Page 23 of Of Might and Mettle

Clarisa gave her husband a tight smile. “Of course.” She lowered her voice to whisper something else to him, probably a chastisement for making the tension in the room flare, but Antonio fixed his gaze on Lorelle. She poured some sweet cream into her coffee, licking the spoon before stirring her cup with it, as if a habit from her childhood.

But even though she ducked her head, he didn’t miss the glassy sheen of her eyes. Antonio knew that Mar Verde was named for its crystalline green waves that lapped the sandy shores, but he would have believed it if he’d been told that it was named after the color of Lorelle’s eyes, the way they shone with tears that wrenched his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe.

She sat on the edge of her seat, looking as if she would bolt, and Antonio’s heart broke.

She had said her aunt and uncle had abandoned her. Could it be that she felt like an outsider in this home?

“¿Postre?” Clarisa stood, disappearing into the kitchen before anyone could either accept or deny her offer for dessert.

Antonio sipped his coffee slowly. Maybe if he looked like his cup was still full, he wouldn’t have to fit anything else into his bursting stomach.

He caught Lorelle’s eye over the rim of his cup and offered a smile. She offered a wobbly smile back and mouthed, Prepárate, a gleam in her eye that made him think he was destined to be stuffed beyond full.

He almost laughed. Her aunt wouldn’t take no for an answer when it came to food, and it reminded him of his own mother, and how she would feed Cristian and him with portions far too big for anyone to eat in a whole day. His stomach twisted. When was the last time he had seen his family?

He’d stayed with them in recovery, but as soon as he’d been able to walk, he’d thrown himself into his new position, striving to make himself worthy of the value that had been bestowed upon him. Strong enough to wear the medal that had meant so much in the eyes of his father before his passing.

Clarisa returned with a bowl of tembleque, a cinnamon-coconut pudding that, normally, Antonio had all the room in the world for. When she came to his side, he raised his almost-full coffee cup as if to say he was fine, but she plopped some on his plate. Then she went to Lorelle, who stiffened at her aunt’s proximity, but allowed her aunt to put some on her plate.

The tembleque was left just in front of Lorelle, as if anticipating that she would eat the rest, though more than half of it remained. And Antonio knew she had to be as full as he was, if not more. He’d eaten two full plates of arroz and pernil, while Lorelle had gotten by on just one, and she’d passed bits of the rice and pork to Peluche at her side.

Maybe he should have stayed on Peluche duty.

But oh, was the food delicious.

Lorelle lifted the spoon to her lips, her hand noticeably trembling, and Antonio wished he could offer his support in some way that wouldn’t embarrass her. Or raise her uncle’s suspicions.

Plink. A quiet tear dripped on her plate when she’d eaten the first bite, but Antonio doubted it was from happiness by the way her chin wobbled. His fork waved frozen in the air before him, and it was Lorelle’s aunt that unfroze first.

“¿Qué pasa, amor?” Clarisa’s voice rose up an octave, and all semblance of distance was lost as she rushed to Lorelle’s side all too much like the last time Antonio’s mother had appeared at his side when he’d awoken in the royal infirmary. “Are you ill? I know it was your favorite—”

Lorelle pushed back her chair, the wood screaming against the tile. Peluche let out a growl at the sound, turning on Clarisa in lieu of the unseen enemy.

“No, it’s not,” Lorelle snapped, her face turning red.

“We’ll get you something else.” Clarisa’s voice was small. “What would you like?”

“Nothing that I can expect you to give.” Lorelle sucked in a breath. “What changed now?”

Clarisa’s brow knit.

“I know I’m just a burden that you never wanted. That’s why you got rid of me.”

Clarisa gasped. Zacarías’s face turned stormy—not with ire, but like a thundercloud that would spill over. “Lorelle, is that what you think?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” she snapped. “You sent me away as soon as you were able.” She stormed out of the room. Her footsteps echoed up the steps, and a door slammed above them.

Antonio sat in shocked silence. Clarisa moved first, sinking into Lorelle’s empty chair and dropping her face into her hands, her shoulders shaking. Zacarías reached across to comfort his wife.

But Antonio was still reeling, what with the waves of emotions that had come in the span of a few minutes. Peluche hopped onto the table, bounding over to Antonio. His heart broke for Lorelle, but he doubted she—much less Zacarías—would appreciate him going after her, and he settled for picking up the dishes while holding Peluche.

He came back for the cups, but Zacarías raised a hand. “Sit, Capitán,” he said. “I have some questions for you.” His voice was firm, brooking no argument, even as exhaustion pulled at Antonio’s limbs.

“What has Lorelle told you of her situation?” he asked.

This reminded him all too much of an interrogation. Like the one he’d received when he’d woken from his injuries, one that had stung with the way some of his guards hadn’t believed he was innocent of involvement in the coup.

Antonio swallowed. “Just that she was orphaned at a young age and came to live with you before she went on to the academy.” He worded his answer carefully. Lorelle may have believed that they pawned her off to the academy, but he wondered about the complexity of the situation.