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I smiled at him, as did the Canciller.
“Si, gracias joven,” Canciller Duarte said.
The Artista nodded, then held up three fingers and started counting down.
There was no click, no flash, nothing signifying that it had started, just that same, large camera looming in front of us, making it seem like this was an intimate affair instead of something that would be available for every person in the six isles.
Chapter13
This Was My Punishment
ANTONIO
The dim light of the cramped camera room cast eerie shadows on the walls as I fidgeted in my seat. I couldn't help but complain about the lack of luxury despite being in the Palacio Municipal. Beside me, Alvaro Martinez, an older, charismatic man who I’d hired for Carmen’s campaign, watched the screen in front of us with intense focus.
When I had competed in the tournament, I had no budget for someone like him. I’d only discovered him because he did freelance work for the Canciller’s family. Everyone wanted to work with Carmen. I couldn’t blame them.
Hell, as Renata, she had her pick of Key Bearers; I had Soneto. It had been long since I’d seen Son.
I sighed and shook my head. "Would it kill them to at least give us decent chairs?" I muttered under my breath, shifting my weight again.
“Perdón, Señor Castillas. The interview is starting." Alvaro raised an eyebrow and whispered, gesturing at the monitor before us.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. Like so many others, he was still somewhat abrasive in private. Polite, but definitely trying to keep his distance. It was fine. My father wasn’t a popular person when he’d been alive. He probably thought that I was something like him.
I looked back at the viewing screen. My heart raced as I watched Carmen, or rather Renata. It was easier to call her Renata when she had been painted up like a doll.
Of course, she was beautiful when she looked like this, but I didn’t like it when her raw, untamed beauty was polished like a silver plate. I had always thought she had an appeal that was so much deeper than her skin.
She kept her heart on her sleeve, while I was careful to show no emotion. She was something more than beautiful when she was angry, and it was impossible to disassociate her passionate fire from the sharp, messy mix of deep tawny skin, brown eyes, and wild, curly black hair. Carmen could bewitch me with the flick of her long wrist and a harsh word from her sharp tongue.
I knew what I felt for her, and I could see the same emotion mirrored in her every time she looked at me. Even if she didn’t acknowledge it, Carmen wanted me, and I wanted her.
But our feelings had to remain hidden, tucked away beneath the surface like an unspoken secret. Especially when a young bastard like Isaac came into the picture.
My fists tightened.
As the camera zoomed in on Canciller Agustín Duarte andRenatasitting opposite each other, the tension in the room was palpable. At least, I thought it was. Alvaro was unaffected.
“Bienvenidos,” Canciller Duarte’s voice was strong and rich. He looked like a gentle grandfather, not a manipulative, cold-hearted bastard. “We are here this evening for one of the most anticipated interviews of the year. Renata Valarde Bordón, I've been looking forward to speaking with you personally for quite some time now."
Despite the intended warmth from his smile, Carmen tensed. "I appreciate your kind words, Canciller Duarte. I—“ Her mouth hung open, like her words had dried up.
I thought back to how I had felt when I competed. I remembered the interview acutely. The lights were so hot, and the curtains made everything feel more claustrophobic than it should have been. I was lost the entire time.
A part of me worried she hadn’t been prepared enough. For interviews, for the tournament, for what came after. She had once yelled at me, telling me she was always preparing for the future. I hope that was true. There was so much to know, so much to learn.
Ever the practiced presenter, Duarte smiled and continued with the flow of his words. "Some of you may know that Renata’s parents were lost in the bombings in Puerto Dolores. Such tragedy makes me weep, especially since I have seen the destruction firsthand. I have seen the tear-stained cheeks and the crumbling houses. Held the faces of young children, recently placed with our generous Niñeras.” His voice cracked, and I smiled when Carmen’s eyebrows drew together. She understood; she saw past the nonsense. Tragedy was the government’s opportunity for propaganda.
My eyes snagged on Carmen’s mouth as Duarte asked, “How did the tragedy shape your preparation for the Tournament?”
Those beautiful, full lips parted, forming the most kissable O shape I’d ever seen. Confusion flooded her features, and I held my breath. Of course, they would edit out any imperfections, but I knew the stakes of speaking with someone like Duarte. The Canciller used every interaction to deduce the best way to manipulate his prey. He would say all kinds of things just to get a reaction.
He knew about Carmen’s past, and he knew I cared for her. I was sure that he was doing this to evaluate her, like a specimen.
The sound of a scrawling pen from my side turned my attention back to my companion. I saw Alvaro taking notes on an electronic pad. He noted generic things like, “shoulders,” but also took down more in-depth commentary, like reminding Renata that she would need to repeat certain phrases or smirk at the right time.
I almost said something. A part of me was protective of her, but I couldn’t shield her from the world. Best to make her hard now.
