Pedro brought the rifle to his shoulder and aimed at Ulrich's head.
The man's eyes widened.
Pedro took a step forward, enjoying the shift in the power balance. Soldiers around him did the same, rifles clicking and pointing at the foe. If Pedro felled the leader, the Chikunda would retreat. Some soldiers would lose their lives, but they would save the families from a fate worse than death.
But Ulrich recovered too quickly, a sneer replacing his fear. "I have a cure for your lofty values."
Ulrich snapped his fingers, and a Chikunda warrior brought Cris forward. His brother had his arms tied behind him, and a dagger flashed at his neck.
Cris didn’t struggle. He was calm. They locked eyes, the black ash smearing his skin, his white trousers, his red coat. The air solidified, tunneling around them, and Pedro could not focus on anything else. Not on the ship, like a gaping mouth wanting to be fed, not on the Chikunda, the white of their eyes dead as they wrestled with their own kind, not on the Portuguese soldiers, far from their homes, their bodies humming with tension, not on João Ulrich's cruel sneer.
Pedro gripped the rifle, his forefinger battling with the trigger. He had to do it. These people couldn't be carted away under his orders, not because of personal interests. Not because of his brother. The brother he had just found, who had been denied him when he was growing up and who would be taken away from him again.
The weapon hovered over his shoulder for a minute or an hour, but he didn’t pull the trigger.
When Pedro lowered the standard-issue rifle to the side of his body, he was no longer the same. Somewhere, his father was laughing.
Pedro had turned into the Duke of Titano.
Anne's hands on his face pulled him away from the ravaged village. Pedro shut his eyes, unable to face her. For ten years, he had avoided the painful memories. Was reliving that night supposed to make him feel better? Then why did it feel like his chest had been ripped open?
But now Anne knew the truth about him. When he looked at her eyes, he would see only disgust. Shame for having gifted her innocence to a morally corrupt man—one who had exchanged the safety of dozens of families for his own benefit.
Even after all these years, he could not regret his decision on that godforsaken plain. If given a chance, he would choose his brother again, his bastard relation, dearer to him than if he had royal blood.
Pedro clenched her locket in his palm. He wasn't worthy of such honor. A better man would place it back on her neck and tell her to keep looking. But how could he let her go? After what they shared? She was the only part of him that mattered.
When Pedro opened his eyes, it wasn't revulsion saddening her lovely face. She cried. Her hands were cold when she circled her arms around him, placing her cheek above his heart. "Please, you must abandon the past."
"How can I? When it has solidified inside me? Turned into stones?"
"But they hurt you. They drag you down. Tell me how to mend this, Pedro. Tell me, and I will do it. Whatever it takes."
He didn't deserve her comfort and held her at arm's length. "Mend? Now you know the sort of man you spent the night with."
"Don't do this. Don't push me away."
Pedro relinquished his grip on her arms and paced to the window. The cloudless sky touched the ocean, giving the illusion that the horizon waited within reach. "You should do the pushing this time. Aren't you disgusted by my true nature? My selfishness?"
"Do you think I'm surprised? You love your brother. You are not to blame for this. If I'm crying, it is because of the terrible situation. No one should be put in that position. Ulrich is evil."
"Only him?"
"Of course. You taught me men could be evil. But not you. Never you."
"I always knew mankind's true nature. I lived with the best teacher. Before that night, I thought I was different. I prided myself on placing others' interests above my own. Of being noble. Mozambique showed how wrong I was. About myself."
She pursued him around the bedchamber, her eyes flashing with determination. "I removed my necklace because I found who I want to be with. Your tragic tale has not changed how I feel."
Pedro shook his head, hiding his truth from her trust.
She placed her palms on his cheeks, crying freely. "I love you."
Pedro stilled, his heart crashing against his ribs.
"Look at me. See if I'm telling the truth," she said, her voice clear. "Please."
He stared at her long and hard. It was all there, swimming in her ocean gaze. But she offered her love without knowing Pedro’s relationship with her brother. Pedro had not asked to meet her, and he certainly was not proud of what he had done to keep her close. He could end the string of lies, but what if she demanded to return to her family? Or worse, escaped from him? Either would place her in danger.
