The Queen's Game

5. A Long Discussion

"Your Highness, please," he continued. "We don't want to cause trouble."

"Gentlemen," Nina sighed, "You have not even begun to see trouble."

Felipe felt his wheelchair move slightly forward and back, like she was revving up an engine. His entire body tingled when she lowered her head to whisper in his ear.

"Hold on tight, Spaceman."

Then they were off like a rocket, careening through the halls of the palace, shouting at staff and guests to move out of the way as the guards ran after them.

"Just like old times!" Nina laughed, turning the northwest corner and pulling up suddenly when they reached the doors of the portico. Felipe could hear her gasping to catch her breath, and he looked up at her.

"We went to the portico," he pointed out to her.

"I don't like being told what to do," Nina shrugged, quickly fixing her hair and her dress as Felipe pushed the door open.

The portico was the grand hallway where the Mercados usually held functions and receptions. The king's funeral had been no exception, except Nina and Felipe were clearly too late. Members of the Mercado family, cousins and other relatives were still milling around, trying to come up to Nina to offer condolences, but all she could do was smile and point at him for some reason. Traces of the funeral reception were being cleared as they spoke—bouquets of bright yellow daisies were being carted off for burning, baskets of food were being prepared for donation to charities. Any expense made was reused and shared with the people, which was why Felipe appreciated Tita Delia. She knew all the rules that he was still trying to pick up.

They ambled along quite slowly, as was the tendency when someone from your party was injured by a hole in the ground. The staff at Concordia was used to seeing Felipe in various states of injury. His excursions around farmlands and contemplations around the Palace had left him with little cuts, bruises, and once (he would always announce proudly), a broken rib.

"You okay?" Nina looked at him before she smiled awkwardly at someone.

"I'm . . . no, I'm fine, fine," he assured her from his spot in the wheelchair. "It's just a twisted ankle."

"Your foot is swelling." Nina pointed out, puckering her lips in the direction of his ankle.

"Pish, it's nothing," he said, over pronouncing the word 'pish'.

Instead of throwing back a remark or a snipe, Nina actually laughed. He liked the way she laughed, exactly the same as she did when she was a kid—loud and brassy, without a care who heard.

The tough little girl he knew had grown into a beautiful and confident woman, with a smile that could melt even the toughest of hearts and a body that moved without a hint of awkwardness or uncertainty.

She was a goddess on earth. A rose in a glass jar. Felipe would be lying if he said that he wasn't affected by her.

"Oh, there you two are." Tita Delia turned to them like they'd just been strolling along the countryside. Felipe felt her laser-focused gaze scan him from head to toe, her lips thinning as she seemed to finally notice the wheelchair. Tito Ernie's brow was quizzically raised over Felipe's head, and he missed the nuance of the unspoken conversation between uncle and niece.

"I see we've been out in the fields again, your Highness," another voice joined into the fray of disapproving adults.

Francisco Almario took a spot next to Tita Delia like a contestant in a pageant, striking a stiff but formal pose beside the tableau. He was Felipe's first adviser, the dowager princess' eyes and ears whenever he was outside the palace. While he had spent most of his life learning the ropes of his current role, he still relied heavily on his vizier's advice, which had not failed him yet.