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Minutes passed like hours in the agony of Enzo’s anxiety.
Giovanna appeared unbothered. She stood by the door and waited with the same look of beatific idleness on her features as one might find if she were perched on the balcony of her villa in Bluecliffe and gazing out over her fertile fields. Whatever thoughts the delay inspired in her mind remained her own.
Enzo, meanwhile, stared at the watch chain trailing from her bodice as if he could will the timepiece out of its pocket with sheer desperation alone.
Rapid footsteps echoed down the hall.
Enzo bolted upright at the sound. Giovanna merely gave a casual twirl to face the servant who whispered through the bars. At first her expression remained placid. Then a singular furrow of confusion appeared between her brows.
“What is it?” Enzo asked.
Giovanna hesitated.
“Have they found him?” Enzo heard his voice take on a pleading tone. He would beg her on his knees if he could for just the barest scrap of anything regarding his Fiore.
“They have not,” Giovanna admitted.
Enzo slumped in despair. But he could not indulge it for long. Desperation demanded better of him. He strained against his bonds anew. “It is just as I said. He has gone to the duel. He will fight. Let me save him. I won’t fight Nascimbene—only let me stop the duel and save Fiore.”
Giovanna shook her head.
“Giovanna, please—”
“I cannot. Lucrezia has ordered your confinement. I gave her my word.”
“And would you defy her for nothing?” Enzo snapped. “What if your Antonio were about to duel for your honor?”
Giovanna stared at him.
“Would you not go to stop him?” Enzo demanded.
Giovanna continued staring in abject horror.
“His devotion to you is absolute,” Enzo continued, pressing his advantage. “He would fight a hundred duels for your sake. Fiore is no less devoted to me, nor I to him. You say keeping me here will save my life. What would your life be without your Antonio? What would be saved if he were—?”
“Stop,” Giovanna whispered.
Enzo fell silent.
Giovanna ceased looking at him. Her gaze fell to the floor, brow furrowed, and she crossed her arms with one hand at her chin. She turned away from him altogether and paced the breadth of the chamber with small swift steps. Over and again. Back and forth. Her heels clicked against the pavement like the ticking of an unseen clock.
Enzo held his breath.
Then Giovanna rounded on him. “Swear to me you will not fight.”
“I swear it.” Enzo would swear to anything that might spare his Fiore.
Giovanna held his gaze. “Even if you should arrive to find him killed.”
Enzo’s heart ceased to beat. How could she ask him that. How could she dare demand such a condition. How could she be so cruel as to give it voice.
Yet there remained but one answer he could give if he wished to save his Fiore.
“I swear,” he lied.
Whether Giovanna believed him, he knew not.
