Isabella had a point. But Ferdinand couldn’t admit that she was right. He had been the first man to hold his daughter after she was born. He wasn’t disappointed that she was born a girl. He had both of their features, and like the two of them, stubborn as hell. The death of her first husband had taken a toll on her, one that Ferdinand didn’t want to acknowledge because as the next in line to the throne after her brother, he wanted her to be strong and believed that like every fancy, it would pass.
He sighed. He passed a hand through his dark blond hair. “This is not going to sit well with Portugal.” He didn’t care if he said it aloud. Since Isabella’s confession, he wasn’t sure what was real anymore. It all seemed like one big joke. Almost as if God and the Devil decided to gamble, to see whom would get this soul.
It was all one big joke. And he wished he could scream and beg God to stop but once again, he was speechless.
“Portugal will have to settle for our younger daughter, Maria. This is not over. Juan is with us and we have each other. We will get through this, just as before.” Isabella said, then squeezed his hand.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish