Chapter 4
The Lights of Barcelona and the Scent of Jasmine
The victory over Don Alfonso de Bourbon produced effects faster than Alejandro had imagined.
At the Academy, the instructors began treating him with a respect once reserved only for the sons of the high nobility.
Among the cadets, his name circulated through the corridors carrying admiration, envy, or resentment, depending on who spoke it.
But it was that night that he understood his life had truly changed.
The Great Spring Ball was one of the most anticipated events on the Academy's calendar.
Officers, influential merchants, members of the Catalan nobility, and representatives of the court gathered in the halls of the Governor's Palace to celebrate the graduates and strengthen alliances that were often worth more than a military victory.
Wearing his dress uniform for the first time gave Alejandro a strange sensation.
In front of the mirror, it took him a few moments to recognize his own reflection.
The dark blue fabric fit perfectly across the broad shoulders he had gained over his years of training.
The brass buttons reflected the candlelight.
His hair was carefully combed. And yet, behind that appearance, he still saw the same boy who had spent his childhood among the olive trees and parched fields of Castile.
He remembered his mother mending clothes by the firelight, and his father coming home from the field with hands cracked from labor. For a moment, he had the impression he was wearing another man's uniform.
Then he set that thought aside; the night would allow no doubts.
When he crossed the palace gates, he was received into a world that seemed to belong to another reality.
The halls gleamed under the light of hundreds of candles.
The great crystal chandeliers scattered golden reflections across walls decorated with Flemish tapestries.
The perfume of the ladies mixed with the aroma of wine and the distant scent of the sea drifting through the open windows.
Discreet conversations filled the air. Restrained laughter, promises, lies.
Business. In that hall, Alejandro realized, battles were fought without swords.
Don Luiz appeared at his side holding a glass of sherry.
The captain watched the guests like a general studying a battlefield. "You're uncomfortable."
It wasn't a question. Alejandro let out a faint smile.
"A little."
"Good."
The veteran took a sip of his drink.
"Men who grow too comfortable tend to make mistakes." Luiz's eyes swept the hall.
"Remember one thing, Alejandro."
"Yes, sir?"
"The tournament is over."
"I know."
"No. You still don't understand." The captain leaned in slightly.
"In the weapons yard, opponents carry swords."
His gaze traveled over the nobles scattered across the hall.
"Here, they carry smiles."
Alejandro followed his gaze. For the first time, he noticed how many people were watching one another. Every gesture seemed calculated, every word seemed to hold a hidden meaning.
"And who should I watch?" he asked.
Don Luiz raised his glass.
"Everyone."
A short while later, as he walked among the guests, Alejandro began to feel the weight of those gazes.
Some were friendly. Others merely curious.
But there were also those who seemed unable to accept the presence of a young man of humble origin in that setting. It was then that he heard his name.
"Cadet De La Vega."
Turning, he found Don Alfonso de Bourbon.
The nobleman looked far more relaxed than he had during the tournament. His pride had survived. And perhaps that was why he was now willing to display a cordiality that had not existed before.
"Come." Alfonso made a gesture with his hand.
"There are people I wish to introduce you to." Alejandro followed him. Alfonso led him through the hall with the ease of someone who had grown up in that world.
The guests parted as he approached. Some bowed their heads slightly.
Others raised their glasses in salute. Alejandro watched it all in silence.
It was strange to realize that, only a few hours earlier, this same man had tried to defeat him before the whole Academy.
Now he walked beside him like a respected acquaintance.
Perhaps that was exactly what Don Luiz had been trying to teach him.
At court, battles ended. Interests never did.
"You're still looking at everything like a foreigner," Alfonso remarked, without even turning his head.
"Perhaps because I am one."
The Bourbon let out a brief laugh. "Not anymore."
Alejandro didn't answer; he wasn't so sure.
It was then that they arrived near the great windows facing the harbor.
A small group of young ladies was talking around a table adorned with flowers and silver candlesticks. One of them caught his attention immediately — not for her beauty, or at least not only for that.
There was something different.
While the others seemed preoccupied with being observed, this young woman observed.
She listened more than she spoke.
Her gaze seemed to measure people before deciding what to think of them.
Alfonso gave a small bow.
"Ladies."
The conversations stopped.
Eyes turned to the two officers.
"Allow me to introduce the man half the Academy is talking about tonight." Some of the young women smiled. Others merely looked curious. The girl in the emerald-green dress merely raised an eyebrow.
"Cadet Alejandro de La Vega." There was a brief silence.
Then she spoke.
"The famous De La Vega." Her voice was soft but firm. "I confess I expected someone different."
Alejandro held her gaze.
"I hope I'm not a disappointment."
An almost imperceptible smile appeared at the corner of her lips.
"I haven't decided yet."
The other young women exchanged amused glances.
Alfonso let out a laugh.
"Careful, De La Vega. Elena de Madariaga wins more duels with words than many men do with swords."
Elena closed her fan halfway.
"That's because words tend to leave more lasting scars."
That drew a genuine laugh from Alejandro.
And, for the first time that evening, Elena seemed truly interested.
The conversation went on for a few minutes.
Alejandro discovered that Elena possessed an unusual intelligence. She knew politics, trade, history, and seemed to enjoy challenging the opinions of the men around her — she was very different from the young women he had imagined finding in the halls of the nobility.
When the music changed and the first notes of a new dance echoed through the hall, Elena watched the floor.
Then turned her eyes back to Alejandro.
"They say you dance as well as you fight."
"Whoever said that exaggerated."
"Then let me find out for myself."
Alejandro inclined his head.
"It would be an honor."
She placed her hand on his.
And together they walked to the center of the hall. As the orchestra began the melody, Alejandro felt dozens of eyes following his every movement — not merely curiosity, but appraisal. Every step was watched, every gesture, every word, but strangely, that stopped bothering him.
His years at the Academy had taught him something valuable: confidence did not come from where a man was born, it came from what he had built. The music carried them through the hall.
Elena danced with ease. Her movements seemed as precise as they were elegant.
"You're still uncomfortable." Alejandro smiled.
"Is it that obvious?"
"Only to someone paying attention."
"And are you?"
"Perhaps." The answer came with a faint, amused glint in her eyes.
For a few moments they spoke of simple things — Barcelona, the Academy, the differences between Castile and Catalonia — and without noticing it, Alejandro began to relax. The hall no longer seemed so strange.
The distance between the world where he'd been born and the one where he now found himself seemed a little smaller.
It was then he felt — not saw, felt — a sensation of being watched in a different way, more intense, colder.
Instinctively he raised his eyes. In the upper gallery, between marble columns and the shadows cast by the candelabras, a man was watching them.
Motionless, not smiling, not speaking to anyone, never looking away. Alejandro didn't know who he was.
But he recognized one thing immediately. That man did not like what he was seeing, and the feeling ran deep — very deep. For a brief instant, their eyes met, and then the stranger turned and vanished among the guests.
Alejandro continued the dance, but something within him stayed alert.
Years later, he would remember that moment. Because it was there, amid the music, the candles, and the aristocracy's smiles, that the name Diego de Mendoza silently entered his life — and with it, the troubles that would change his destiny forever.
The weeks following the ball passed with surprising speed for Alejandro.
The graduation ceremony was approaching. Field exercises, final evaluations, and inspections took up most of his days. Even so, however much he tried to concentrate on his studies and training, his thoughts often drifted back to Elena de Madariaga.
Their meetings were never planned.
They happened during Sunday mass, receptions hosted by Academy officers, or dinners offered by influential Barcelona families.
Always under society's watchful eyes. Always within the bounds of propriety. But enough for a sincere friendship to begin taking root.
Alejandro discovered that Elena possessed an insatiable curiosity about the world.
She asked about fortifications, military campaigns, even about simple life in Castile.
In turn, she spoke of maritime trade, politics, and the ships that arrived daily at the port of Barcelona.
It was a companionship unlike any he had known before.
And perhaps that was exactly why it became so hard to ignore her.
The trouble was that others had noticed as well.
On a rainy autumn afternoon, Elena was summoned to her father's private study.
The Viscount of Madariaga was a respected man in Catalonia.
He owned merchant ships, warehouses, and enough influence to open doors in Madrid, but above all, he was a pragmatic man.
Seated behind an enormous oak desk, he seemed to be studying some documents when his daughter entered.
"You sent for me?"
"Yes." Without lifting his eyes from the papers, he pointed to a chair. "Sit down."
Elena obeyed. Something in her father's voice left her uneasy. After a few seconds of silence, the viscount finally raised his eyes.
"You know Diego de Mendoza."
It wasn't a question.
Elena felt a tightening in her chest. "I do."
"The count made a formal proposal this morning."
The silence that followed seemed to last an eternity.
"A proposal?"
"Marriage."
The word fell over the room like a stone. Elena remained motionless. Her father continued.
"Mendoza owns land in Andalusia, influence at court, and excellent trade relations. The union will benefit both families."
"And my opinion?"
The viscount sighed.
"Your opinion matters."
"Then I'm telling you I don't wish to marry him."
The answer came quickly, almost impulsively. Her father closed the documents on the desk.
"Don't be childish."
"Childish?"
Elena stood up.
"You're deciding my life without even consulting me."
"I'm doing what any responsible father would do."
"You're conducting business."
The old aristocrat's gaze hardened.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then came the question he had already been expecting.
"Does this have to do with Cadet De La Vega?"
Elena remained silent.
And that silence answered everything.
The viscount slowly rested his hands on the desk.
"I feared it might be that."
"Alejandro is an honorable man."
"I don't doubt it."
"Then what's the problem?"
The viscount let out a humorless laugh.
"The problem is that honor doesn't buy ships, doesn't protect property, doesn't maintain alliances."
"You speak as if he had no worth at all."
"Military worth? He has it. Intelligence? Also."
"Future? Perhaps. But he remains an officer without fortune, without title, without influence."
His tone grew sterner.
"While Mendoza is one of the most powerful men of his generation."
Elena felt anger rising.
"So that's it, then? I'm just another commodity to strengthen a business deal?"
The viscount looked away for a moment.
Perhaps because, deep down, he knew his daughter was right.
"The world isn't built on feelings, Elena. It never was."
That same night, in another part of the city, Diego de Mendoza drank Spanish wine before the fireplace of his residence. The smile on his face was discreet, patient, confident. Seated across from him, an ally from the court asked:
"And if the girl refuses?"
Mendoza turned the glass slowly.
"She won't decide."
"And the cadet?"
The count smiled.
This time without any warmth.
"Alejandro de La Vega is an intelligent young man."
"But he still hasn't understood how the world works."
He brought the glass to his lips.
"Men like him believe courage and talent are enough."
He took a sip.
"Men like me know that power always wins."
The fire's flames reflected in his dark eyes.
And in that instant it became clear that the count did not see Alejandro merely as a rival. He saw him as an obstacle, and obstacles existed to be removed.