“You wanted to see me, Papa,” I say as I reach toward the basket of bread rolls at the center of the table. They’re still soft and warm from the oven. I cradle one in my palms before breaking it in half. The soothing scent of freshly baked bread is far kinder than anything else in the room. Ana politely shoves a plate of sliced fruit toward me. I accept it with as much grace as I can muster, though I fear digesting anything more challenging than an apple.

My father clears his throat, shifting in his seat as he places the letter on top of the stack. There’s something slightly unsettled about him, and it puts me on edge.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, glancing between Ana and my father.

Alejandro shrugs as if he hasn’t a care in the world, but it’s not the effortless gesture he means for it to be. It’s a little too stiff. A little too deliberate. Ana drops her gaze to the tablecloth as she toys with one of the tassels hanging off it. They both know something I do not. That cannot be good. “Has something happened?”

“Only good things,” my father says. There’s something in his voice that reminds me of how he talks to the skittish mare in our stables. “You are aware, I presume, of the viceroy’s upcoming ball?”

I take a tentative bite of my roll. It smells divine, but the bread sits in my mouth like soggy wood. When I swallow, it goes down in an uncomfortable congealed lump. “How can I not be? It’s the social event of the season.”

Ana snorts. I recognize it for the unkind sound it is.

I put down my roll. “Father, something’s going on, and I’m not terribly fond of being the last to know anything, so can we please just skip the preamble and get to what it is you want to discuss?”

“Always too clever for your own good.” His tone is softer than his words. “But fine. Have it your way.” He smooths his hands over the tablecloth in what few people besides me would recognize as a nervous gesture. “I have spoken to the viceroy and we have decided to announce your engagement to his son at the ball. It’s a fitting place for it, I believe.”

The roar in my ears has nothing to do with my hangover. I stare at my father as thoughts slosh around in my skull. A clatter of silver on china pulls my attention from his steady gaze to Ana. She’s thrown her fork down on her plate. With a disgusted sound, she pushes away from the table and stalks out of the room, her hair flowing behind her.

I watch her go because it’s easier than looking back at my father.