“Last time we talked, Sir, you didn’t have such a high opinion of your brother. Besides—”
Don Alfonso snarled. “You may well get the credit for my change of mind, Princess, if that makes you happy, as your treason was the cause.”
“—Besides, Don Julián is not dead.”
“You would say anything to save your life, wouldn’t you? But this time it will not work.”
His sword was cutting my skin, and as I tried to move away, my back hit the tree. There was no place to go. “Don Julián is alive,” I repeated. “He’s here with me.” But the time for talk had passed. Don Alfonso moved his hand slightly, and the blade came down like a burning fire onto my chest.
“Let her go.”
The king’s voice, harsh like thunder, exploded in my head. And when it died, as suddenly as it had started, the pressure of the blade was gone. But not the pain.
Bright points flashing before my eyes, I reached for the front of my tunic, a warm and sticky liquid dripping through my fingers. “Do you believe me now?” I screamed, half-blind with pain and fear.
Don Alfonso, his handsome features frozen in hate, returned my stare unflinchingly. “Our conversation is not over, Princess,” he said in a cold whisper. But I noticed with relief that his men were no longer pointing their arrows at me. As the surprise in their faces turned to awe, they dropped their weapons and kneeled to their king.
Over the bent heads of the men, Don Julián’s eyes met mine and held them with the arrogant stare I had grown to know so well, but when he spoke, his words were for his brother. “Don Alfonso, bring Princess Andrea to me.”
With the tip of his sword, Don Alfonso motioned me forward. I did not need the encouragement. I remembered all too clearly how the blood had poured from Don Julián’s wound the previous night. I also knew what would happen to me if he collapsed before he could talk to his brother. Ignoring my own pain, I ran to the king’s side.
Don Julián nodded at me. “Princess,” he said and then turned to Don Alfonso. “You must listen to Princess Andrea. She will . . .”
I jumped forward, arms outstretched, and grabbed his body as he stumbled. His eyes closed, his breathing coming in halting gasps, he rested his head against my shoulder and moaned in pain as if he were beyond care. And once more, the cold of a metal blade was on me.
“Don Julián is wounded, Sir,” I said without turning. “To kill me will not change anything.”
The blade moved away. “What happened?” Don Alfonso asked. His hands, already bare, were helping to lay the king on the ground. Don Julián did not fight, but opened his eyes and whispered, “Do not harm her. It’s an order.”
Don Alfonso nodded, but before he could answer, a cry of alarm broke through the silence. Beyond the line of the trees, I saw the dark shapes of men. By the white stripes that flashed here and there across the shadows and the glint of the sun against metal, I knew they were soldiers. My father’s soldiers.
Yet it could not be. Tío had said Father had agreed to suspend all hostilities until he had met with Don Julián. What were his men doing in Suavia then? Had he broken his word?
Certain that only a word of command lay between me and death, I waited for the arrows to come. Instead, an imperative voice called the soldiers to a halt. The imposing figure of my father moved forward, sword in hand, into the clearing.
“Don Julián!” he shouted. “You summoned me to your kingdom with the promise of peace. But you failed to mention that my daughter’s life would be the price. You were wrong to assume I would let my love for her stand in the way of my duty. I will not negotiate with you under these circumstances. The truce is over, as your life will be before sunset today. But the life of your men will be spared if you return Princess Andrea to me.”
I gasped at the absurdity of Father’s assumption. Don Julián’s voice, clear and steady, rang out. “Don Andrés, I hear in your words the fear for your daughter, and I excuse your anger. But your fear is misplaced. Princess Andrea is our guest, not our prisoner. She is free to go. And my offer for peace still stands. You are right to say my life is in your hands, but we both know that if you kill me today, our kingdoms will go to war and many more lives will be lost. I only ask that you meet with me. If my proposal fails to convince you, my life will still be yours.”
“Agreed,” Father said after a slight hesitation. “But first you must set my daughter free.”
“That was always my intention,” Don Julián replied. And turning to me, he ordered, “Leave us now, Princess Andrea. Don Andrés awaits.” His voice, cold and impersonal, hit me like a slap in the face.
“No!” I shouted and the air felt thick in my lungs, as if I were breathing through mud.
Don Julián stared at me. “Goodbye, Princess,” he whispered, softly now. But his eyes ablaze in his pale face were asking me to stay.
“Sire. I cannot go. Mother . . .”
The unfinished sentence trailed between us. Mother had ordered me to bring Don Julián safe to his men. And right now he was far from safe. I had to find a way to stay.
“You must go!”
A hand grabbed me from behind, and Don Alfonso’s voice, tense and harsh, hissed in my ear, “Come on, Princess Andrea. Don Andrés is getting impatient. You must leave.”
“I will take care of myself, Princess. I promise,” Don Julián said, and as the shadow of a smile crossed his face, he added, “My brother will help.”
“Goodbye,Your Majesty,” I said with a deep curtsy.
“Goodbye, Princess. And . . . thank you.”
I walked away, the ground swaying under my feet like the river had the night before, under the hull. As I passed by Don Julián’s men, I could feel their eyes on me and hear the rushing of their feet as they got up, closing ranks to protect their king.
In front of me, across the clearing, Father was waiting. I knew that my case did not look good from his point of view. Not only had I left the castle in time of war, but I had managed to be captured by the enemy as well. By the time I reached his side, my knees were trembling so violently, I hardly managed to kneel to him.
Without a word, Father helped me to get up and, drawing me closer to him, raised his hand to the front of my tunic. Blood remained on his fingers when he took them away. He looked at my clothes still covered with Don Julián’s.
Pushing me aside, Father moved forward.
“Father! Wait!” I called after him. “It’s not—”
But he wasn’t listening.
“Don Julián!” he shouted. “You claim good will toward my daughter, and yet you have hurt her. Only a coward would do such a thing. To defend my honor, I challenge you to single combat until one party dies.”
As he spoke, the wall of Suavian soldiers parted, and a figure dressed in black emerged through the opening. Raising his sword in formal salute, Don Alfonso stepped forward. “Don Andrés, your challenge has been heard and accepted.” His voice, deep and firm, reached us across the opening. “To the death.”
Father’s hand moved to his sword. “The challenge was to the king,” he said. And in his anger, the old scar on his right cheek started throbbing—the scar Don Alfonso’s father had cut on his face so long ago.
Don Alfonso did not falter. “Your Majesty,” he said, and there was confidence in his voice, “you are speaking to him.” After returning his sword to his scabbard, he took a folded paper from his belt and handed it to a soldier who had materialized by his side.
I moved back as the man came forward with the paper in his hands and the night all around him. Father took the letter and started reading. But I couldn’t hear his words, because in my head another voice was talking, the voice of another king. “The second one, Princess, is for my people,” Don Julián had told me two nights past in the castle. “It names my brother Don Alfonso as king of Suavia to avoid confrontations among my lords, were I to die before reaching Don Andrés.”