The Borgia Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

face in the golden light: it wore the same benign expression, possessed the same ruddy cheeks with their latticework of tiny broken veins that I had always known. I searched his eyes, so like mine, for signs of the cruelty and madness that had inspired the museum.
    Those eyes scrutinized me back, piercing, frighteningly lucid. He blew out the taper and set it upon the little altar, then retook my hand.
    ‘I will not tell, Your Majesty.’ I uttered the words not out of fright or a wish to protect myself, but out of a desire to let Ferrante know my loyalty to my family was complete.
    He let go a soft laugh. ‘My dear, I care not. All the better if you do. My enemies will fear me all the more.’
    Back through the King’s bedchamber we went, through the sitting room, the outer office, then last of all the throne room. Before he pushed open the door, he turned to regard me. ‘It’s not easy for us, being the stronger ones, is it?’
    I tilted my chin to look up at him.
    ‘I’m old, and there are those who will tell you I’m becoming feeble-minded. But I still notice most things. I know how you love your brother.’ His gaze focused inward. ‘I loved Juana because she was good-natured and loyal; I knew she would never betray me. I like your mother for the same reason—a sweet woman.’ He drew his attention outward to study me. ‘Your little brother takes after her; a generous soul. Worthless when it comes to politics. I’ve seen how devoted you are to him. If you love him, look out for him. We strong have to take care of the weak, you know. They haven’t the heart to do what’s necessary to survive.’
    ‘I’ll take care of him,’ I said stoutly. But I would never subscribe to my grandfather’s notion that killing and cruelty were a necessary part of protecting Alfonso.
    Ferrante pushed open the door. We walked hand-in-hand back into the Great Hall, where the musicians played. I scanned the crowd for Alfonso, and saw him standing off in a far corner, staring owl-eyed at us both. My mother and Isabella were both dancing, and had for the moment altogether forgotten us children.
    But my father, the Duke of Calabria, had apparently taken note of the King’s disappearance. I glanced up, startled, as he stepped in front of us and stopped our progress with a single question.
    ‘Your Majesty. Is the girl annoying you?’ During my brief lifetime, I had never heard the Duke address his father in any other fashion. He looked down at me, his expression hostile, suspicious. I tried to summon the mannerisms of pure innocence, but after what I had seen, I could not hide the fact I had been shaken to the core.
    ‘Not in the least,’ Ferrante replied, with good humour. ‘We’ve just been exploring, that’s all.’
    Revelation, then fury, flashed in my father’s beautiful, heartless eyes. He understood exactly where my grandfather and I had been—and, given my reputation as a miscreant, realized I had not been invited.
    ‘I will deal with her,’ the Duke said, in a tone of great menace. He was famous for his vicious treatment of his enemies, the Turks; he had insisted on personally torturing and killing those captured in the Battle of Otranto, by methods so inhuman we children were not permitted to hear of them. I told myself I was not afraid. It was unseemly for him to have me, a royal, thrashed. He did not realize that he already imposed on me the worst punishment possible: he did not love me, and made no secret of the fact.
    And I, proud as he, would never admit my desperate desire to gain his affection.
    ‘Don’t punish her, Alfonso,’ Ferrante said. ‘She has spirit, that’s all.’
    ‘Girls ought not to have spirit,’ my father countered. ‘This one least of all. My other children are tolerable, but she has done nothing but vex me since the day of her birth—a day I deeply regret.’ He glared down at me. ‘Go. His Majesty and I have matters to discuss. You and I will speak about this