I blink at him, steadying my breath. Rocinante’s skin twitches as he shifts his weight with agitation. He is responding to my emotions. I have raised him since he was a skinny-legged foal. He can read me better than almost anyone can, but my disquiet is obvious enough for even Sebastian to notice.

“I’m fine.” A scratch behind the ears calms Rocinante. “I simply wasn’t expecting you.”

The divot between Sebastian’s brows deepens. “Did your father not tell you we were coming?”

“We?”

Before Sebastian can answer, the clop of hooves and the tread of boots provides an answer for me. My father enters the stables with two men in tow, the reins of their horses in the hands of the groom I had dismissed earlier.

I recognize one of the men with Papa—Sebastian’s father, the Viceroy of Peru. The other man, however, is new to me. His hair is light, but not golden the way Sebastian’s is. It is a cool blond, almost ashen. His gray eyes take me in as if measuring me. I don’t like the way he looks at me. Not one bit.

My father’s affable smile dims when he catches sight of me. “Mija, what on earth—”

Only then do I remember that I look quite the mess.

Sebastian’s chuckle is soft and low and too familiar for my taste. He reaches toward me, his hand moving slowly as if I am a skittish mare wary of his touch. I go still as he plucks something from my hair. A mild flush of embarrassment sings through me when I see the dirty leaf he grips between his fingers. From the orange tree.

“Enjoying the natural splendor, I see.” The viceroy’s voice is gruff and disapproving. His jowls quiver as he harrumphs. This is not how he expected to find his future daughter-in-law, I am certain. He’s always been a judgmental man, seemingly preoccupied with appearances on a near constant basis. Rumor has it his rise to viceroy was nothing short of meteoric. He went from the second son of a minor noble house to one of the most powerful men in the Spanish Empire in a matter of years. His skill at forging beneficial connections was the stuff of legend. I suppose that is what I represent to him: a fruitful alliance, very nearly cemented.

My father hustles to my side, his eyes sharper than they normally are. “I was going to inform you of our guests’ arrival earlier, but we missed you at breakfast.”

Not You threw a tantrum and stormed away from said breakfast in a fit of righteous pique. No. Never that, not in polite company. Simply We missed you.

“Ah” is all I manage to say. My eyes are drawn to the stranger among them. My father follows my gaze and sighs, realizing he has no option but to introduce his utterly unkempt daughter to this new person.