty start, something to confirm her suspicions about him. "Your betrothed. Yes. A lucky man, if I may be so bold." "Thank you, sir." She decided to mimic his slightly overdone formality, and made a small curtsey. The maneuver wasn’t so easy, with their arms locked together. "It would be nice to know if he thought so." "How does he look at you when you’re together?" Edward didn’t look at her as he asked his question, but Lita felt a slight tension in the arm she held, and that made her think he cared very much about her answer.

"We have never met. It is an arranged marriage." "Ah. Yes. Did I ask that before, or did you tell me such information before? No matter." He finally glanced down at her. "Do you know what he looks like?" "I have some ideas. I have a portrait of his elder brother. A miniature." "Why would you have a miniature of his brother?" Edward stiffened up at her admission. Why? What did her words mean to him? Lita wondered if he hadn’t known she had a miniature of Emmanuel. But for him to worry, to react in surprise to that, he would indeed have to be Esteban. "I met him long ago, when I was a silly little girl who thought he was exotic and fascinating. He had commissioned several portraits and miniatures for...well, I’m not sure for what reason, but my childish fascination with him must have charmed him greatly, because he gave me one. Emmanuel used to write to me every month, and I would write him long letters full of my childish scribbles and petty concerns. Such a kind man, Emmanuel." "Did he arrange the marriage with his brother?" Edward’s voice softened and he rested his other hand over hers, caught in the crook of his arm. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose he did." Lita blinked hard and quickly, trying to fight back the need for tears. How much different would her life be, if Emmanuel had not died? Would she be married to him now? Would they have found the mystical key and freed the captive rivers and springs of Los Cielos? Would their valley kingdom be rich and green, full of happy people tending the once-famous vineyards? Edward respected her need for silence, as if he understood the mood of sad speculation that settled on her like a gauzy veil. They continued their leisurely walk along the railing, stepping into and out of puddles of lantern light and the spill of light from open windows. Ahead of them, she heard the sweet, sweeping rhythm of the shipboard orchestra playing a waltz. "It’s a lovely night, and from what I overheard at dinner, we won’t have many more nights like this. If you would like to keep walking, rather than dance, I would be very glad to accompany you." He slid her arm free, managing to keep hold of her hand, and bowed over it. I don’t want him to be my prince, Lita decided in that moment. I want him to be this nice because he wants to be, not because he has to be. If he hasn’t introduced himself by his true name, then he’s playing games with me, spying on me, maybe testing me, and I don’t want that. Her spirits sank a little lower, despite the

pleasantness of his gallantry. Lita shook her head. "I should really return to my aunt. Lovely as it is, walking in the moonlight with a man who is neither family nor close acquaintance--" "Or betrothed?" he murmured with a flash of white, even teeth. "It just isn’t done." "Oh, but it is, Miss Lita. All the world over, people are throwing off the shackles of false manners and ridiculous restraints and claiming a new innocence. Why can’t two people simply be friends? Why does every encounter between men and women have to have such ugly overtones and implications?" "You and I can be friends quite nicely with a chaperone. We may have the most innocent of intentions, Mr. Fitzroy, but the world will not see our actions as innocent." Lita sighed, but smiled when he turned to go back the way they had come, bowed, and offered her his bent arm. "I would dearly like to find a world where we don’t have to constantly worry about what other people say," he muttered. "Please do find it, and come back to show me the way." Edward laughed. The sound vibrated up her arm and sent a sad little thrill through her. Lita could wish a thousand things, but knew it would be a waste of time. Her destiny had been set for her, and she refused to fail her father’s dreams and hopes. She refused to fail her ancestors and the innocents who had suffered because two sisters had fought so long ago. Whenever she met and married Prince Esteban, Lita vowed she would not let him rule her mind or her heart. The salvation and life of the kingdom rested in her hands, after all, and she would not relinquish that responsibility after everything had been set right again. *** The next evening, in the ballroom that did double duty as a salon for talk, Eduardo watched Lita chat with an elderly couple draped all in silver, jewelry as well as hair. He hadn’t liked their scent of medicines and fancy clothes stored in cedar and the faint, sour perfume of old age. He kept away from it, because it reminded him of the stink of impinging death. Lita, however, either knew how to ignore it or didn’t catch the scent. She didn’t seem to mind entertaining the elderly folks. That, he supposed, was a mark of a true princess. Enduring the unpleasant and making the onerous look easy and enjoyable.

He lounged against the wall of the ballroom and sighed. At least he had found out one thing, which made his job easier and yet more difficult. Reynaldo’s theory seemed to be true. The princess had been sent for, rather than her choosing to cross the ocean and force her unwilling betrothed’s hand. So why had his brother lied to him and sent him on a fool’s errand? To test him? To test his loyalty? To make him look like a fool? To give him a reason to punish, perhaps finally kill his brother? Eduardo knew better than to haunt the telegraph room on the ship, trying to mentally speed up Esteban’s response. His brother would answer when it suited him. All he could do was keep watch on Lita and prepare himself for whatever his brother ordered him to do, or not do, next. The song came to an end. He glanced at Lita and saw a flicker of something on her face when she looked at the small shipboard orchestra. Was that wistfulness? Did she want to dance? More important question, where was her escort? Formidable yet jolly Mrs. St. Just would have to give her permission before he could ask the princess to dance. Then again, nobody else knew she was a princess, and social restrictions weren’t quite so tight on board ship. They were in a brightly lit room with plenty of people. Who could see any harm in a single dance? The harm, Eduardo suspected, was that he wouldn’t want to leave it at a single dance. Warning shivers raced up his spine as he realized the direction his thoughts headed. He had trained himself never to look at a woman with desire, beyond that first glance and shock of hunger. Desire led to pursuit. Just like indulging in more than half a glass of whiskey in a fortnight could lead to that long slide back to his shameful, dissolute past, longing for a woman could lead to her destruction. He refused to risk the loss of the good, calm, respectable life he led now. Eduardo liked the man he had made of himself. He would lose it, if Esteban thought he had done anything to try to capture Lita’s affections. Even if the princess were totally innocent, Esteban wouldn’t see it that way. Esteban had never been innocent, so he couldn’t believe it of anyone else. "Miss Seal-Croft." Eduardo blinked, startled to find himself standing three feet away from the cozy corner where Lita and the elderly couple chatted. He bowed and gestured across the long room at the orchestra, which looked ready to begin another song. "May I have the pleasure of the next dance?" She hesitated, and that just made the longing in her eyes brighter. The elderly man, little more than a gnome, sat up straight and tapped his cane on the floor.

"Go on, missy. You might never get another chance. This young buck has been watching you all night." He leaned closer, put his hand up against his mouth as if to shield his words, and continued in only a slighter softer voice. "And if you don’t like him, you just step on his toes a few times and he’ll never ask you to dance again." He met Eduardo’s eyes for a moment and winked. Now Eduardo understood why Lita stayed with the elderly couple for so long. There was a spry wit and lively sense of humor under those wrinkles and silver hair. He felt slightly ashamed that he had avoided these people. When he returned Lita to her seat, Eduardo decided, he would settle here in the corner and make up for his earlier stupidity. "I don’t know," Lita began. She gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment. An answering jolt cut through Eduardo’s belly. Such a simple, innocent, thoughtless gesture, but suddenly he wanted to kiss that lip. Forget her lip, he wanted to kiss her entire mouth. He wondered if Lita had ever been properly kissed. Then again, the reformed scoundrel he was, Eduardo wasn’t sure he had ever kissed anyone properly. "Oh, go ahead and enjoy yourself, my dear," the elderly lady said with a whispery little chuckle. "There’s no harm in dancing. Just don’t let him sweet talk you into going out onto the deck." She nodded for emphasis to her words and turned to Eduardo. "We’ll be watching you, young man." "Edward Fitzroy, ma’am," he said, and executed a stiff, precise bow. When her lips quirked up, he caught hold of her gloved hand and kissed it. That earned a few peals of laughter from her. She tugged her hand free and waved it in a shooing motion at Lita. "Go on, the two of you, before the song is half over and you’ve done nothing but talk. Too much time spent on talking and planning, and not enough time doing." "Shall we?" Eduardo bowed and offered his bent arm to Lita. She blushed just enough to be noticeable, when he stood close enough to catch her fresh, clean perfume. Nodding, Lita let him tuck her hand into the crook of his arm. She matched her stride to his as they stepped onto the open floor, before he could shorten his steps to hers. Eduardo had never had that happen before. Usually when he escorted well-bred young ladies onto the dance floor, they took mincing little steps to force him to adapt to them. Socially timid young ladies, he had learned long ago, were false masks. The more retiring and delicate a lady appeared, the more likely she was a virago in private. Princess Elizabelita, however, was turning out to be an entirely new breed.

Eduardo made a mental note to set Reynaldo investigating the backgrounds of her two guardians, and figure out what they must have done to raise her so differently. Lita was a refreshing change, but surprises usually turned out to be deadly. "You’re very graceful," he said dutifully, after they had taken a few steps. Then he had to swallow a laugh as he realized for once, it was true. "Thank you, kind sir." She nodded her thanks with a grave expression, her mouth folded small and demure. Laughter sparkled in her eyes. Eduardo wanted to dive into her eyes and never emerge. The waltz and their fellow-dancers slowly spun them around the dance floor, until they were nearly back where they started when the song ended. Eduardo knew better than to follow impulse and beg her for another dance. He tucked her hand into his arm again, allowed his hand to linger on hers just a moment too long, and escorted her back to the elderly couple. Her aunt, Mrs. St. Just, joined them a few moments later. Eduardo knew he could have excused himself then, but he liked the woman and her plainspoken manner. Besides, he needed to learn more about both women. The more witnesses he had, the less suspicion he would generate when he stayed in Lita’s company. For a moment, a heavy wave of resentment toward Emmanuel flooded him. If only his brother hadn’t died, everything would be so much easier, simpler. Lita would be married already, happy with Emmanuel, who would worship her. Eduardo had no idea if he would still be a drunkard and scoundrel, an embarrassment to his family, but he knew he wouldn’t be in this position, enchanted by the girl his brother would marry soon. He strangled on a strange sense of envy and pity, choked by the need to warn her to flee from his brother’s plans as soon as she possibly could. His thoughts swam so thickly through his mind, Eduardo had a hard time yanking free to follow the conversation. He had to, however. He had a mission. And he had to tread carefully to avoid giving Esteban the excuse he wanted to destroy him. The elderly couple were Mr. and Mrs. Byron Hardcastle. They had gone by ship to Europe for their wedding trip fifty years ago this month. Their son and daughter had given them another world tour as an anniversary present, and to allow them to come to France to visit their granddaughter and new great-grandson. Their granddaughter had married a quite successful importer and lived just outside of Paris. What was it like, Eduardo wondered, to spend so many years with one person and look so happy to still be there? He could barely remember his parents, but he knew their marriage had held no happiness. His father had forced his mother to

marry him, and when she didn’t produce more than one son, his third, he grew tired of her and turned abusive. Eduardo was only eight when his mother had vanished, and the servants whispered that his father had killed her. He could find out little more than that, because the servants who did the whispering vanished as well. Eduardo thought rather that his mother had run away. She was too strong to let herself be hurt any longer, but he wondered to this day why she hadn’t taken him with her. All he really knew was that his father seemed unaffected by the loss. Mr. Hardcastle, Eduardo felt certain, would be devastated by the loss of his wife, no matter the cause. Eduardo’s father hadn’t had much affection for anyone or anything. All his passion, his energy, had been invested in controlling and revitalizing Los Cielos. He had seen his sons as an investment and little more, and entrusted their care to governesses and tutors. Would Esteban treat Lita the same way? Eduardo surprised himself with the depth of his anger at that thought. She was nothing to him but a responsibility, a duty that could turn into a snare if he didn’t properly decipher what Esteban really wanted to accomplish. The harsh hooting of the ship’s alarm shredded his thoughts before he could follow that new, painful suspicion. Eduardo stood and gestured for the others to stay seated. He spotted a ship’s officer in his dark blue uniform and hurried through the dispersing dancers before a current could form in the traffic. He reached the lieutenant in time for the man to cup his hands around his mouth and order everyone to the lifeboats. He neglected to say it was a drill, and that chilled Eduardo more than an admission something was wrong with the ship. He turned around and hurried back to join Lita, Mrs. St. Just, and the Hardcastles. "Sir, if you’ll lean on me, we’ll be able to go fast and break a path through the crowds for the ladies," Eduardo offered, and held out a hand to Mr. Hardcastle. To his relief, the elderly gentleman didn’t take the suggestion as in insult. He got to his feet with only minimal shaking in his legs and balanced with his cane before holding out his arm for Eduardo to grasp. "Are you in the military, by any chance?" the elderly man asked as the five stepped into the current now sweeping everyone out of the ballroom and onto the deck. "No." Eduardo muffled a smile at the absurdity of the thought. Esteban commanded a small army, made up of mercenaries, the desperate and angry, men who thrived on butchery, or those who had nowhere else to go and fought for anyone who would give them a sense of home or belonging. His brother enjoyed

such things, the sense of power and utter control and loyalty. Eduardo had surprised himself with the discipline and dedication he had dredged up from inside himself when he began his reform. Scholarship and social regimentation were as far as he could go. He couldn’t stomach the responsibility of commanding anyone, much less holding their lives and minds and souls in his hands. "Ah. Pity. You’ve a fine, commanding presence," Mr. Hardcastle said. He struggled to triple his pace and leaned into Eduardo for support as they forged a path through the crowds. He looked back every few steps, to make sure the ladies were directly behind them. Lita and Mrs. St. Just were on either side of Mrs. Hardcastle, their arms linked through hers, nearly carrying the frail little woman between them. One time when Eduardo looked back, he saw Lita ward off a man in rough clothes, likely a passenger from steerage, who tried to shoulder his way in ahead of her. She didn’t look either angry or afraid, merely stuck out her arm, her elbow close to his gut, effectively stopping him without slowing her pace. Eduardo hoped she had the wit and courage to do that to Esteban, when his brother tried such tactics with her. Twice, he felt a hand on his back and looked over his shoulder to see Lita gripping his jacket. It was necessary, to keep their little group together when the current shifted and split as the crowds reached the lifeboat racks. Eduardo was only four steps away from the crewmen helping ladies, children and elderly into the nearest lifeboat, when Mrs. St. Just screamed. "Lita!" His heart raced and tried to come up his throat. Eduardo turned, shoving Mr. Hardcastle into Mrs. St. Just’s support before he even saw what had happened. Two roughly dressed men had Lita around the waist, holding her off the ground. One had his hand over Lita’s mouth and the other tried to get control of her flailing arms as they moved backwards through the flow of people. Lita twisted and struggled, her efforts hampered by the press of people around her. Eduardo dove into the crowd. She managed to twist an arm free and reached up and over, behind herself, to scratch at one man’s face. "Good girl," he snarled, and bared his teeth in a fierce grin. What was wrong with the people around them, that no one noticed a girl being kidnapped right before their eyes? Lita flung up her legs, giving Eduardo a tantalizing glimpse of her crisp white petticoats. She bent her knees as she swung her legs down again. He was almost ready for it when her heels connected square with her abductor’s knees. Down the three went, one collapsed by the blow, the other man pulled down by his weight, and Lita on top of them. Eduardo cursed and tried to climb over the dozen people

between him and Lita. The crowd parted just in time for him to see one man raise his fist and slam it down into her face. Eduardo roared and leaped over the last few people in his way. He might have hit someone in the face with his knee, stepped on someone’s shoulder, but he didn’t care. He grabbed one man and tried to fling him away. The other man went after Lita, who tried to crawl away. The disconnected movements of her arms and legs revealed the blow had dazed her. The second man caught her up around the waist and resumed dragging her away. Then, as if a door had closed, the four were alone. Eduardo knocked his man backwards, so he stumbled four steps before hitting the wall behind him. He turned around to go after the man dragging Lita with her heels scraping the deck. Shadows emerged from all around him, seemingly from the deck itself. They converged on the two men. One knocked Eduardo to the deck, revealing a very solid fist among all the amorphous black. He scrambled to get to his feet, watching the shadows. Lita pushed herself upright, leaning against the wall behind her, still unsure and wobbling, and she stared as the black shadows surrounded the men. Through the roar of the people scrambling into the lifeboats, Eduardo heard the distinct screams of terror from the two attackers. The shadows lifted them up and hauled them to the railing. His stomach dropped down around his knees when he guessed what was about to happen. And something soared hot and fierce inside him at the same moment. He held his breath for the three seconds it took for the shadows to fling both men over the railing, into the darkness and the ocean waves. "Thank you," Lita croaked, and held out a hand to the shadows. They faded back into the darkness. Eduardo shuddered, even as he said a rare prayer of gratitude for their presence. "Are you all right, Princess?" He hurried to cross the gap between them and grasped her arms. "Princess?" Shock and hope warred in her face for a few heartbeats. That settled that, Eduardo decided. She did know she was royalty. But was she glad he knew, or worried? "Come on. We can worry about that later." He wrapped his arm around her waist and led her back to the shrinking crowds gathered along the railing further down the deck. "Something is wrong." She swung her arm out, taking in the writhing, seething mass of humanity struggling to get onto the lifeboats.

Eduardo shook his head, wondering what she could mean. There was nothing wrong--it was the usual panic of people who thought the ship would submerge in the next five seconds, even though the engines still rumbled smoothly and the ship didn’t list to one side in the slightest. He choked as he realized that was exactly what Lita meant. There was nothing wrong with the ship, from what he could tell. Surely in the time that passed since the alarm started howling, the ship’s condition would have worsened enough for an inexperienced man to notice. Then he realized the ship’s crew now blocked people from the lifeboats, and were trying to unload them. "False alarm?" he muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear. "I think the Dissenters are still trying to take me." Eduardo stopped short. That calm little declaration answered most of his questions about the princess and her awareness of the situation. They rejoined Mrs. St. Just and the Hardcastles. Eduardo admired Lita’s chaperone for her calmness and ability to take care of the two frail elderly folks in the midst of the ship-wide panic. The three got the Hardcastles back to their cabin and made sure a steward was available to check on them and bring the hot milk Mrs. Hardcastle requested to calm her. Then, Eduardo escorted Lita and Mrs. St. Just to their cabin. He insisted on searching it before letting them close the door, just in case the Dissenters had someone hiding in the closets or under the bed. Eduardo shook his head, amused and strangely sickened by the memories that simple word aroused. He had grown complacent, he supposed, dismissing the Dissenters as a folk tale meant to frighten children of the royal blood into behaving and staying where their guardians put them. Just like the tales of the Black Monks-and hadn’t they proved they were more than legends just a short time ago? Many legends sprang up in the generations since Los Cielos became a wasteland, to explain what had happened and to promise a return to the prosperity the people of the valley had known. The worst of all the odd stories, and perhaps the most frightening, had spawned the Dissenters. That particular legend said that Los Cielos would not become fertile again, the water would not return, until royal blood filled the place where the water was born. The Dissenters intended to destroy both royal houses, to kill as many nobles as they could, slicing their throats and letting them bleed to death in the rocky wastes where the deepest river once flowed. Eduardo had heard horror stories of his grandmother and others further back, kidnapped by the Dissenters and laid out for the sacrifice before rescue came. For Lita to be the target of such madmen made him shudder. Yet she spoke of the Dissenters so calmly.

"Thank you, Mr. Fitzroy, for your help," Mrs. St. Just said. She sank down at the small table in the sitting room and gave Lita a smile of thanks when the girl handed her a tumbler of whiskey, neat. Her smile froze when Eduardo pulled out a chair, turned it around, and sat down so he straddled the back. He rested his crossed arms across the back of the chair and made himself comfortable. It was, he feared, going to be a long evening. "Lita?" "He knows, Aunt Ermie," the girl said. She poured herself a finger of brandy and took such a small sip, Eduardo wondered if she even tasted it. "Knows?" Her tone turned frosty, imperious. Eduardo had to grin, recognizing the trick. He admired her for rising to Lita’s defense, even if the princess was quite capable of defending herself. That comforted him a little more intensely than he cared to admit. "Knows how much?" "I’m not sure." Lita sank down in another chair and tucked her legs up under herself in a quite unladylike, yet graceful pose. "He knows enough to call me Princess." "Ah." Mrs. St. Just took a healthy swallow of her whiskey. "Did anyone say what happened, with the alarm and the lifeboats?" Eduardo asked, to cut off the inquisition he saw building in her eyes. "False alarm is the gist of what I heard." She turned to Lita. "To get their hands on you?" "I’m afraid so. Unless white slavery has decided to hunt on ocean liners." Lita took another tiny sip of her brandy and put the glass down on the floor. "Now, sir, suppose you begin by telling us your real name?" "Are you asking, or commanding me as Princess Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos?" Eduardo nodded, pleased, and silently awarded her points when she didn’t react at all to her full, formal name. "Asking, sir. A princess without a throne or country is no more powerful than any other woman." "Powerful enough to change the world, if you wish," he retorted. That earned a slight relaxing of the stern line of her mouth. He nodded and bowed his head in salute. "I am Eduardo Mateo Carlos de Veritas." "Eduardo, not Esteban?" She sat up a little straighter and for a moment, there was a stillness about her that came close to worrying Eduardo. "My older brother."

"Emmanuel--" "Was the oldest of we three." He cocked his head to one side and tried to read the struggle, the flashing thoughts hidden in her dark eyes. "You didn’t know there were three of us? Hmm, and how shall I prove my identity to you, if you never knew I existed?" "Your proof is your face, sir. The moment we met, I thought Emmanuel had returned from the dead," she almost whispered. "Did you like my brother, Princess?" "I adored him. I was still child enough to equate our situation with a faerie tale of the best kind. He was a magician who gave me all sorts of wonderful treats, and yet talked to me as if I were an adult." Lita shuddered a little and visibly pulled herself out of memories that made her eyes shine. If it was with fondness or tears, Eduardo wasn’t certain he wanted to know. "Did anyone ever learn who killed him?" "The first time, his own men, to keep our brother’s men from killing him. The second time..." He shrugged. "There was no body, so who can be sure?" "The second time, sir?" Ermengarde asked, all her attention focused on Lita, who stared at Eduardo as if he had struck her. "We were told Prince Emmanuel died in Paris at the hands of street thugs." "Six years ago, our brother decided that Emmanuel had reformed his life entirely too much, and the only way to be sure he would inherit the throne was to kill the heir." Eduardo offered a smile to Lita, whose mouth pursed as if she fought nausea. "You were his inspiration. He became a man of purpose and integrity, because he wanted to be worthy of you. With the help of some loyal friends, he faked his death. I was distraught when I learned, and furious enough to..." He sighed. No good would come of relating how he had almost fallen into the cesspool of drinking and debauchery he had dragged himself out of, when he learned more than a year later than Emmanuel was still alive. "You said, the first time?" Lita whispered. "Perhaps six months ago, Emmanuel was investigating a series of caves that he thought would lead underground to the hidden springs that once fed Los Cielos. He wrote to me and said it would be a long time until I heard from him again, because he would be away from his command post for several months. Just two months ago, our friend in Seville telegraphed to say all the members of the expedition were dead, crushed in a cave-in. Because Esteban’s men have been dynamiting all around the borders of the valley, trying to find a way to those same

springs, it could have been an accident or intentional, and no way to know." "Emmanuel has been alive all this time?" Lita whispered. She sagged a little in her chair. Eduardo slid off his chair and hurried to pick up the tumbler of brandy and offer it to her. "It was necessary to deceive everyone, Princess. To protect you." "And what if Prince Esteban decided to claim his bride before your brother was ready to come out of hiding?" Ermengarde snapped. "Esteban never liked to share. He would only send for the princess as a last resort." The words tasted foul in Eduardo’s mouth. "Something has happened, obviously, to force him to send for you. He did send for you, did he not?" "Unfortunately, yes." Lita nodded, staring at a spot on the carpet, ignoring the glass in her hand. "Well...I must assume, sir, that you are here to..." She shook her head. "I must assume the worst. You are here to spy on me. Prince Esteban does not trust me, perhaps?" "The other option is that my brother has sent me to watch over you," Eduardo offered. "My betrothed has shown no concern for me in six years. Why change now?" "Because the key has been found, my dear," Mrs. St. Just said. "He needs you. The legend says that a daughter of the royal house is the only one who can open the door." "One of many legends, Aunt Ermie." Lita shook her head. "I’m sure there are many which tell Prince Esteban he has no need of me. Please tell me the truth, sir." "That’s one thing we have in common." Eduardo got up to pace slowly as he talked. He needed to move. The somber light in Lita’s eyes made him want to hit something. Or someone. "Esteban is playing games with us, I think. He asked me to watch over you because he says he fears you are unfaithful." "Scheming to take the throne from him?" Her little smile was bitter. Eduardo could have sworn she gave a tiny, unladylike snort. "Unfaithful, as in having lovers. Esteban won’t risk you bringing a bastard to him as his heir. He lies constantly, but heaven forbid someone should deceive him." His mouth watered for the whiskey Mrs. St. Just sipped, but he knew better than to even taste it, much less drink. Not tonight. This moment was too important, a watershed in all their lives. "How can I know you are telling me the truth? Perhaps those men who tried to

kidnap me are in your employ--or at least, they were in your employ. I wonder if anyone realized they went overboard." "Overboard?" Mrs. St. Just put down her glass. "Your friendly shadows at work, my dear?" "Perhaps." She shrugged. "I have always thought of the Black Monks as just another legend of the valley," Eduardo offered. "This voyage is making me rethink many things." "The Black Monks are very real. They have been with me all my life. I trust them, but I need some reason to trust you, sir," Lita countered. "Esteban is lying to both of us, I think. Something has happened in the valley, to make him act after all this time. For all we know, those men were sent to kill me, to take me out of the line of succession, and you are bait. Why are you here on this ship, Princess? You said you were traveling to meet your betrothed, but Esteban said nothing about travel when he sent me to you." "He summoned me, and said the key has been found. Nothing more." Eduardo shook his head and braced his arms on the back of his chair before slowly sliding down onto the seat. "Summoned, perhaps, to lure you away from familiar surroundings to your death. Ladies, I believe we must join forces if we are to survive this." "We have the element of surprise in our favor," Mrs. St. Just offered. "Certainly your brother didn’t expect Lita to move so quickly. My brother and I raised her to be sensible, to think for herself, and to travel lightly," she added with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Eduardo muffled a snort of laughter. Lita might travel lightly, but her chaperone had enough luggage for three women.

Chapter Six "Suppose..." Lita gnawed on her bottom lip. She caught Eduardo giving her an odd glance, his gaze fastened on her mouth, and a strange, twisting, warm sensation went through her belly. She made a mental note never to do that again. "What, dear?" Ermengarde glanced into her empty tumbler and got up to fill it. She smiled, nodding her thanks when Eduardo hurried to do it for her. "What if the Dissenters sent that telegram, and not Esteban? What if he sent Eduardo to guard me, because he caught wind of some plot?" "Prince Esteban told Prince Eduardo that he feared you were unfaithful to him. That you had taken a lover. That does not sound like a man who fears for your safety. He cares more about his reputation than your welfare. Of all the nerve," she fumed. "Aunt Ermie, please." Lita felt an unreasonable need to laugh. She couldn’t quite understand it. After all, what Esteban had written to his brother in his instructions cast an unforgivable slur on her reputation and honor. Unforgivable enough to refuse to marry him? But what was she to do? Go to the captain of this ship, identify herself as a princess of a kingdom he had never heard of, and demand he turn around and head back to New York? What disturbed her the most was how little surprise she felt. As if she had expected just such an action from Esteban. If the Professor and Ermengarde hadn’t raised her with an honest view of her own abilities and worth, she might have been crushed. Did she really need Esteban to feel worthwhile? Of course not. Her value in the world didn’t depend on making one man happy. Did it depend on her actually marrying the man? "You don’t look as surprised as I expected," Eduardo said slowly. "A lady tries to be prepared for any circumstance," Ermengarde said, her tone frosty. "Stunned doesn’t require much expression," Lita said, almost on the tail end of those words. "But no, after a little thought, I am not surprised. A man who all but ignored me for six years is not a man I expect to trust or to trust me. I would like to know, however, where he found the basis for his accusations." Her hand tightened around the tumbler of brandy, and she fought the urge to smash the innocent glass against the wall.

"No basis." Eduardo sighed and offered them both a crooked smile. Lita didn’t like the brief flicker of pain she saw in his eyes. "I believe my brother is setting a trap for me, and using you as bait. I regret telling him about your actions, but at the time, I was more concerned with ensuring he couldn’t accuse me of anything that could be considered treacherous." "Such as?" Ermengarde’s tone warmed. "Convincing the princess to deny the betrothal and flee where he can’t find her, perhaps." "My duty doesn’t allow for consideration of such paltry things as emotions," she drawled, and was delighted when his lips quirked up in response. So, he did have a sense of humor, and he didn’t blame her for the current difficult situation. What was wrong with her, that such considerations mattered? It mattered, she decided, because if Esteban had decided she was an adversary to be defeated, when she had done nothing wrong, then Eduardo might just be her only ally. "I have studied the maps my father made, everything he ever recorded, about the valley and our people’s history. My guardians did an admirable job of gleaning every bit of information currently available. Certainly you have more current and personal information? Observations about the valley, the people?" "I think that we should face the obstacle of actually getting to your valley before we worry about the climate, my dear," Ermengarde said. She raised her refilled tumbler. "To the task ahead of us." "To partnership, Highness?" Lita glanced at Eduardo. "To partnership, Princess." His eyes darkened, somber with purpose and promises. Lita felt something shiver, deep inside, heavy with a longing she had never experienced before. She wasn’t sure she liked it. But neither did she dislike it. Distractions, she scolded silently as she took a sip of her brandy, to seal the pledge they had made. I can’t afford distractions. ***

Lita felt wide awake at only five in the morning, with less than four hours of sleep behind her. She needed to exercise, to work out the last dregs of shock from last night’s events. Perhaps it was scandalous to wear boy clothes, but she certainly couldn’t fence and work through the tumbling routine the Professor had devised for her while wearing a skirt, could she? Besides, she rather looked forward to seeing how much she could shock and surprise Prince Eduardo. Her stomach gave a funny little flip when she thought of him. She hadn’t been totally wrong, insisting to herself that he couldn’t be Esteban. But why hadn’t she known about Eduardo? Why had Emmanuel never mentioned him to her? "It doesn’t matter," she whispered, hoping the sound of her voice in the early morning quiet would add weight to her words. Then she reached the gymnasium. Of course, the shipboard staff never dreamed that a lady would want to use the facilities, so there were no rules keeping females out. Lita didn’t doubt that if someone caught her in here and was suitably offended, there would be rules posted before lunch was served. Offending the elitist sensibilities of the small-minded had become the Professor’s hobby. Lita knew it was fortunate her guardian wasn’t mean-spirited, but rather forward-thinking enough to know when to stop pushing, and when to turn his forays into equality between the sexes into something humorous. He had learned long ago that humor often worked better at making people think, rather than humiliating or infuriating them. Still, the Professor wasn’t here onboard the ship, and she had perhaps two hours until the male patrons of the gymnasium decided to exercise away their excesses of the night before. Eduardo waited for her. Lita thoroughly enjoyed the annoyed frown that crossed his face when she stepped into the gymnasium, emphasized by the sharp taps of his heels as he started across the polished wood floor to meet her. He obviously saw her as a mere boy, an intruder, and intended to keep her out. She bit her lip against laughing aloud and pulled the cap off her head, letting her ponytail fall free. Eduardo stopped short, his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened almost as large as his mouth. Lita pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. Then, to her delight, Eduardo grinned and executed a fancy bow to her. She didn’t miss the way his gaze traveled over her, noting the lines of her legs in her baggy pants. As she followed him to the cabinet holding the fencing equipment, she decided she rather liked his appraisal, and that had never happened before. "Esteban will be disappointed you can take care of yourself so well," Eduardo remarked, once they had chosen their weapons and picked through the padded jackets and face guards to find something that fit. "Why?" She laughed, then felt that dropping sensation in her belly. There was

always a dark side to every humorous remark, she had learned. She was heading into a totally new, unknown situation, after all. She could trust no one and nothing until they had proven themselves. Until she had proven herself capable. Until she had proven herself worthy. Until the people of Los Cielos had sworn loyalty to her. Why did she have to marry Esteban? Why couldn’t she pick from the remaining brothers? Lita would take Eduardo in a heartbeat. But it wasn’t her heart that had to be satisfied. It was the needs of the valley, its people, and the heritage her father had entrusted to her. "He will want to show off the efficiency of his soldiers, of course," Eduardo said with a grin, unaware of the turmoil of thoughts spinning through her head. "He has a decidedly twelfth-century view of how noble women should behave, how they should be treated. They do not include a woman who wears trousers and can fight off her attackers instead of swooning--a real lady never screams." "Not even to summon help before she swoons?" Lita chose to take his words as he seemed to offer them--humorously. "It’s not delicate." He sighed and took a few lunging steps forward, sighting down the length of the foil. "I’m afraid my brother equates physical delicacy with mental delicacy, too." "He won’t be happy at all with me, will he?" "No. Ah, but I pity him. You’re going to turn his world upside down and inside out." Another lunge, then he saluted her with the blade. "Call on me for whatever help you need to make him totally miserable, Princess." Lita laughed and saluted him back. By unspoken consent, they settled into the standard posture and routine for fencing practice. To her delight, Eduardo was her match and didn’t hold back anything as they proceeded through warm-ups, then slid into a true duel of skill. She licked her lips, tasting sweat, and muffled laughter that threatened to steal her breath. Eduardo presented the perfect test of her skill, and her stamina. Too bad he hadn’t asked her to dance at the beginning of the evening last night. They could have danced all night without a glimmer of fatigue. She said so, when he grunted the command to halt and stepped back. Lita slid off her faceguard, wiped her face with her cuff, and grinned. Eduardo laughed at her words. "Now, that’s something I’ve tried to avoid. Mustn’t appear a coward, however. Princess Elizabelita, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on the dance floor this evening?" He bowed, pretending to sweep a hat off his head.

"I would be honored and delighted, kind sir." She pretended to catch up voluminous skirts and curtseyed. They laughed together, a little weary, a little breathless, their clothes dark splotched with sweat. It occurred to her, she hadn’t had this much fun in quite a long time. *** Over the remainder of their voyage, they conducted a school, with Lita as both student and inquisitor, and Eduardo answering every question to the best of his ability. They walked the deck for hours, conversing in the patois of Los Cielos, and laughed together at the mistakes they both made. Eduardo confessed it had been nine years since he last went home, and Lita had last conversed with a native of Los Cielos when her nurse was alive. The elderly woman, who had been her father’s nurse, died when she was twelve. As it was, the differences in their vocabularies led to blank spots in their knowledge. Lita knew the vernacular of the upper class, the nobility. Her nurse had been determined to raise her as a true princess, focusing on manners, etiquette and deportment, how to converse with ambassadors, artists and the wealthy. Eduardo knew the company and the vernacular of soldiers and peasants. Between them, they were a well-rounded individual who could talk to anyone. Or would, if there was anyone of Los Cielos to talk to. Lita became the teacher, however, when their discussions turned to the future of the valley. Eduardo knew little about vineyards. He knew the vineyards and wines of Los Cielos had been the wonder of the Pyrenees. The wealth of the tiny country had come from the rich quality and variety of their wines. It would take years, after the restoration of the water, before the valley could again take its place as a source of fine wines. Lita asked Eduardo whether the farmers of Los Cielos should even try to return to the crop of their ancestors. Was there anyone left who retained loyalty to the history and tradition of the valley? Should they go on to some other crop? And how would they do it? Eduardo’s long silence, his bemused expression, and then his confession that he knew little about farming or the winemaking process, stunned her. Lita didn’t like the disappointment that twisted through her. It indicated she placed a great deal more trust and respect on Eduardo than was perhaps wise. She expected him to know everything, and to have answers to her questions. That was not wise. The Professor had counseled her never to trust anyone as the sole authority in anything. So, she taught him what she knew, and it gratified her that Eduardo was suitably impressed with her vast store of knowledge about fertilization, irrigation, harvesting and pressing grapes, and the best wood to use for the aging casks. They were still talking about wine, a lighthearted discussion of an emblem for the

restored vineyards, when their ship reached France. *** No response came from Esteban by the time their ship docked in France. That worried Eduardo. He was glad he hadn’t told his brother their exact schedule, or even where the ship was to dock. He could only hope Esteban assumed they were coming up from a Spanish port. Should he look for an unfriendly reception on the docks, when the ship reached port? Maybe the Dissenters had managed to get past Esteban’s guards, and his brother’s blood already watered the sterile ground of Los Cielos? Eduardo closed his eyes, feeling sick and guilty with the relief such a mental image gave him. If Esteban was gone, that left him, the youngest son, as heir to the de Veritas half of the throne. He could marry Lita. Eduardo shook his head, and tried to shake such ideas from his head. Why raise his hopes? He wasn’t worthy of a pure, intelligent, clever girl like Lita. Besides, Esteban was more likely to be the leader of the Dissenters. Even if he did lose his life to the rebels, Esteban was likely to rise from the dead just to prevent his younger brother from assuming the throne. If only Emmanuel could rise from the dead a second time. But then, Lita would likely throw herself into Emmanuel’s arms, and Eduardo would be no better off than he was now. "No, worse off. I would hate Emmanuel, and die every time he kissed her. There’s no guilt in hating Esteban, but..." Eduardo snatched up his coat and went for a long walk around the deck. If he stayed in his cabin, he might be tempted to empty both decanters of whiskey. *** For safety’s sake, Eduardo left the ship before Lita, in case the worst had happened and Esteban had sent men to watch for the princess. In case Esteban truly believed Lita had betrayed him and fled their betrothal to marry another. Just in case she was right, and the Dissenters had sent the telegram bidding her come to Los Cielos. It was conceivable, after all, that for the first time in his life, Esteban was marginally innocent. Eduardo played the role of the idle rich, ignoring the beggars who waited for travelers to disembark. He strolled down the gangway, leaving Reynaldo to handle the baggage. Most important of all, he didn’t look back over his shoulder to watch for Lita to leave the ship. He placed himself where he could see her, once he was

down on the docks and waiting for the port officials to come greet him and examine his papers. "Highness?" Eduardo muffled a groan, and turned to Reynaldo to ask his manservant not to play that game here in port. A heartbeat later, he realized that rough male voice was not Reynaldo. Gut instinct had him bending, turning, bringing his arm up to deflect a blow. The knife glanced off his elbow. It had aimed for low in his ribs, angled to slide up into his lungs or his heart. Eduardo registered all that in a moment of thought. He finished turning and put all his weight on one leg, kicking. Anywhere, it didn’t matter where, as long as it disabled his opponent for a moment. A woman shrieked. A man shouted. Eduardo finished turning and swung with his fist. He got in a glancing blow on the man’s shoulder. His attacker easily slid through the thickening crowd. Eduardo didn’t try to pursue. He hadn’t even seen enough of his attacker, just his back, the color of his clothes. Not enough to identify him again. Not enough of his voice to recognize if he heard it again. Reynaldo rejoined him, his hands full of luggage, mouth tight and flat in fury and concern. Eduardo refrained from pointing out that his servant couldn’t have done much to help in the attack, with his hands full. Unless he thought he could disable the man by throwing luggage at him? Reynaldo was clever. He probably could have managed that. As it was, the man with the knife had fled after only a token show of resistance. Was that perhaps all it was? A token show of threat? Something to make Eduardo think and hesitate? Maybe to test his alertness? Maybe to test how well-guarded and able to defend himself he truly was? Or even a test of his sobriety? Eduardo knew what Esteban thought of him, and he had worked hard to support his brother’s belief that he was an embarrassment, a harmless drunkard, living in wasteful dissipation. A man who avoided excesses, who looked after his health and pursued degrees from American universities, was a man who cared about the future. Not a comfortable man to have as a younger brother, if one were an egotistical, hard-hearted, hopeful ruler. A port official hurried over, more likely attracted by Eduardo’s expensive clothes and luggage than any real concern for his safety. Just in case someone was watching, he avoided looking for Lita, though it was hard. Panic jolted through his chest, at the thought that the attack on him might have been a ploy, a distraction. Maybe an attempt to disable him, before the attempt was made on her?

"Reynaldo...please check into our friends," he said, with a negligent wave of his hand. His servant nodded, his expression sharpened, and he hurried away. Feeling as if a fishing net full of lead weights had slid off his shoulders, Eduardo gladly slid into the role of offended aristocrat. *** "My employer wishes me to accompany you and ensure you don’t run into any difficulties," Reynaldo announced, appearing out of the crowd. "Difficulties?" Ermengarde glanced over her shoulder at the boy who trundled after them with luggage stacked high on a cart. "Port officials?" Lita asked, She didn’t like the way her heart jolted into a gallop. She hoped it was a silly matter of paperwork. Perhaps Prince Esteban had left word for his brother? "Unwanted greeters, I believe," Reynaldo said. "Is he all right?" Lita slipped into the Los Cielois patois, and didn’t care if anyone overheard them or not. The French-speakers among the passengers and crew would only be able to understand a fragment of what she said. "Yes, but he feared you might also suffer the same unpleasantness." He bowed and offered his bent arms to both women. "Sir, you are too kind." Ermengarde inclined her head regally and gently placed her gloved hand on the crook of his arm. Lita mirrored her. Reynaldo slowed their pace, so people had to go around them. That suited Lita. Whatever ripples of reaction came from the attack on Eduardo, they would be handled and resolved by the time she and Ermengarde came down the gangway from the ship. The fewer people around them, the more room to defend themselves if they were attacked. Ermengarde had a good right hook with her umbrella, and her reticule might be tiny, but it could sting and blind someone, and she had remarkable aim for someone who detested violence. Reynaldo chatted with Ermengarde, conveniently leaving Lita alone to pay attention to their surroundings. She fought a smile, positive the very capable, elderly man deliberately left her free to observe. Servants often reflected the attitudes of their masters. She hoped this insight into Reynaldo’s acceptance of her capabilities spoke highly of Eduardo’s attitudes. Stop, she silently scolded. The heart can never rule, or all is lost.

Something deep inside her sighed in regret and went back to sleep. Or was that a snarl? A soft rattle, like something hitting the deck, came from behind her. A prickle of warning lifted the hairs on her exposed neck. She squeezed Reynaldo’s arm before letting go. Two men stopped short when Lita turned and met their gazes. There was no one behind them, and the passengers ahead of Ermengarde and Reynaldo got further away with every second. No one remained to witness the attack. Lita had never been a screamer. She felt it wasted time and energy better spent in fighting. The first thing the Professor ever taught her, when contemplating self-defense training, was to always use surprise as a weapon. Being a woman, she had even more of a weapon in surprise, because men’s arrogance, and the assumption that they were better able, made them weak. Lita saw that first-hand as she leaped to run toward the men. Their eyes widened, they stopped short, then a look like horror and disbelief crossed their faces at the same time. One took a step back while the other reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long blade. Footsteps pounded on the deck behind her as Reynaldo joined the counterattack. Grumbling at the dictates of fashion, Lita hiked up her skirts with one hand and leaped, landing the pointed toe of her boot near the man’s groin. He went down with a gasp and a choked burble of curses. Lita nearly stopped short, hearing the language of Los Cielos from his lips. It was one thing to converse with Eduardo, his low, musical voice making the lessons pleasant. Hearing brute words from this man, some words she didn’t even know, frightened her. Her father had taught her to turn fear into anger and use it as energy, to defend herself. Without stopping, she turned to the other man and swung her fist. He twisted aside, shock on his face. She hit his shoulder instead of his jaw. He staggered backwards, and a scowl wiped the shock off his face. Reynaldo leaped at the man before he took one step back toward her. He grabbed him by the arm and spun on his heel, flinging the attacker against the wall. Lita turned to the fallen man, who had gotten up on his knees. She silently shouted down the rules of fair play and kicked him in the ribs. He shrieked as if she had hit him in the crotch, and fell onto his side. Rolling away, he scrambled to get to his feet. He left his knife behind as he fled down the deck, back the way he had come. Reynaldo leaped to continue battling the other man, but Lita held up her hand, stopping him. The two men shouted at each other as they fled, stumbling, wrapping their arms around their ribs. She caught her breath at their words, then burst out laughing.

"What? Oh, my dear, I’m not quite sure that was ladylike." Ermengarde scurried up to join Lita and Reynaldo, and watched the two men disappear around the corner. "She is a warrior princess, like her ancestors," Reynaldo said, also in the language of Los Cielos. He stood at attention and bowed to her. Something odd stirred in Lita’s gut, a sense of pride, a fierce joy, mixed with a sense of rightness she had never felt before when she considered her destiny as a princess. "What did he--oh, never mind. What did those men say?" Ermengarde said. "Whatever it was, it amused you." As she spoke, she fussed with Lita’s hair, smoothing it and tucking it back under her hat, then tugging her skirt and jacket straight. "They said I wasn’t a princess," Lita said, her words muffled as she fought more laughter. "Then they were looking specifically for you," Reynaldo said. "Who could have sent them? Dissenters?" "Someone who doesn’t want me to reach Los Cielos, at the very least," Lita mused. She let Reynaldo loop his arm through hers, and with his other arm looped through Ermengarde’s, the three headed back toward the gangway and off the ship. The boy with their cart full of luggage waited, wide-eyed. Lita gave him a stern look, hoping to quell him. Instead, he grinned, displaying two missing teeth. As the Professor and some friends had postulated, during an interesting evening of talk, the best way to defend against talkative lips and spying eyes was to make them friends and defenders, rather than trying to silence one and blind the other. "Do you think if you saw those men again, you would know them?" Lita asked him. She tapped two fingers against the small purse attached to her belt. "Oh, yes, miss." He nodded eagerly. "My pa is in the engine room. He much wouldn’t like a lady getting roughed up by two like them. Even if she can fight like Bruiser Mike Brown," he added, with another grin so wide her cheeks ached in sympathy. "Want he should talk to them about minding their manners?" "That would be lovely." She winked and dipped two fingers into her purse to pull out a few pennies she always kept loose for street boys who could run errands. This boy probably wouldn’t be able to spend his money until this ship returned to New York, but from his accent, that was where he hailed from, anyway.

She slid her arm free of Reynaldo and stepped forward, holding out the coins. The boy’s eyes got big, and she guessed he wasn’t used to being paid until after the errand had been run. "If you see these men and know where they are staying, I would appreciate you coming to tell me," she said, and gave the boy the name of the hotel where she and Ermengarde would be staying while they made arrangements to go across France and into the Pyrenees. Whoever her assailants were, they likely expected her to take several days to make arrangements. The smart move would be to go inland immediately, as lightly as possible, moving as quickly as possible, leaving as small a trail as possible. But how? Everything she knew was theory, and did her little good if she had no one to turn to. Yes, she suddenly realized. She did have someone to turn to, who knew the area by experience rather than theory.

Chapter Seven "You say they think you’re not the princess?" Eduardo said. Lita didn’t know whether to scream her frustration or laugh. After she told Eduardo what had happened while leaving the ship, and her hopeful, nebulous plan of leaving for Los Cielos now instead of in four or five days, he had simply sat there. He frowned at an invisible spot in the air above his feet, slouched a little more in the lounging chair in the outer room of her suite, and thought. She thought she heard the clash of gears, as if his brain were a clockwork. "Yes, they said distinctly that I wasn’t the princess. I assume that is why they fled after only a few blows." "Hmm. Yes." He snorted, and one corner of his mouth quirked up. "That might be our solution." "Pardon me, but what the blazes are you talking about?" Ermengarde said from her comfortable perch on the sofa, with a cup of heavily creamed coffee and several delicate French pastries sitting on a plate, to fortify her after their recent ordeal. Lita privately thought the fuss of getting from the docks to the hotel was far more straining on her guardian than the attack on board the ship. "A princess won’t leave the city. A boy will accompany me. Tonight," Eduardo added, meeting Lita’s gaze. A fierce determination in the dark depths of his eyes took her breath away for a moment. She hadn’t thought herself the kind of girl to be rendered breathless by a man’s intense gaze. Then again, maybe it was the quickness of his answer to her proposal, his response to the situation. She could trust Prince Eduardo, Lita decided. It was quite refreshing, and comforting. And frightening, that she knew she couldn’t trust her betrothed. Besides the Dissenters, who believed the destruction of the royal line would restore the land, her only other possible enemy was Esteban. *** Because their enemy expected a princess to be dainty and delicate, to faint at the slightest threat, Eduardo hired a girl who looked dainty enough to be that type of princess, to accompany Ermengarde. Reynaldo would stay to watch over both of

them, while putting up the pretense that his master had fallen victim to a distressing illness. Something in the manservant’s response made Lita think he had developed an affection for her aunt. So much time in close quarters might deepen the friendship that had already begun. Lita had looked forward to Ermengarde going all the way to Los Cielos with her. Despite her wish to be free of ridiculous, gender-based prejudices and restrictions, she flinched inwardly at the thought of being alone with a man she couldn’t call family. A man she found highly attractive. Lita tried to focus on her guardian’s response to the plan to leave her behind, than with the fact that the ‘girl’ who would take her place was actually a slim, delicate-looking boy wearing a wig. She realized she shouldn’t have worried at all, and scolded herself for not expecting what happened. After all, Ermengarde had raised her to be the woman she was now. If she could react to a threat to her life with relative calm and defend herself, if she could accept Eduardo’s plan for her to spend days in the saddle, disguised as a boy, and do little more than blink, why couldn’t Ermengarde handle this little demand? "You, Monsieur, are to be my companion?" Ermengarde settled back more comfortably in her wide chair and looked the young man, dressed in a white muslin gown sprigged with lavender flowers, over from head to foot. "It shall be a great pleasure, Madame," the young man responded with a British accent. He asked with a gesture, and didn’t wait for Ermengarde to nod, before sliding the wig off his head. Lita didn’t doubt it was heavy and hot, loaded with sausage curls and topped with a ridiculous lavender hat full of feathers and glittery beads. "It’s a rather precarious living, isn’t it? What happens when you lose your lovely figure and you can’t keep your voice soft? Or do you play demure and dainty and either don’t speak at all, or whisper when you must?" She smiled and gestured at the chair opposite her. The young impersonator bowed grandly, and didn’t look ridiculous, despite his dainty dress, before dropping into his chair. Eduardo touched Lita’s elbow, tipped his head to the right, and led her out of the room. "Well, I thoroughly expected that to be the hardest part of this plan," he said, speaking under his breath even after the door shut. "You haven’t heard her list of what you must and must not do while we’re alone together," Lita retorted. "Are you worried about being alone with me, Princess?" He smiled and leaned back against the wall.

"Should I be?" "Not at all." "You insult me, sir." Lita fought laughter when he straightened up, his smile melting into a frown. Then his eyes widened, and she knew he caught exactly what she was thinking of. "You are not some witless bit of fluff, raised to consider capturing a husband your only reason for existence. Don’t insult me by acting like one, or expecting me to treat you like one." "Even practical, modern, emancipated women like to be considered pretty, even tempting." Lita leaned back against the opposite wall in her turn and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew her disguise as a boy was nearly perfect, with her hair tucked up under a cap. That didn’t give him a good reason to ignore the fact she was a woman, did it? And why was she such a brainless twitter, wanting him to remember she was a woman? "Just testing you. I have been raised to trust no one unless absolutely necessary, simply because my life, my heritage and destiny are so precarious." "Both our lives are at risk, if my brother is our enemy. Once we leave this hotel, you and I are our only allies." "We have no assurance of allies once we reach Los Cielos. You will excuse me if I don’t relax my vigilance until we finally decipher the prophecy or legend or whatever you want to call it, and we finally have some answers." "I wouldn’t expect you to relax until water again flows in the valley and our people bring in the first crop from the vineyards," he snapped. "Then what are we arguing about?" His eyes widened even more than anger had done, and he simply stared for several heartbeats. Then he nodded, closed his eyes, and seemed to collapse a little. When he opened his eyes again, he managed a nod and a few smile wrinkles around his eyes. "Shall we verify that your aunt is settled, then retire early?" "That sounds sensible." Lita pushed off the wall and headed back to the door. Her legs shook a little, and she wondered about her reaction. What was it she had wanted from him, and why did she feel elated and disappointed, both at the same time?

*** Reynaldo planted himself in the lounge area for servants and let it be known that he refused to discuss his master’s indisposed condition. Ermengarde kept the servants hopping, asking for directions to the most fashionable dressmakers, hat makers and confectioners. She confided in everyone, using the most atrocious French she could manage, bemoaning her ward’s intractable state and the fact that the girl had an appointment to keep--a royal appointment--and wanted to go shopping for the next few weeks before she fulfilled her obligations. "What in the world is wrong with modern girls?" she asked everyone who would listen. She slaughtered her French so charmingly, was so kind, and tipped so generously, everyone adored her, agreed with her, and talked about her as soon as they were one floor down the stairs. Before the clock in the plaza outside the hotel struck one in the morning, Lita and Eduardo were on horseback and fleeing through the shadows and moonlight. To deceive watchful eyes, they rode out separately, twenty minutes apart. Lita rode down a narrow street, one hand on her horse’s reins and the other hidden under her long, dark coat, gripping a knife. She let the horse move at his own pace and strained her senses for the first unfriendly sound, something that didn’t belong. The problem was that, since this was entirely unfamiliar territory, every sound was unfriendly. She used the advice of one of the Professor’s many friends: depend on the animals, use their senses. As long as the horse walked along calmly, unafraid, she had nothing to fear. Lita didn’t let herself wonder what she would do when the horse reacted in fear, except maybe let him run where he wished and hold on for dear life. That isn’t the way a princess thinks, she scolded herself silently. Not this princess, at least. And honestly, what chance have I ever had to socialize with my peers and learn how a proper princess is supposed to behave? The horse’s head jerked up and its ears pivoted to the right. Lita flipped back the folds of her coat, but tried to keep the knife hidden in the shadows around her body. "Lita?" Eduardo hissed. She was ridiculously relieved and disappointed that he had been the one to frighten her horse. Don’t be ridiculous. Who would you rather spend the rest of the night with? "I’m here," she whispered, to halt that train of thought.

Eduardo rode out into a single beam of moonlight and beckoned for her to follow. Taking a deep breath, she forced her hand to let go of the knife securely sheathed at her waist, and nudged the horse to get it moving again. The plan was a simple one, because they would have to be flexible and take every mile along the journey as it came. They had no one to rely on but each other. Because they had no idea what waited for them. Their only option right now was to find the key and doors of legend, and for Lita to learn the truth about the prophecy and legend or whatever it was that promised restoration to the old way of life. If she could do that, then her claim to the throne would be uncontested. She wouldn’t have to marry Esteban. She would be free to live the life she chose, once she had given the valley of Los Cielos back to the people who had once farmed its soil and tended its grape vines, through their descendants. If she and Eduardo accomplished all this without being caught by the Dissenters or Esteban, whoever was their real enemy. If. Lita sighed and scolded herself for the twentieth time since that attack on the ship. She had forgotten all about the Black Monks, her protectors since childhood. Had she lost them? Had they decided not to come to her defense this last time, because she had acted as a fool? Had they decided not to defend her because they judged her capable? For all she knew, the Black Monks had guarded her father, too, but he had trespassed some rule, some set of laws he had never passed down to her, and they had let him be murdered. Or, what was more frightening and depressing, they had abandoned their watchful care over her father because they no longer needed him. Because the daughter of the prophecy had finally been born. That implied the Black Monks were using the Los Cielos family for their own purposes. Then again, maybe the Black Monks had gone ahead of her and were waiting at the entrance to the valley. Perhaps all that had been needed all these generations was for a daughter to come to the valley, and the water would flow again. She had to do nothing but bring the royal flesh and blood into the valley. That didn’t sound any better, once she rolled the thought around in her head, than any other theory or option she had played with. She had two options in her life after that point. Either Esteban or someone else would kill her, because she was no longer needed, or she could go back to the Professor and Ermengarde and her life of scholarship in New York.

What if she had to stay in the valley to keep the water flowing? Her father had speculated on just such a thing in his journals. It needed the constant presence of a member of the royal family to keep Los Cielos alive and fertile and wet. Which meant she might have to marry Esteban just to assure him she wouldn’t try to take the throne away from him in the future. "That doesn’t sound any better," she muttered. "I’m alive until I give birth to a child. Or several, to ensure the bloodline continues. Doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll be treated like a guest or a partner. Just a broodmare and a talisman for good luck." "What was that?" Eduardo pulled up on the reins and looked back over his shoulder at her. The angle of the moon cast long shadows across his face from his sloping hat and his nose. She wished he resembled one of the Black Monks, because that might give her a little comfort. But he didn’t. He looked mysterious and slightly dangerous, and probably how Esteban looked when he was angry. He certainly didn’t resemble Emmanuel as much as he did that first day they met on board the ship. "Talking to myself." She shook her head. "Wondering where the Black Monks are. I could have used their help back on the ship." "I could have used their help on the docks," he said, nodding. His grin flashed white for a moment, then his face was lost in shadows again. "You really didn’t need their help, according to Reynaldo. And if you think about it, if they had shown up again, it would have proven who you really were. Right now, let’s hope they’re concentrating on young Philip and your Aunt Ermengarde, because he looks and acts more like a real princess." "Let’s hope so." She found herself able to grin back at him. She hadn’t thought of that reason for the Black Monks leaving her to her own devices. It was rather encouraging. "We haven’t talked as much as I would like about the legends." "You’ve told me so much, and I’ve told you everything I know," she protested. "Exactly. Everything we know. Facts. Nothing of our feelings, our beliefs, even our theories. Don’t you think those are as important as anything else we bring to this quest of ours?" "Quest." She rolled the word around on her tongue for a moment. She hadn’t had a chance to consider this duty as a quest, or an adventure. What had seemed like a faerie tale when Emmanuel was alive had become an onerous duty when he died. Perhaps it was the ignominy of being passed along to Esteban like a somewhat undesirable family heirloom. Perhaps this wasn’t a quest for Los Cielos’

future, so much as a quest for her future and freedom. What she wanted for a change, rather than what she was required to do. "Quest." She nodded and reached up to tug her cap down lower over her bound hair. "Does that make us the heroes, then?" "I certainly hope so, Princess." "I don’t feel like a princess. Please don’t call me that anymore." "But that makes you all the more a princess. You are living in durance vile, under a spell, so no one knows your true identity and you don’t believe yourself that you are a princess." "Now you’re being silly." She decided to laugh rather than be offended by his teasing. "No, I’m speaking the truth." That smile faded into something intense that stole her breath and made her clutch harder at the reins to ensure her balance. "Belief is sometimes all that stands between us and disaster. We must believe that we will succeed, just as much as we believe that our lives are in danger. So, tell me what you believe, Miss Lita." "Only if you will tell me everything you believe, Mr. Edward," she returned, and bowed as much as the horse’s gait would allow her. His warm, rumbling laughter rewarded her with a warm, pleasantly twisting sensation deep inside. *** They stopped to rest and eat and change their clothes, just before sunrise, hidden in the darkest, coldest moments of the day. Lita pulled a bulky black dress over her clothes and rubbed her face and hair with grime, then donned a kerchief. While she was busy, Eduardo covered their saddles with burlap bags and rubbed dirt into their horse’s sweaty hides, transforming their sleek steeds into filthy farm nags carrying wares to market. While Lita kept watch on the surrounding landscape, Eduardo donned his own costume. When sunrise spilled across the landscape, a farmer and his wife walked into the mountains, leading their old horses. The few people who passed them didn’t look twice. Lita spared only a moment or two to wonder how comfortable they would be, with double layers of clothes. Then, as the sunrise turned bloody with clouds rolling across the sky, she breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude for her bulky disguise. She would be warm, at least, and her heavy peasant costume would keep her dry for a while in the coming downpour. "We’re lucky. Maybe this is a sign," Eduardo said, when they paused shortly after noon to eat bread, cheese and dried apples, and rest under the boughs of an

enormous old oak tree. "Lucky?" Lita leaned out, stretching her arm far enough that a faint mist touched her fingertips, just beyond their shelter. "You didn’t tell me you believed in luck." She hadn’t been much surprised to learn he didn’t believe even a fraction of the legends and tall tales surrounding the disappearance of the water from Los Cielos. "Very well, blessed. Watched over." He scowled at her, wrinkling up his nose in a charming way that sent that now-familiar warmth winding through her belly. "In what way?" "No one is behind us, the rain hides our trail, it’s warm weather--" "But not for long, if it continues to rain." "Why do you feel compelled to contradict me?" He used an aggrieved tone, but his mouth twitched, fighting amusement. "You said it yourself--balance. If you must point out all the things in our favor, then it is my duty to look for all the difficulties that could arise from our advantages." "True." He sighed and leaned back against the trunk. The moss covering the gnarled roots, raised above the ground, provided comfortable seating. "It is odd, isn’t it, that I am in the position of the optimist?" "Why should you have a gloomy view of the world? You’re not the one doomed to marry Esteban." Lita bit into an apple. "If you reach Los Cielos first, and restore the water, there’s no reason why you should," Eduardo said slowly. He very carefully didn’t look at her as he said it, but concentrated on the crust of bread in his hand as if it were the most important thing in the world. "You truly think so?" "The only reason Esteban agreed to maintain the betrothal was because so many people believe your branch of the family is the one destined to return life to our valley." "Our valley? That’s the first time you’ve said ‘our,’ when speaking of Los Cielos. As if you didn’t want anything to do with it." "More like I am barred from anything to do with the valley. Esteban has a grand house on a high precipice, hovering over the valley like a vulture. I’ve stayed away

from there for so long..." He shrugged and crumbled the crust of bread in his fist. "It isn’t safe to be the younger brother of a man who could be our ancestress reborn, the vicious younger sister who destroyed the valley." "Ah. Then you believe the older sister was legitimate?" "I think those who make the most noise are likely to be the most guilty. By pointing the finger, they try to divert attention away from their own crimes." "Like good pickpockets." She nodded, pleased by this partial confirmation of her own family’s long-held beliefs. And yet disturbed. As if Eduardo diminished himself by supporting her claim. "Much like that. And I think that Esteban must be up to something vicious, to stay so close to the valley. He wants something very badly, and wants to make sure nobody else finds it before him." "So what is the use of trying to get into the valley and find it before him?" "The legends say a daughter of the blood must shed blood to restore the life, the water, that is hidden in a heart of stone. I think you will be able to find a way in that Esteban can’t find. It’s said the older sister tried to halt what her younger sister was doing, and died protecting the people who had sworn loyalty to her." "Yes, my ancestress did die, and no one knows her resting place, except the boy who was her heir." Lita tucked the uneaten portion of the apple into the voluminous pocket of her peasant skirt. Her appetite was gone. She wondered if perhaps the misty rain had eased up enough to let them continue their journey. Just because they saw no signs of pursuit was no reason to dally. "There could be something you know, and yet you are unaware that you know it. Some clue. Some sense of recognition of the mountains surrounding Los Cielos, and that will give you the clue to find the last hidden way inside." "You are putting a great deal of faith on faerie tales told to me by my father." Lita shivered, thinking of the journals, what felt like half a library of diaries and family records, safely preserved and hidden in the Professor’s library. She knew every volume by heart, every picture, every map, what had been left by her ancestors as fact, and all the wild speculations, theories and plans for penetrating the barriers that kept the rightful heirs from the valley. "What if it is that simple?" she whispered. "What if it is just a passageway that only a woman can find, because only a woman is small enough to climb into it?" "Then how do the rest of us get inside once you return the water?" he retorted with a chuckle.

"Maybe when the rivers return to their beds, the sheer force of all that water bursting forth--it has to be held back by a reservoir, don’t you think? Once that water breaks free of its reservoir, walls will be torn down. Imagine an underground cavern, filled with water. When it is emptied, think of all the great weight above it, pressing down on nothing at all." "Ha!" Eduardo tipped his head back, his face bright with repressed laughter. "Of course. And the walls of the mountains will fall down like the very walls of Jericho. Very clever, Miss Lita." "My great-grandfather’s theory, Mr. Eduardo." "Hmm. Your ancestors were certainly more pleasantly occupied than mine." His expression cooled, making her regret bringing up the subject. "My greatgrandfather made himself loathed, for hundreds of miles around Los Cielos, by everyone descended from the original inhabitants. He wanted tribute as their Godgiven sovereign, and demanded they send their sons and fathers to him, to tear down the walls that barred the way into the valley." "Like Rehoboam, increasing taxes when the elders of Israel promised their loyalty if he would reduce their taxes." "Exactly. But unlike Rehoboam, my great-grandfather rode out with his overseers and tax collectors. He oversaw the execution of men who thought Los Cielos gone forever and refused to dance attendance on an arrogant madman. He died when the landowners and governors of the surrounding territories rose up to protect their people." "Maybe your brother hides in his fortress because he fears being killed for the sins of his ancestors." "Esteban fears nothing but failure, and that is what makes him so dangerous. That is why we are safest if we move swiftly and leave as small a shadow, as few footprints as possible." *** Night brought them to the banks of a muddy, swiftly flowing river. Eduardo asked Lita to revert back to her boy disguise, while he remained the elderly peasant. The miserable weather worked in their favor, turning the roads to muddy streams, decreasing the visibility so oncoming travelers nearly had to be on top of them to make out details. Lita huddled inside her oversized coat, shoulders hunched so the sloping brim of her hat funneled water down her back instead of into her collar, and she smiled. Despite the discomfort, this adventure pleased her. Except for the chill in her feet and the shriveling of her hands inside her soaked gloves, she could

wish this journey to go on forever. It was cozy to ride in silence beside Eduardo, steam coming off the horses’ coats, warmed by the beast under her, lone inhabitants of a gray world only a few horse lengths wide and long. "If only," she murmured. Eduardo grunted a query. She smiled and didn’t respond, and he didn’t press for explanation. That was just one more small detail in the growing list of things she liked about Eduardo. He didn’t demand to know her every thought, or act as if she didn’t have any. Too many times during social events in New York, she had witnessed young women either summarily ignored, or enduring an inquisition, so their suitors knew every thought and belief they possessed. Both extremes taught Lita two things. Men either believed what a woman thought and felt, what she chose to support and the creed she espoused, had no value whatsoever in the world. Or, they believed they had the right to decide what inhabited a woman’s mind and heart. Those who expressed any interest in a woman’s soul and mind either wanted to avoid a woman who didn’t share the same thoughts and allegiances, or they sought to change anything that conflicted with them. Eduardo allowed her to think. He asked for her input in their flight to safety. He expected her to think and to act. He was amused, but not offended, and didn’t mock her when he learned she knew how to defend herself. He asked questions that made her think her intellectual training, especially the legal aspects, impressed him. She wondered if she and Eduardo would have many fascinating, lively conversations in the future. Like the ones she once enjoyed with the Professor and Ermengarde. But that implied prolonged acquaintance in the future. Working together. Living close to each other. Lita hoped to return to New York. Would Eduardo follow her? Could she ever be important enough to him that he would follow her, or ask her to stay with him? "What are the chances he will become so important to you that you say yes?" she murmured. "If you’re so bored, we could talk," Eduardo offered with a warm richness in his voice that hinted at laughter. "Not bored. Simply thinking so deeply it slips out into my voice." Lita tipped back her hat enough to see him without having to turn her head. "Perhaps you aren’t bored with your thoughts, but certainly you’re bored with me, then." He gestured further down the road, where the gray turned steely and yet seemed to be clearing. "Do we dare to stop at an inn?" "My chilled bones say yes. Our shared purse and need for speed say no."

"We’re going to have to wait until tomorrow for the ferry. Why not be sensible?" Lita bit her tongue against teasing him--or was it criticizing?--for being so concerned with comfort. The teasing died on her tongue when it occurred to her that they could both be dead in a few days. Either because she failed to pass the tests hinted at in the legends, or because Esteban decided to brand them both traitors and kill them. If Esteban believed any of the legends, he would keep her alive until she gave birth to a child to unite both family lines and consolidate his claim to the throne. She tried not to be revolted and frightened by the thought. Would Esteban repeatedly rape her, or perhaps abuse her until she submitted? Would she break, or could he warp her mind and heart until she willingly allied with him? "Lita?" He reached across and gripped her wrist. "Are you all right?" "I’m trying to decide. My brain is as waterlogged as my clothes." She sounded breathless to herself. Lita sat still in the saddle, letting her heart slow from the sudden, rapid pace. Tiny, pleasant pinpricks filled her skin where he gripped her wrist. She thought she had grown beyond the strange thrill that came from his casual touch. It was ridiculous to be so affected by a man. "Have some pity on the horses, then, if not on me?" "I’m not that heartless." She snorted, the sound muffled by the heaviness in the chill air. "At least, not toward the horses," she couldn’t resist adding. Eduardo’s answering chuckle filled her with warmth. She almost called out to him that she felt perfectly fine, full of energy now, and they could ride all night. Then she remembered what he said about the ferry. The horses truly did need to rest, or they would never carry them for the entire journey into the mountains.

Chapter Eight When he asked for rooms, old habits of stealth, watching over his shoulder and expecting trouble guided Eduardo’s tongue. He first asked what rooms were available. There were three, but they were all separated from each other, or in parts of the inn where escape, if it became necessary, would be impossible. He asked for one room. What scandal would there be, after all, with Lita disguised as a boy? "Only one room," he said, when he came back out into the inn yard, where Lita oversaw the stable boy taking care of the horse. They spoke Los Cielos’ tongue, for security’s sake. He believed they were far enough away from the border that no one would understand it. "It’s a good thing, then, that everyone thinks I’m a boy." She tugged her hat a little lower on her head. "At least, I hope everyone does." She pressed a hand to her bound breast, as if her soaking wet clothes would give away the soft curves hidden beneath. Eduardo caught his breath and yanked his gaze away so he wouldn’t be caught staring. Why did she have to remind him of the very things he was going to have to ignore all night? He was perversely disturbed that she hadn’t argued with him or even hesitated. Had he been that persuasive, when he convinced her to stop for the night? Had she acquiesced from common sense, because she was tired, cold, and wet? She couldn’t have agreed because she trusted him. He wasn’t trustworthy, after all. If Emmanuel had felt the need to remake himself into someone honorable and worthy of the adoration of the little girl she had been, what hope did he have of being worthy to be her friend? Lover or husband was too much to hope for, thanks to the guilt and ghosts that haunted him from his wasteful past. Their room’s lone window sat over a porch awning, giving them easy access to the ground, if need be. It also had a single bed. Eduardo toyed with pointing out there was room for both of them in the bed, but he doubted he could endure lying next to her all night without touching her. "I’ll take the pallet," Lita said, the moment the door closed behind them. She dropped her saddlebags over the chair back, so a last few drops hit the scarred wooden floor with soft splats. "You will not." He stifled an urge to swear. Wouldn’t the girl at least give him a chance to be chivalrous?

"I know I am a quiet sleeper. That pallet is too short for you, and if you’re restless, you’ll be bruised by morning." She peeled her sodden hat off her head and hung it on one of the six pegs in the wall by the door. "I’m a quiet sleeper, too." He decided not to fight with her over the fact he was taller. "Besides, my feet would hang over the end of the bed." He gestured at the offending piece of furniture. His heart skipped a beat when she looked at it and smiled. What was it about her mouth that made him churn? "You’re right. So, no matter what we do, you’re going to be uncomfortable." "I’ll be comfortable no matter where I sleep." "As will I. Let’s draw straws." She bent and yanked two bent, dirty straws from the woven matting under her feet. One was demonstrably longer than the other. Lita hid her hand from him and closed her fingers over the straws. Eduardo said a silent prayer to draw the short straw and plucked what he thought was the shorter, dirtier one. He was wrong. "I win. I choose who sleeps where." "You win the bed." Lita snatched his saddlebags from his hand and tossed them over the bench at the end of the bed. "Now, are you going to take off that wet coat and go get us some dinner? I’m starving, and something hot would be lovely." Eduardo glowered and nearly snarled for her to go fetch her own dinner. She didn’t dare go about in public, when there was plenty of light to reveal her features. She knew it, too. He entertained himself with thoughts of punishing her for being right while he walked down the stairs, waited in the front room of the tavern, and returned to their room with a tray of food. He couldn’t fight his brightening mood, however. The stew was hot and smelled of spices and good, fresh meat, the bread steamed and butter trickled down to form rich yellow puddles on the plate under it, and the beer had a thick, creamy head of foam. His stomach rumbled audibly by the time he reached their room, and played counterpoint when he tapped out the sequence they had agreed on as their signal that all was clear. Lita moaned softly when the first whiff of their food taunted her nose. Eduardo nearly stumbled, nearly dropped the tray only a step from the rickety table. What he wouldn’t give to have her moan like that while he kissed her... For dessert, Eduardo produced two fragrant apples from his pocket, and a lump of pale white, sharp cheese wrapped in cloth, which the innkeeper’s wife slipped him while her parsimonious husband’s back was turned. Lita’s smile faded a little when Eduardo handed the apple to her and wiped the knife on a napkin before handing it to her.

"What’s wrong?" "Emmanuel taught me to eat cheese with my apples." She shrugged daintily and just looked at the rose-and-gold globe cradled in her palm. "Things would be so different right now if...no, I will not do that. We poison the present moment if we waste time thinking about what might have been." "Very wise, Princess." He consciously covered his stab of jealousy with teasing. Lita didn’t even look up at him. "Papa said that to me, very soon after Mama died of fever. At least...he said it was fever. It could have been poison. We moved quite often, when I was very little, because people tried to kill us." "What about the Black Monks?" "They were constantly waking us in the middle of the night and throwing us into carts or onto horseback. I remember at least twice spending two days in my nightgown, wrapped in a blanket, before our clothes caught up with us." She raised her head and met his gaze, her eyes glistening with a hint of tears she had successfully fought down. "I am glad things are just the way they are, Mr. Eduardo." She nodded a salute to him. "I am glad we are allies, and you will help me fulfill my duty to the people of Los Cielos. If I can get into the valley at all, that is." She shuddered. "If we fail...my choice is to marry Esteban now and hope that a daughter of my blood can restore life to the valley, or flee and pass the obligation on to my descendants." "Better to dispense such duties now than leave them as a bitter inheritance for the future," he murmured. "My grandfather said that." "He was a wise man." "He was a despot who wanted all the glory to rest on his shoulders, rather than let future generations be praised." He snorted and reached out to curl her hand around the knife. "Are you going to eat that apple? Or leave it for future generations to enjoy?" She answered him with a slow curve of her lips, and gripped the knife to slice into the apple. The blade crunched through the crisp skin and a sweet-sour perfume filled the air in a spray of juice. *** Lita slept. Eduardo counted his heartbeats and listened to the soft hissing of the rain on the tile roof, and waited. He listened to her breathe, and sat up slowly,

afraid the rope supporting his mattress might creak and wake her. He counted his heartbeats again, until he reached fifty, then slid his legs over the side of the bed. Still no movement from her, no hesitation in her slow, shallow breaths. He waited, counting again to fifty, and slid off the bed until his feet touched the dirty floorboards. It took him twenty heartbeats until his weight rested on the balls of his feet. He stood up. His bed creaked from the sudden shifting of weight, but still nothing from Lita. Maybe he would tease her in the morning, for sleeping so deeply. Maybe she was awake, had been awake this entire time, and she would tease him for what he intended to do in another minute. Or she would leap to her feet and stab him, startled out of a deep sleep by his touch, not recognizing him until too late. The bottom line was that he couldn’t sleep while she lay on the pallet. He was no knight errant, but he had raised his standards, his values, until he couldn’t sleep in comfort while a woman--a lovely, clever, totally desirable woman--slept on a pallet of blankets. Eduardo counted his footsteps, moving slowly so an ant could have crossed the floor faster than he did. He waited, watching her dark shadow among darker shadows, until the slowing rain resulted in a parting of clouds. A single, watery, thin streak of moonlight spilled through the open window, to touch her face. Lita sighed, as if the silvery light had weight. She rubbed at her nose, an endearing, childish gesture that made Eduardo catch his breath. He slowly went to his knees, watching her face. He slid his arm under her neck, then his other arm under her bent knees. She sighed and turned her head away, then closer against him. Eduardo caught his breath, a sharp sound that seemed to echo through the room, when Lita snuggled against his chest. The scent of her, rainwater, leather, damp wool and something sweetly clean, filled his head and made it swim. Eduardo licked his lips, then bent to kiss her forehead. He knew instantly, that had been a mistake. He wanted more. He wanted to kiss her lips. He wanted to taste her mouth and tease his way deeper inside, drinking of the sweet wine he knew he would find there. In his dreams, Lita would awaken and respond eagerly and they would fall down into the bed, tangled together. In reality...Eduardo grinned and kept going. In reality, Lita would awaken and bite his tongue off, and likely stab him before he dropped her. He didn’t doubt she had the wits to sleep with a knife close to hand. She had too much common sense to relax, even with him so close by to protect her.

Because Lita had to guess, deep in her soul if not with her conscious mind, how great a threat he was to her. If they were both wrong, and Esteban wasn’t plotting against them, if his brother was innocent of any machinations and this was all some plot by the Dissenters to gather them all for slaughter, then Lita might have to marry his brother after all. Even if Esteban was innocent, one thing wouldn’t change. Esteban would suspect Lita of betraying him if she spent too much time in his younger brother’s company. Even if Eduardo had reformed in the six years since Emmanuel faked his death, that reformation was only outward. He wrestled with his hungers and longings every day. And the battle had grown stronger since he first set eyes on Lita. She would only be safe from Esteban’s vindictive self-righteousness, his demand that she be pure when he refused to be pure, if she had no conscious idea how much Eduardo wanted her. Heart and body. He wanted more than the friendship he had won so far. He wanted her eyes to shine and a soft sigh of pleasure and anticipation to escape her when he took her into his arms. Just as he held her now. Eduardo lowered Lita into the bed, slowly, so she wouldn’t feel the change as the lumpy mattress and sagging ropes underneath it conformed to the slight weight of her body. He wanted to lower Lita to the bed, just as he did now, but with her awake and smiling, eyes half-closed in drowsy pleasure from long, sweet hours of kisses and caresses. He wanted her clad in a sheer dressing gown heavy with lace, no perfume but the clean, fresh, pure scent of her body. A pretty gown worthy of a princess of high morals and honor, not the rough, damp trousers and shirt of a peasant boy. He wanted Lita to lift her arms and wrap them around his neck and shoulders, drawing him down to the bed with her, on top of her. Not the limp, warm, softly breathing bundle of weary young woman who stirred tender feelings he thought had died long ago. Definitely, Lita didn’t need protection, but Eduardo wanted to protect her. How ironic, that he had vowed when Christine died, he would never give his heart to adore and protect something young, soft and innocent again. It just wasn’t worth the pain. His precious, accidental daughter would have grown up to be a prostitute like her mother, or at the very least a hard, shrewd businesswoman, selling other women as prostitutes, running the business her father had established. Just as sweet Lita would grow hard and bitter when her dreams shattered and she spent her life ruling a harsh, dry landscape, the prisoner and toy of a man who would see only her beauty and never appreciate the spirit and mind hidden inside. "I will have to find some way to make sure you stay free of Esteban," he murmured

as he sank down on the pallet Lita had occupied just moments ago. It smelled of her, and that was sure to keep him awake for at least an hour. "If we cannot bring our valley back to life, if I cannot ensure you can vanish into the world to evade his claim on you...well, I have committed enough sins, what does it matter if I kill my brother for your sake?" A bark of laughter, muffled into a sigh, didn’t disturb Lita’s sleep. "Perhaps that will be counted in my favor, as a good deed. You think?" Yes, Eduardo decided. He would talk Lita into fleeing the valley with him, no matter what the outcome of their quest. Surely the lure of returning to New York would be enough to persuade her, even if he remained nothing more than a good friend, an ally who liked the same books and music and understood the same jokes. He would make himself be grateful for that, and not ache with hunger from dreams denied. It would be better for Lita if she didn’t love him, because everything he had touched, everything he dared to love, ultimately perished. He had loved Emmanuel, as only a younger brother could adore his elder. He had loved Christine, as only a battered, emotionally bruised and soiled man could love his precious, innocent child. And look what had happened to them both. *** The next day dawned with piercing brightness. Eduardo watched every sharpedged shadow, expecting it to be an enemy leaping out at them. How could Lita’s mysterious benefactors, the Black Monks, keep watch over her with no shadows to hide their presence? He made Lita resume her disguise as a peasant woman, because he had no faith in her boy guise in bright daylight. He scolded her when she didn’t rub enough dirt into her clothes and face. She laughed louder when he threatened to throw her into a mud puddle. The laughter stopped when he snatched up a handful of mud and caught her around the waist. Suddenly, he had her pressed close enough against him, he felt her heart hammering as if trying to escape her ribs. "Eduardo," she whispered, staring up into his eyes. She licked her lips, wringing a groan from him. She couldn’t have any idea what that innocent action did to him, could she? He let the mud drop through his fingers. It took all his willpower, all his strength, to let go of her and step away. He wiped his dirty hand on the leg of his trousers and stalked over to their waiting horses. He couldn’t force himself to speak until he had climbed into the saddle. Without turning to look for her, he snarled for Lita to get mounted so they could leave. "What did I do to make you angry?" she asked.

Eduardo turned to find her already seated on her horse, awkwardly sidesaddle and ready to go. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" "That doesn’t matter. Esteban wants me for my bloodline and the slight chance that I am important to the legends." "It matters to me. And it isn’t just your body, but your spirit. Your mind. Your wit and love of life and the way you can laugh at little things. Esteban will wring that out of you. He will drain you dry, turning you into a soulless trophy, or his shadow. If you will not make yourself like him...no matter what you do, what you choose, he will destroy everything good and beautiful about you." "Then what do you think I should do?" She shook her head and raised her hand to stop him when he would have spoken. "I know. We are doing it already. Trying to restore the valley without him. If he doesn’t need me, then he will let me go." "Why not claim the valley yourself?" "Why should I stay here? It isn’t home. My ancestors loved it, but no one raised me to feel that way. Let Esteban have it." If the valley will have him, Eduardo answered silently. But despite the strange, hollow feeling that her words brought him, he was glad. He wouldn’t have to fight with Lita to get her to leave the valley behind and flee for her life. Strange how much difference a few weeks made, in him and how he thought and acted. A few weeks ago, he didn’t care about the girl doomed to become Esteban’s bride. Now, he was willing to face down his brother to ensure her happiness. He ran the risk of loving, when he had vowed never to make that mistake again. Some could accuse him of influencing, perhaps even seducing his brother’s bride. Eduardo believed Lita had too much common sense to be seduced. He had done nothing more than be her friend, after all. Yes, she had adored Emmanuel, but that had been a child’s infatuation and she knew the difference between the two brothers. If it would take seduction to save Lita from Esteban...could he do it? Would he? Eduardo knew in that moment, he was lost. He already feared he cared too much about Lita, and now his reluctance to seduce her, to mislead her hopes and her heart, betrayed him. "Pray God that never becomes necessary," he muttered. Instinctively, he glanced at Lita, but she hadn’t heard him. She studied the countryside surrounding them and the foothills of the mountains perhaps another two hours ahead. She was too busy learning her new world and most likely strategizing to pay attention to his muttering.

And that was an encouraging sign, Eduardo decided. If she didn’t hang on his every movement, word, and expression--as he did with her--then she was safe from any childish, life-endangering attraction to him. If we can free the valley and bring it back to life, then let Esteban have it. Lita’s life and happiness are far too valuable to risk, too high a price to pay for a crown. I will take her far away, wherever she wants to go, and maybe someday I will be clean enough, will have done enough to earn a tiny claim on her heart. She already accepts me as her friend. It would be a miracle I could never earn, to have her love. It will be enough to be her knight errant, her champion. Eduardo smiled and sat up a little straighter on his horse. Yes, he liked the image of a knight sacrificing everything, even his heart, to protect his ladylove from durance vile. *** Lita laughed at herself, when she realized she took mental notes of every geographical feature, every sign post and vaguely recognizable landmark. Did she actually plan to write a report on this trip for the Professor someday? Her guardian and beloved teacher would enjoy it tremendously. It would certainly scandalize and titillate the bluebloods and society matrons in New York, to read about the adventure of a young woman whom they had only marginally accepted. It would certainly horrify and perhaps shame them, to realize they had a genuine princess in their midst, and had not profited from it. It would be amusing, wouldn’t it? She kept track of the various tiny countries she and Eduardo passed through as they climbed into the Pyrenees and hovered between France and Spain. Most of those countries were little more than two or three cities scattered through the larger valleys, tied together by goat trails, and one or two roads carved out of solid stone, hugging perilous cliffs, taken from the landscape at a high price in time, effort, money and lives. She played with the mental image of those various sovereigns, her peers, hearing about the restoration of Los Cielos and sending their felicitations and offers of friendly alliance. It was only sensible, after all, for small city-states to join together. Who knew when the larger, more powerful, military-minded kingdoms and nations of the world might decide to swallow up the tiny, independent bits of territory? The hidden valleys and shadows and mysteries of the Pyrenees would only protect the inhabitants so far. A show of arms and resolve to resist would have to do the rest. "What’s so funny, Miss Lita?" Eduardo asked. "Hmm?" She laughed aloud when she realized she had been grinning. "Oh, I was thinking about statecraft, about alliances and playing at being a queen among all the tiny kingdoms scattered hereabouts. Not that I’d want to be a queen." No, that is the last thing I want. I will take all the help Eduardo can give me, to win

my way free of this onerous betrothal to Esteban. She nodded sharply, punctuating her silent vow. "Good," Eduardo said, nodding sharply in his own turn. "Good about what?" She wanted to tease and laugh. Her thoughts had been serious and somber for far too long. "That I’m thinking about statecraft? Did you consider how many kingdoms we’ve passed through or by, just in the last four hours? Isn’t it amazing how these kingdoms know how to get along? They don’t patrol, they don’t stand in nervous, angry watchfulness, waiting for someone to wander over the border into their kingdom. Heaven forbid someone should steal a few herbs or nuts, to take back over the border into another kingdom." "You have no use for politics and national security and nationalism, do you?" He smiled as he spoke, and something warmed and turned over inside her chest. Eduardo did have a beautiful, stirring smile. Not that she was the kind of girl who could be moved by handsome, full, strong lips or that sparkle in wine-dark eyes. "I don’t have much use or patience for people who are so busy protecting their rights, they ignore their responsibilities." "You sound like someone who would make a wonderful queen. The kind the people hereabouts have been praying for and dreaming of for generations." "I hate waste." She slapped the reins against the edge of her saddle. "All the pomp and fuss. The thousands of dollars or pounds or marks spent on ceremony and ensuring everyone knows nobility has gone by. And ten times as much spent on guards, to make sure that starving peasants don’t have the chance to rise up in revolt, so their children have something in their bellies when they go to bed." "You’ve thought long and hard about this." His face smoothed into that quiet, thoughtful, too calm expression that made Lita want to slap him or do something to ruffle his self-control. "Not that much." She flinched when her rising voice echoed back at her. Lita took a deep breath to calm herself. "The Professor talked with me about such things. We analyzed dynasties all over the world, trying to decipher the breaking point for each kingdom, when the people rose up in revolt. The point where nothing, no matter how drastic, would have prevented disaster." "What would have prevented the disaster of our ancestors?" "I have no idea." Lita slapped her saddle again, hard enough for the crack to echo off the high peaks ahead of them and for her horse to flick its ears at her in

reproof. She stroked the beast’s neck in apology. "I don’t know what’s truth and what’s legend and what’s fable." "You believe, at least, that your ancestress was the injured party in all this," he offered. "Yes, of course." Eduardo laughed. It started out gentle and soft, but when Lita grinned back at him, not quite sure why, he tipped his head back and the laughter turned into a roar. *** Two nights later, the Black Monks came. One moment, Lita knelt in front of the fire, carefully adding a few sticks so flames and sparks wouldn’t leap into the night air and alert any watchers to their presence. The next moment, tall, dark shapes appeared through the screen of bushes that had made this sheltered, rocky plateau such a perfect camping spot. Eduardo swore just as Lita realized the shadows had turned solid. He leaped to put himself between Lita and the newcomers, then stopped short. The middle one stepped forward and held out a hand. Lita slowly got to her feet. The fire lay between her and the Black Monks. "No." Eduardo moved again, though stiffly, as if he fought against a fierce wind that tried to push him backwards. "She’s not going anywhere without me." "Don’t be ridiculous." Lita nearly lost her breath at the jolt of panic that shot through her at the thought of going the rest of the way without Eduardo. "These are my friends. They have always been there to save my life, to teach me and protect me." "Where were you when those two men tried to kidnap the princess on the docks?" "We were not needed," the middle one said, a woman, her voice pitched low, musical and yet strong. The sound of it made Eduardo gasp, and his eyes widened in shock. "What do you want from me?" Lita demanded. "Fulfillment." The Black Monk lowered her hand. "We are the guardians of the valley, and we do what is required to complete the prophecy and the vision. Part of our duty requires that you be guarded, guided, trained, and brought to the Gates of Life when the time is right."

"Is that where you’re going to take her now?" Eduardo demanded. "There is still much to be learned and proven. Even this close, after so many years, after so many prayers, the vessel may yet prove unworthy." "Is that why you let my father die?" Lita guessed. "We did not let your father die. He disobeyed. He entered the valley against our warnings. He trespassed into dangerous territory and suffered the consequences, trying to bypass the rules established by the prophecies and legends." "The Gates of Life were sealed by treachery and greed, smeared with blood," the right-hand Black Monk said. Her voice was gravelly and torn. "Treachery and the shedding of blood will try to force those gates open, and will fail." "The Key has been found," the leader of the three said. She stepped forward, and her ebony eyes blazed fiercely in the eyeholes of her hood. "The hiding place was opened prematurely and the Key rests in hands made filthy with bloodshed. If those hands succeed in opening the Gates of Life, they will be utterly destroyed and what little remains of Los Cielos will vanish utterly from the world. You must reach those gates first, princess of the pure bloodline. Only when you are a lifebearer, and the divided family is made one again, will you be able to open the gates." "Where are the gates? Is it as we theorized, and some place only a woman could fit into?" Lita stepped around the fire, to get closer to the Black Monks. She wasn’t sure what she needed or wanted to do. She wasn’t even sure it would be wise to touch one of them. "You must still learn, and prove yourself worthy," the second Monk said. She held out a square of yellowed paper to Lita. "We go ahead of you to prepare the way. Follow and study and think. Listen with your heart and your soul." "When you need us, we will be there, but only if you stay true and obedient. The easy solution will only cause more harm. When your enemy offers you a bargain that seems sensible, when you think you will be noble and sacrifice...take the more painful path and do not sacrifice yourself," the leader said. She took the paper from her underling when Lita didn’t move, and put it into the young woman’s hand, folding her fingers closed around it. "Stay true. Follow your heart, when all else proves false and cruel and cold." "What is--" Lita flinched when the paper slid out from her lax fingers. She clasped the paper close against her chest and looked up again, and the Black Monks had faded back into the shadows as if they had never been. "Have you gone through things like that all your life?" Eduardo muttered. He

offered a crooked grin when Lita could only nod. "What is it?" Wordless, needing something to do to break her thoughts free of their spinning, she unfolded the paper. The valley of Los Cielos spread out before her in old, faded colors, as it must have looked in its glory days. Houses were marked with the names of their owners. The long vineyards that had made the valley famous followed the curves of the many small rivers that spread across the valley like veins in the delicate skin on the back of a woman’s hand. They intertwined and separated and rejoined, and just by looking at them, Lita could see how rich and lush the valley had once been. "Everything was centralized," Eduardo said. He traced the outline of buildings with the tip of his finger. "If I read this right, all the grapes were brought into this building and pressed, the aging casks filled and stored here...the vaults were underground, to provide cool, even temperatures, according to the documents my great-great-great-grandfather salvaged. They made their own casks." He tapped a blurred inscription that Lita conceded could have been the word for coopery. "The people shared in the work and shared the profits, too. The royal family weren’t so much rulers as the head farmers, coordinating all the workers and overseeing the vineyards," he added with a chuckle. "That doesn’t sound so bad," Lita murmured, and continued studying the map. It showed much more than the valley that was their goal. She turned it, and stepped around the fire so its light better illuminated the map. "Do any of these landmarks look familiar to you?" She tapped the landmarks outside the valley. She shivered a little when she realized that everything inside the valley had colors, green, blue, purple and gold, while everything outside the valley was delineated in faded, rusty black. As if the only true life was inside the valley. "Hmm. Not quite. The landscape has changed greatly since the valley passes were blocked in landslides and quakes. At least, according to the records. For all we know, one of our ancestors sealed the way into the valley, to keep the other branch of the family from getting any profit from what was left." When he held out his hand for the map, she hesitated. But he was her partner in this, was he not? And hadn’t the Black Monks said that the family needed to be rejoined? What better way than what they were already doing, working together in partnership? That meant trust. Still, it was nearly a physical pain to put the map into his hand and let go. She needed to focus her thoughts on something else, to fight the jolt that hit her when the map slid out of her fingers. "Didn’t you know that some of the Black Monks were women?" "My side of the family has always feared them." Eduardo flashed her a grin and bowed his head back to studying the map. "Maybe because we always seem to be

on the wrong side of their favor, ever since the original split. There’s a story that a grandson of the younger sister tried to capture a Black Monk to torture answers from him--or her, rather." "What happened?" Lita sat down in front of the fire and put another piece of wood among the flames. "No one knows. He went to one of the few open passages into the valley, and vanished. Within a month, another landslide had sealed that particular entrance." "How did my father get into the valley, if every known way in is blocked?" "Mountain climbing gear, for one thing. The easiest descent is almost straight down from the plateau where Esteban’s mansion sits like a great vulture, brooding over all that wasteland. The only problem is, anyone going down that way is completely visible from the house. And Esteban deals rather harshly with intruders." "Do you think its possible he let my father climb down, hoping to find some answers through him and..." She swallowed hard, trying to squeeze a dozen conflicting, painful emotions back under control. "And he killed my father once he got them?" "More than possible," Eduardo admitted softly. He raised his gaze from the map and his eyes met hers. They were soft with sympathy and pain. "That map has to be our way in, without Esteban knowing we’re there until it’s too late." "Why couldn’t they have just led us all the way?" he grumbled, and sank down to the ground next to her. "Maybe because you said you wouldn’t let me go without you." A tiny snort of laughter escaped her when he jerked his head up to stare at her, dismay widening his eyes. "I think, rather, we have to prove ourselves by figuring out the map ourselves. Remember? She said we still had to learn and prove ourselves." "I think she was talking to you. I’m just here to be your beast of burden." "Eduardo--" "No, just think about it. All the prophecies point to you, the first daughter born to either branch of the family. The life-bearer. Men certainly seem to have a better knack for dealing death rather than life. We’d be less likely to start wars or fight over things like money and wealth and power if we could give birth. Who wants to send their children that they sweated over and shed blood for and carried next to

their heart for nine months, to war to die?" he finished softly. Lita’s heart seemed to shudder for a moment. As if she could see the memories that flashed through his thoughts, she sensed his pain had its root in a child’s death. "Your child?" she asked, and rested her hand on his in an unconscious attempt to soothe the pain she feared her words would cause. "Christine." He nodded jerkily and bowed his head and shoulders over the map, a visible attempt to avoid her gaze. "Her mother was a whore, my mistress, and I saw nothing wrong in owning one of the fanciest whorehouses in the territory...until Magnolia told me she was pregnant and the baby was mine, and I thought, what if it’s a girl? What if she grows up to be a whore, just like her mother?" He shook his head and visibly swallowed, ducking his head lower still. "Nothing like a child to make you rethink your entire view of the world, of life, of what really matters." He snorted. "But that’s all I did. Think about it. I still owned the whorehouse, Magnolia was still recruiting girls for our stable, and Christine was two years old when they were murdered. Because of me." His voice cracked. "We had a birthday party for her. The girls in the house made a fancy cake and a frilly little dress and bought her a doll with a dozen outfits and a tea set and a little bed. That had to be the craziest thing that ever happened, a bunch of whores having a birthday party for a child. We couldn’t invite any children because no one in town would have anything to do with the whore’s little girl and..." He caught his breath and lifted his head to meet her gaze. Tears glistened in his eyes. "They killed Christine and Magnolia just three days after the birthday party. And I have no idea why I’m telling you this." "Maybe because we’re friends?" She squeezed his hand, and Eduardo let go of the map to turn his hand over and catch hers in his hard, calloused, strong grasp. "Maybe you’ve been thinking about it, and you needed to tell someone?" "You are a totally abnormal woman, Princess." He offered a crooked, strained grin. "Any other woman of noble character would shriek for hot water and soap to wash away my touch, and demand that I go far away. No matter how respectable I’ve been the last six years, it’ll never be enough to wash away the filth of what I did. You’re better off without me." "Did you love Magnolia?" slipped out, when a dozen better responses rested on her lips. "I never loved anyone before Christine, and I’ll never love anyone else ever again."

Lita caught her breath when she realized she hoped he had lied. It wasn’t just his resemblance to Emmanuel, was it, that made her want him to be a good, valiant man...and perhaps belong to her, someday? She had mistaken him for her prince, when they first met. Maybe she held onto the hope that he truly would be her prince?

Chapter Nine Eduardo cursed himself for a fool. How could he have forgotten how vicious, how unforgiving the storms were in the mountains at this time of the year? True, he hadn’t been home, if that cold, elegant fortress on the plateau had ever been his home, in years. Still, how could he have forgotten the way the rain slanted down from every angle, driven by twisting winds only a hairsbreadth from turning into tornadoes? He had let Lita down. That thought haunted him as they struggled up the mountainside, trying to reach the cave that he remembered from the happier moments of his childhood. It was the best shelter he could offer her, large enough for the two of them and their horses, with room to spare. If they ever found the place before another mudslide or inconvenient shower of falling stones knocked them off their feet and back down nearly a mile to the base of the mountain. Lita held onto the reins of her horse, guiding the animal and using it for support. She kept her head bowed, the wide brim of her hat funneling only a portion of the rain down her back. She looked pale, as if the last two hours of constant, chilling downpour had washed all the color and life from her face. Still, she kept going, though men twice her size would have given up long ago, or at the very least started cursing him for his choices. Her confidence in him made Eduardo feel very small and unworthy, and gave him a small, growing hope that terrified him. So he held firmly to the belief that his memories would lead them to shelter and safety, and he kept moving when he would ordinarily have curled up in the lee side of a boulder, with his horse for partial shelter. For Lita, he would keep going. She cried out and he leaped forward, slipping and sliding, yet somehow staying on his feet. He grasped her arm, positive he would see blood where she had fallen and torn her leg or arm open. "Is that it?" she shouted, even her voice waterlogged. She pointed with a trembling arm. Eduardo stared through the silver-gray curtain that made everything a haze beyond his nose. He saw the blur of darkness, the crooked pillar of stone to the left, just as he had described it to her over their campfire last night. He nearly shook his head and continued moving forward. It had to be an illusion, after all. "Yes." He forced the words out through lips gone numb from exhaustion. "Yes, I think it is." Even if it wasn’t the cave of his childhood, it would do for them. No matter how small. It was shelter. Lita would have a respite from the constant

downpour and winds, if nothing else. Even if he and the horses had to sleep outside, to ensure her comfort. There had been several rockslides in the years since he last visited the cave, Eduardo discovered. Not enough to block and completely hide the entrance, but enough to make a knee-high sill to step over when they entered. The horses could barely lift their legs, and their shoes clacked against the stones. That sill kept water from running into the cave, and the wide overhang of the entrance and the stone outcropping to one side kept the wind from blowing rain inside. Only four steps from the entrance, the floor was dry and dusty. Eduardo stumbled over deadfall in the darkness. He prayed it was deadfall as he felt through the shadows, and braced himself to encounter a pile of bones from a man who had stumbled inside to die in this godforsaken spot. Instead, he found wood. Dry, dusty wood, more than enough for a fire. It was a matter of moments to find the matches in the tin box, inside the oiled pouch inside his coat. He struck three, warming and then burning his fingers in an attempt to get a fire going, working blindly. The fourth match caught on the dry, feather-fine ends of a branch, where char showed that a lightning strike had sheered it off the parent tree. He watched the flames catch and hold and then start to creep along the dry length of wood. When he could finally relax and release the breath he had been holding, he looked away and saw Lita watching him from the other side of the wood. She smiled at him, and he nearly reached across the flames to kiss her, in pure, giddy relief and celebration. "If your memory stays this reliable, we will be in the valley by tomorrow night." She sighed and pulled the soaked hat off her head. A spatter of raindrops sizzled on the fire. She laughed when the flames flared higher in response. "Forgive me, Eduardo." "For what?" He laughed to hide the leap of his heart when she called him by name, with no formality. "Doubting you for even a few minutes. You were sent to guide me, to be my friend, just as surely as the Black Monks were sent to guard me and keep me alive for this purpose." Yes, of course. He managed a grim smile when everything inside him dropped in dismay. He was there for a purpose, and that was all she saw when she looked at him. What could he hope for, anyway? She still adored Emmanuel. It was enough for him that he would keep her safe from Esteban. Why torment himself with the hope that she would find him desirable and worthy? Lita had said nothing about his tale of Magnolia and Christine. She couldn’t possibly understand the things that drove a man, reaching for moments of beauty in the midst of pain and a need to self-destruct. She could pity him and talk about leaving the past behind, and how much he had reformed himself, but there would always be that barrier between

them. It was his own fault, wasn’t it? "What’s wrong?" Her small, cold hand cupped his cheek and sent an aching tightness through his chest and into his groin. "Eduardo, are you all right? Did I hurt you?" "Hurt me, Princess?" His gut controlled him, while his reason shouted warning. He caught hold of her hand and kissed her cold palm. "Your cruelest words would be a pleasure." "I did say something, didn’t I?" she whispered. Her voice barely rose above the hissing of the rain outside their shelter, but penetrated to his heart. Warmth spread through his body. "Don’t you know you are more to me than just my guide and guard? Even if everything turns out to be legend and nothing more, and there is no way to bring Los Cielos back to life, I am glad we are here, together." A trickle of water from her hair drew a line down her forehead and into her eyes. She sputtered and laughed and wiped the water away with her free hand. "No matter how miserable we are right this moment, I am glad we are here." "Princess..." Nothing he could say would help either of them. Eduardo kissed her palm again and a greedy part of him shouted in triumph when a hint of color touched her cheeks at the too-familiar caress. He released her hand and sat back on his heels. "We will be more glad to be here once we get our clothes dried and some supper in our bellies." "Absolutely. What’s the use of coming this far if we die of pneumonia?" She laughed, the sound trembling. Eduardo dared to hope that he had disturbed her, but in a good way. This was all wrong, he knew. When this adventure was over and she was back in civilization, with dry feet and hair, gaslights, hot food and books, and young men of good families clamoring to dance with her, Lita would recoil from all memory of this cold, dark, damp place. But for now, she was here, in his world, and glad to be with him. *** The horses created a windbreak, standing between the entrance and the bend in the long cave. Cracks in the roof of the cave took away the smoke from the fire. There was plenty of deadfall and tinder. Eduardo found the old, broken stools and dry, dusty blankets he had stashed here as a boy, and the bottle of lamp oil and two lanterns were still there, unbroken by curious animals. The old pot he had used for heating water so long ago was still in one piece, though he had to scrape out animal droppings and accumulated grime and dust before he dared put it outside to catch rainwater. Lita took a lantern and went into one of the side passages to change her clothes, and still hadn’t come back by the time Eduardo

returned with a full pot of water and put it on the edge of the fire to heat. She returned wearing the peasant dress. The black, coarse cloth only accented her pallor from the strain of the day, but at least the material was dry and warm. Eduardo took the lantern and stepped into the little sheltered spot to change his clothes also. When he returned, Lita had jury-rigged a line to hang up their clothes, close enough to the fire to take advantage of the heat reflected off the stone walls, far enough away the dripping of water wouldn’t bother them. She crouched on the little stool with its wobbly leg and dug through their drenched saddlebags for provisions. Eduardo paused on the edge of the puddle of firelight and watched her. It was a strangely domestic moment. They could have been adventurers, striking off across the remaining wild, untamed areas in the Western frontier of the United States. They could have been re-enacting the original discovery of the valley of Los Cielos, as handed down in the ancient, barely legible journals of their mutual, multi-great-grandmothers. The oldest stories claimed a noblewoman who had chosen love over fortune and social status had found Los Cielos. She had fallen in love with her father’s vinedresser and married him in the face of her father’s threats. They were ejected from her ancestral estates and sent out into the wilderness of the valleys in this part of the Pyrenees to wander and starve. Instead, they sheltered in the caves, and followed a hidden river into what seemed like another world, rich and green and full of life. The vinedresser carried a root from his most prized vine, and when he planted it in the valley, the root sent out shoots in a matter of days. They established a vineyard and built themselves a small house. By the time their first child was born, the story of the valley had spread, and three families came to join them and work the vineyards. Their wine was famous before the first cask of wine reached the outside world. Eduardo thought back to that story and wished he had a vine root in his pocket, to guarantee them success on their quest. "Hungry?" Lita laughed and held up the chunk of cheese in its oiled cloth wrapping. "Toasted cheese and tea sounds like a feast right now, don’t you think?" "Ambrosia," Eduardo agreed, and dropped to his knees on the other side of the fire to check the water he had set to heat. When she asked him what he had been thinking, he realized that she had known he was there all that time. He told her about the legend, about the founding of the valley. Lita was silent a long time after he finished, busy spreading fire-softened cheese on bread. He waited while she divided up the bread and put a handful of tea into the steaming, softly bubbling water. "Princess?" he whispered.

"Papa told me the valley never existed until the first king and queen needed it. He said that the life inside that vine cutting testified that they were good people who revered life and love, and it opened some ancient, elemental door, releasing a kind of magic..." She shrugged and pulled out the oiled leather bag that held the metal box of precious sugar. The handful she dumped into the steeping tea was overly generous, but Eduardo cared more about the trembling of her hand than too-sweet tea. "He made our history a faerie tale, with magic and spells and evil queens, as if everything is under a curse, like Sleeping Beauty’s castle, until the prince comes along and awakens the princess with a kiss." She finally met his gaze, and that soft pink flush touched her cheeks. "Wouldn’t it be nice if that was all it took? For a prince to kiss a princess and break the spell?" "This is no castle, Princess, and there is no wall of thorns surrounding us." "That’s why faerie tales always happen long, long ago and far, far away." She shrugged and finished closing up the sugar again. Her hand shook just the slightest bit. "I’d kiss you right now, if I thought it would make a difference." A sharp bark of laughter escaped him when her eyes widened and that pink flush darkened and covered her from her hairline to the collar of her ugly black dress. "Who am I fooling? I’d like to kiss you even if it put a curse on me for the rest of my life." "Really?" Her lips twitched as she fought not to smile. "But I won’t risk putting a curse on you, Princess. I’m the younger son, and you’re betrothed to the older son--" "A cold-hearted dictator." "And he would make your life misery if he ever found out about this conversation, much less that I had actually kissed you." "What does it matter, if I’m not going to marry him?" "You can only do that if we succeed. If we fail, if we don’t open the gates, you must marry Estaban and continue the royal line. The two sides of the family must become one again. He is the heir. I’m a wastrel and a scoundrel." "No, you’re not." She shook her head. The hint of tears in her eyes cut him more deeply than any shrieks or curses or bitter condemnation. "It’s only a veneer, Lita, sweet Lita. Scratch me, and underneath all my civilization and polish, I’m less than the dirt on your boots." "The first queen married far beneath her, but he ended up a king."

"That’s the problem with faerie tales. It doesn’t tell you how he started out. You don’t know me at all, you’re betrothed to my brother, and if I kissed you right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Even if you screamed and fought me. Do you understand what I mean, Princess?" Lita stopped short, eyes bright with the hint of tears, the color fading from her cheeks. She stared at him, not even breathing, until she had to gasp for breath and look away. "You wouldn’t--" "Starving men have killed for a crust of bread. I haven’t touched a woman, except to dance, since Magnolia and Christine died." He was savagely, bitterly pleased when she flinched and turned her head, stung by the mention of his mistress and child. "Put a woman in my arms, the brute beast inside me will break free. Most women don’t like their first time, Princess. Do you want to be hurt so badly you’ll never let another man touch you? Do you want to hate me?" "I wouldn’t hate--" Her voice cracked and broke. "I can’t believe you would lose control over something as simple as a kiss." "Why do you think I keep you on the other side of the fire?" He smiled bitterly when she blushed again. "I’m sorry." "Don’t be." "You want sweetness and light and you have high ideals. You’ve probably wondered about what happens between husband and wife, and you think it will be civilized and pleasant, like good conversation." "My aunt explained the...the mechanics." Her blush deepened. "You want more than mechanics. You want your heart and soul to be involved, as well as your body." "And what is wrong with that? My parents had it. Why can’t I have it, too?" "I don’t have a heart to give you, Princess." He shook his head, hard enough to make his neck ache, when she opened her mouth to contradict him. "I think we’ve both said too much. Leave it at the bare facts. I want you in my arms and in my bed, and part of me doesn’t care if you’re willing or unwilling, if you find pleasure in it or if it turns into rape. You’re a virgin, idealistic, raised on faerie tales and memories of a good marriage that was all a marriage should be. You’d be disappointed in me, Princess, and I’d eventually hate you for it. So let’s talk about something else, shall we?"

Lita turned back to him, her eyes losing their glistening shine as they flicked back and forth, studying his face. Her shoulders straightened and she sat up straight and visibly took on the strength and poise of a queen. Eduardo thought he could worship the strong woman he saw sitting in front of him, a queen despite the cave filled with firelight, dressed in an old, ugly, rough dress, barefoot, ready to dine on bread and cheese and tea. "Yes, please, let us talk of something else." She swallowed hard and bent to stir the tea. "Since we have found your cave, the trail up to the overlook should be only a few hours away, due north of us, yes?" "Yes, but in this weather it could take us more than a day," he said, and silently breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, Lita was a sensible girl with strong control over her emotions. Part of him cursed her for that. A little screaming and fury and maybe even rocks or wet clothes thrown at him would have been good for his soul. *** Lita dreamed she walked to the back of the cave and the light from her lantern reflected off multiple crystals, refracting so the dark passageway was full of diamonds of light. She walked through a hallway carved through the spiny, brilliant insides of a geode, royal purple and crimson, azure, emerald and white. She followed it, the passageway curving inward and downward, to the heart of the mountain. The path brought her to a pool at the base of the mountain, the water steaming faintly, and scented like the faint tang of grapes just days from ripe. She didn’t wonder how she knew the scent. It was as if she had always known it. Lita walked to the edge of the pool and the water beckoned. Voices whispered at the edge of her hearing. Her mind didn’t hear the instructions, but her soul knew and responded. She slipped out of her black dress. She shivered, but it was a pleasant chill as the shimmering air touched her naked skin. She stepped into the pool and waded out to the center, where the water rose just over her breasts. Slowly, she immersed herself, repeatedly, until she felt clean and alive and refreshed. The air shimmered with chimes as she waded back to the edge of the pool. Like music and whispers, the sound traveled up her spine and coiled inside her belly, warming her and filling her with pleasantly tense anticipation. A gossamer rainbow puddle of fabric replaced her ugly, borrowed dress. Lita picked it up, bemused, wrapped the cloth around herself, and found sleeves and a belt. The cloth flowed around her, clinging and soft, multiple layers of elegance. The shimmering chimes stopped, as if a door had closed and cut off all sound. Lita

turned, her heart thumping with something that wasn’t fear. Eduardo stood in the opening of the passageway. He braced himself against the sides of the tunnel, staring at her, his eyes wide and hungry. She remembered his words about a starving man and knew his hunger wasn’t just for food, or for just any woman. She knew she was the only one who could satisfy him, and in that moment, she knew she had been starving, too, and only he would ever satisfy her. All the things he had tried to fill that aching need and emptiness in him had only made the lack worse. She would complete him, as he would complete her. She knew that. All she had to do was tell him. But how? Somehow, words were a thousand miles and lifetimes away. Lita turned to face him and slowly spread her arms wide. Agony twisted his face. She took a step toward him. He tried to back away, but the passage closed up behind him and he couldn’t move anywhere but forward. Though he struggled, she felt his gaze moving over her body, a palpable touch that made her tremble with feelings she had never known existed. Eduardo was right. She was an idealist, a virgin who didn’t have the faintest idea of the things that existed between men and women--even after Ermengarde’s blushing, softly giggling little lecture on the sexual act. Her parents had loved each other, and Ermengarde had certainly enjoyed being married--so why shouldn’t Lita expect to find pleasure in her husband’s arms as well as his company? She wanted that with Eduardo, and she would have it, if she could only convince him this was the right thing to do. She tried to speak, but no sound came from her throat. She took a step toward him, holding out her hands, begging. Eduardo shook his head, like a horse shrugging off pesky flies. Then he lunged. Lita gasped as he enclosed her in his arms. The heat of his body scorched through her. He pressed his mouth over hers and Lita sighed as sweet heat spilled through her body from that first tentative, increasingly hungry kiss. She flinched when his tongue drove hot and demanding into her mouth, and Eduardo laughed. A triumphant sound, like a lion. The sound died, choking in his throat when she mimicked the movement, caressing his tongue with hers. She whimpered protest when he lifted his mouth from hers, then sighed again as he trailed kisses down her throat. Further down, until he pressed kisses between her breasts. Lita realized her robe hung open, caught at her elbows, barely tied at her waist. Eduardo’s lips pressed over her heart, his hands on her back and cupping her bottom to hold her hard against him. She woke, to the smell of wet horses and campfire, scorched tea, the crackle of flames, the sound of horses restlessly shifting their feet before going back to sleep, and the soft, deep breathing of Eduardo, asleep on the other side of the campfire. Lita lay still, watching him sleep, knowing he would be mortified that he had fallen

asleep while on watch. She knew nothing could get through the continuing storm, and the horses would raise the alarm long before any enemies could get into the cave. It was no good arguing with Eduardo, however. The warm, liquid feeling in her belly remained from the dream. She could still taste his mouth, spicy and warm. Her lips tingled from the pressure of his lips against hers. She brushed her fingers down her throat, to that sensitive spot between her breasts. She imagined she could still feel his hands on her back and backside, holding her prisoner while he took his pleasure. Yet if she willingly came to his arms, she wasn’t a prisoner, was she? "You’re wrong," she whispered. "You will kiss me, and I won’t ask you to stop, and it will be wonderful. It will be paradise. If I can only find that cave..." Lita sighed and closed her eyes and rolled over to turn her back to Eduardo and the fire. Her chances of Eduardo kissing her, after what he had said, were as likely as her chances of finding that crystalline passageway and the pool where she had bathed. But if she could bring life back to Los Cielos...she could do anything, couldn’t she? *** "We’ll stop at the top of the plateau, there." Eduardo pointed at a sheer cliff ahead of them. Lita had grown adept at judging distances and guessed they would reach the spot just before sunset. "It will be a beautiful view from up there," she said. Her horse shied sideways and she looked down, trying to see what had startled her mount. "We’ll be able to look down into the valley, yes." Eduardo didn’t look at her but kept staring up at the plateau. "More important, if the passageway I’ve heard about truly exists, we’ll be able to see it when the shadows are sharpest and longest. At sunset and sunrise." "If all goes well, we could be in the valley by sunrise." "If," he grunted. A puff of dust erupted almost under his horses’ hooves. He cursed and yanked on the reins to control the beast. "Something is--" Her horse reared, its head lashing back and hitting her hard in the breastbone. Eduardo cursed and shouted her name. Lita clung with her knees and grappled at the horse’s mane with both hands. She felt her feet slipping from the stirrups. Just when she thought she would fall, her horse slammed forward, all four feet down on

the ground again. "Lita!" Eduardo reached for her with both hands. Without thinking, she pushed out of the saddle almost before he touched her. He yanked her into the saddle in front of him at the same moment her horse groaned and crumpled to the ground. "What happened?" she gasped, her words nearly jolted out of her as she landed hard. Eduardo looked down at her twitching horse. "I don’t want to stay long enough to find out." "The map--" Lita shut her mouth with a click of her teeth when Eduardo shoved his pistol into her hand and dismounted. He yanked the saddlebags and canteen out from under the horse, barely looking at her as he tossed them to her. She caught them one-handed and settled more securely in the saddle. Eduardo struggled for a few moments to pull the bag of supplies from under the horse, mostly medical supplies, bread and some dried meat. He cursed and staggered backwards, and held up bloody hands to her. With a quick look around the landscape, he bent over and wiped his hands on the saddle blanket, then turned to climb into the saddle behind her. Bullets screamed around them. Eduardo staggered backwards, clasping his hand to his upper arm. Lita turned, bringing up the pistol. "Halt or he dies!" a voice roared from behind and above them. It echoed off the rocks from a dozen different directions. Before Lita could even blink or doubt the threat, a line of bullets chewed up the ground in a straight line, just a few steps in front of Eduardo. As she expected, when she looked at him, he shook his head and mouthed ‘Flee’ to her. "Who are you?" she shouted back, pitching her voice as one of the Professor’s Shakespearan actor friends had taught her. "Who are you?" The man laughed, his voice hard and piercing. "Are you a boy or a girl?" "I am--" "No, Lita," Eduardo snapped. More bullets shot dust into the air, less than a foot away from his right foot. "Princess Elizabelita Innocente Concepcion Margarita de Los Cielos!" She prayed silently, quickly, for the Black Monks to appear and rescue her. Then, listening to

her gut, she continued, "I am here in answer to a summons from my betrothed. The time has come to restore life to the valley of Los Cielos." Silence. She lowered the hand holding the gun. No more gunfire. She turned to look at Eduardo, wanting to ask so many questions, afraid to speak where their enemy could hear. He shook his head. "Indeed, the time has come." The voice sounded closer, and now she could tell the direction it came from. Lita turned the horse to face what looked like little more than a crevice, perhaps fifty yards to her right. A man stepped from the crevice, and Lita revised her estimate of the distance, to perhaps two hundred yards away. Another man stepped out, and another, until twenty men walked escort for a man mounted on a black horse. Men appeared in silhouette at the top of the buttes and cliffs all around the valley, from every side. "We were expected," Eduardo muttered, just loudly enough for her to hear. "How is your arm?" "They weren’t aiming to kill, just to impress us." He nodded to her, then turned to watch the oncoming group. "You chose the right response, Princess." "We’ll see." She wanted to dismount and check on Eduardo’s arm, but knew better than to move and give those silhouetted figures reason to shoot again. Lita just hoped Eduardo wasn’t playing the hero, and his arm would be all right. If she had a chance to break for freedom, she wanted him able to swing up into the saddle behind her. That was the one thing she knew for certain, as she watched the rider on the black horse draw closer: she refused to leave Eduardo behind. Then she saw the man’s face. She knew him, knew his face, but like something out of a nightmare. Familiar but distorted. A hard and cold type of handsome. Sharp lines creased his face, giving evidence that he never smiled with warmth and brightness, only in triumph. He sat tall and straight in his saddle, as if on parade, not riding out to face two people held at gunpoint. Tyrant or murderer or idealist? Her enemy or a troublesome ally? The man she might have to marry, no matter what she and Eduardo managed to do? Prince Esteban Eduardo Mateo de Veritas rode toward her, surrounded by men with gleaming rifles on their shoulders. He didn’t take his gaze off her, and Lita knew better than to flinch from that regard for even a heartbeat. She held herself

straight and tall, but made sure her posture was relaxed. She had encountered men just like Esteban, so militarily correct, when she lived with the Professor. Responding to their stiffness with anger, with fear, with mockery only resulted in more of the same. Refusing to change her posture or reactions, to act as if nothing they did could bother her, always seemed to disarm them. At the very least, they didn’t try to intimidate her. Some even relaxed themselves, as if the fact that she didn’t care about their image freed them to be themselves. Would that work here? She doubted it. Esteban’s presence and poise merely confirmed what Eduardo had told her. If anything, the younger brother had been kind and generous in describing his older brother. "Princess Elizabelita," Esteban said. He raised his hand to halt his men. The ones directly in front of his horse parted to let the mount through. He continued forward. "How distressing to see you here, dressed in such an unbecoming fashion." "More distressing when I didn’t arrive at all, and your inquiries revealed that I had been kidnapped or even killed the moment I disembarked from my ship. Don’t you think?" Lita barely refrained from batting her eyelashes. He was too far away to see the flippant little gesture, and she doubted Esteban would be either amused or thrown off stride. "True. If I had been expecting you. Which I was not. How careless of you not to let me know you were coming to your ancestral home at last." He let his horse take four more steps, then halted the beast with just a slight tug on the reins. "I am here in response to a telegram, allegedly from you, requesting my presence." "Believe me, if I had sent for you, you would be escorted as my bride deserves. You appear to be fleeing for your life. Or perhaps moving in stealth, like a thief?" "I am here to solve the riddle of our ancestors and bring life back to Los Cielos. If I were more concerned for my life and health than anything else, I would still be in New York." A thin smile twisted his face. Lita repressed a shudder. Her neighbor had a particularly nasty cat that smiled in the same way, just before it shredded some hapless creature, keeping it alive as long as possible. "Who is that with you? And why are you traveling with only one companion? Some might think you scheme to take the throne from me. Or have you taken a lover?" "If you suspect me of betraying our betrothal, it is only because you have so many

mistresses already," she shot back. A harsh bark of laughter echoed across the valley. "I think we will get along quite well. You will be a refreshing change." "If we marry at all." "If. Yes." He raised a hand, waving it negligently at Eduardo. "Who is that with you?" "Your brother, Prince Eduardo. Who else would you expect?" Total silence. Lita wondered if she had finally surprised Esteban. "Well, what a pleasant...surprise. Dear little brother, it’s been so long. I didn’t recognize you." Esteban nudged his horse to move again. "I certainly never expected to see you here, riding next to my betrothed." That answered several ambiguous matters in Lita’s mind. Esteban did not expect them, and certainly did not expect his brother to be with her, despite Eduardo’s telegram. And, more important, he would claim her as his betrothed bride until it no longer profited him. How could she use that against him? "You thought I would keep her Highness in France until you sent for her?" Eduardo slowly lowered the hand clasping his injury and turned fully to face his brother. Lita saw the tension leave his shoulders, just enough to be noticeable. She had flinched when he moved, expecting another rain of gunfire. "This furtive journey isn’t what I expected. It’s rather...strenuous." Esteban stopped just short of smirking. "You thought I had so totally destroyed my mind and body, I wouldn’t last a day in a