Chapter 2
TWO
Lo
Every girl dreamed of her wedding day. Fantasized about the suitors competing for her hand. Relished the doting attention, beautiful gowns, and anticipation of what was to come.
But Lorena de León did not.
Surrounded by bustling maids clad in black dresses and white shawls, she was dressed like a princess.
Her custom gown, cream-colored with cheerful yellow vertical stripes, flattered her figure.
Fitted from torso to hips, the gown flared into ruffles below.
A white rose sat on her right shoulder with delicate fabric raining down like a cape.
But a true princess wouldn’t feel so suffocated.
So desperate to be anywhere but here. She winced as Talia, the maid, yanked her hair into submission.
It was always a long and arduous process to imprison, or rather tame, her curls into a proper bun.
Her tender scalp screamed, and it took everything inside her to keep from yelping.
“Oh, don’t make that dreadful face,” her younger sister, Sera, scolded from a nearby love seat.
“Stop being so dramatic. It doesn’t even hurt.
” She scowled, making the mole resting above her lip bounce.
The expression on her face was much too serious for a girl her age.
At only fourteen, she acted more like an adult.
Looked the part too, always wearing her dark brown waves in a tight bun and her perfect bronze skin dusted in gold.
Today she wore a white lace blouse and a fitted black skirt with azure patterns.
The only facet of her appearance that gave away her age was her figure.
Slender with barely any curves. It was the only way in which she was a late bloomer.
“Oh, hush.” Lo glared at Sera through the mirror.
The room’s soft cream walls only served to accentuate the eclectic items inside it: the ornate rug, red as freshly mined rubies; the colorful vases all imported from far-off countries.
Yet what caught Lo’s attention the most wasn’t something bought—it was the cloudless blue sky visible through the doorways.
A soft breeze cut through the parlor, teasing her.
“You look beautiful, though.” Sera’s sharp expression softened with a dreamy sigh. “Once it’s my turn, I want a purple gown. A pink one, too.”
Lo laughed. Sera had been looking forward to her debut since she was five, always talking about it and planning how she would handle her suitors.
Lo had never felt like that. Instead, as the years flew by, a knot of dread formed in her chest that grew bigger and bigger.
Now at seventeen, less than a year away from marriage age, the knot tangled all the way up to her throat, threatening to choke her.
Was there anything about reaching courting age that she looked forward to?
She had never given herself the chance to decide.
Just as Talia finished pinning Lo’s hair, another maid rushed into the room. Lo smiled. Carmen, her favorite.
“El Senor regresa,” Carmen whispered. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead and a deep flush colored her pale brown cheeks. She must have run all the way here to warn them. Carmen’s urgent eyes stared straight at Lo. The message was clear. The warning wasn’t for the maids.
This was the exact reason Lo favored her.
She would never forget the muggy afternoon many years ago when she carelessly played around in this very room despite Mamá’s warnings.
Of course, she had spun herself dizzy and clumsily stumbled into the shelf, knocking over a crystalline vase.
Carmen, who had been dusting, witnessed everything.
And when Lo’s father came around huffing and puffing, Carmen quickly took the blame.
But now it seemed that even Carmen couldn’t save her. Lo’s stomach churned, and the other maids broke into worried whispers. “Go find Sofía and start on your studies,” Lo told her sister.
“But I—” Sera began to argue.
“Go!” Lo pointed to the hallway.
“Fine.” Sera stomped off.
She didn’t understand, and Lo would see to it that she never did.
“Welcome back, senor.” The maids spoke in unison and bowed.
Salvador de León strode into the parlor, his clean-shaven face the color of copper and his expression cold as steel. With his tall, broad stature and long black sideburns, many found him handsome, yet the maids always seemed much more nervous than enamored.
“We just finished up the fitting,” Talia said. Her eyes wouldn’t quite meet Lo’s father’s hard gaze.
“I see,” he mused, his expression still unreadable. “You may leave.” He waved the maids away. One by one they obeyed, though Carmen looked back, round eyes extra wide. Lo wished she could leave with her. But that wasn’t how it worked. Soon it was just Lo and her father.
“Lorena.”
“Papá.” Ignoring her pounding heart, she straightened her shoulders and clasped her hands together like a proper young woman. “What do you think?”
He stared with narrowed eyes. His eyes were always like that, and his lips seemed stuck in a half smirk. At least, when he wasn’t snarling.
Lo tried not to fidget. She could never tell what he was thinking at moments like this. Still silence before an earthquake. She tried her best to sense any tremors.
“I suppose,” he grunted, “your suitors will find it favorable.”
She exhaled. Prickles spread across her achy scalp.
“I’ve whittled down your choices. Only the finest families will be considered. I must keep our legacy strong.”
Not “you” or even “we.” Just him. Lo had no say in the matter.
“Oh, Papá,” she cooed, hugging his arm. “But what about you? What do you think of my gown?” She stepped back and gave a twirl.
She caught her face in the mirror, her beguiling smile slipping away and hardening.
The older Lo grew, the more she detested dancing.
Her feet grew weary from standing too long.
Yet this song and dance had gone on for years.
She couldn’t take it much longer. She put her face back together as she turned to her father.
Just in time for him to grab her chin and roughly tilt her head toward him.
“You look just like her.” His eyes narrowed into slits. “With each passing day, you remind me more and more of your mother.”
From any other father, this would have been a compliment.
The highest compliment, in fact. But from Lo’s father, it was a curse.
Unlike her sisters, Lo’s thick, curly hair was a lighter brown, especially this time of year when the sun embraced her strands.
Her brown eyes drooped and her features were soft and rounded, yet striking all the same. Just like Mamá.
Her father hated it.
He never admitted it, let alone explained why, but Lo knew.
Ten years ago, Mamá had fled. Never to return, and never to be found.
But oh, did her father try to find her. Lo still remembered his barking demands as the search parties came back empty-handed.
Without a doubt, if the man could have turned back time, he would have done anything in his power to keep Mamá from leaving.
Even if it meant chaining her up. Unfortunately for him, time manipulation was a concept out of reach for even the most powerful of brujas.
He made up for this by exerting his dominance over Lo. Ruling her life, dictating her future. Imprisoning her. A beautiful cage with golden bars wrapped in delicate lace was still a cage. And she had no hope for escape.
His fingers dug into her cheeks. Hard. Rough nails bit into her skin. She tried not to wince.
“Don’t ever betray me like she did,” he hissed.
“Never ever.” Lo stared intently into her father’s eyes, numb to the lies escaping her lips.
“Promise me,” he demanded.
Never ever will I be true to you.
“I promise.” She sweetly smiled. Agree and smile. Smile and agree. That was one of the first lessons she had learned during her childhood.
Satisfied, her father released her. She caught her reflection.
Pink marks from her father’s nails marred her lower cheeks.
If a maid had been there, she would have dabbed them with healing elixir, one of the most expensive potions.
The concoction, shining like a star, erased bruises, scrapes, and other signs of her father’s …
temper. Yet it never chased away the dark thoughts blotting Lo’s mind.
Just once, she wanted to make that man feel what he did to her. To squeeze his arm until purple bruises formed. To speak to him as though his thoughts were worthless. She would have loved to snatch his hand away from her face. Never touch me like that again! she wanted to yell.
“Serafina’s almost of courting age. I hope she’s been keeping up with her lessons.”
Lo snapped out of her thoughts. “Sera’s been doing very well, especially with her needlework.” She was genuinely perfect. Too perfect. At her age, she should have been allowed to be messy and make mistakes.
“I already have some prospects for her. If all goes according to plan, she can marry a Las Cuatro boy as well. Sofía too. No more spending all her days in the stables. She must start acting like a proper young woman, or else no man will want her.”
Sofía was only eleven. A child.
Did he even think of them as daughters, or solely as pawns to be traded? Assets used in the competition for control of Las Cuatro? With that kind of power, he would have more influence than even the president.
“I would much rather die than see you or your sisters wed below your potential.”
Then maybe you should die.
Her own thought startled her. She turned back to the mirror just in time to see someone rush into the parlor. It wasn’t either of her sisters, or a servant. “Mayté?”
Panting, Mayté hunched over. Her rebozo slid off her arms and tiny baby hairs stuck up from her braid. Her brown face was slick with a sheen of sweat, and her rosy cheeks bloomed bright red.