The wounded had been taken to the hospital. The rescue workers were still searching the rubble. A fire crew was still on the scene, extinguishing remaining fires. The demolition team had been brought in to evaluate the buildings which had taken the most damage.

After several hours, it finally felt as though things were beginning to come under control when Ludwig put Angelica in the limousine and they made their way to the palace through a silent and dark city.

The surprisingly modern beat of San José had been substituted by an occasional wail of a siren or a church bell tolling and the intimate and seductive air of the two-thousand-year-old city was awash in artificial light as policemen on foot and on horseback patrolled the streets.

Even before the limousine stopped in front of the Harem gardens, Angelica’s legs had started to shake. She could smell the explosives on her clothes and hair, feel the dirt and blood on her skin. It felt like her entire body was covered with it.

She hated the feeling. But she hated more the images of suffering and despair, and worse, the total apathy and hopelessness she had seen in the eyes of many children, women, and men. The lack of tears, the lack of a voice to ask for help, made her want to weep.

But she could not break down now. People were expecting the same strong princess that had bandaged wounds and comforted those that were injured. Somehow, through the adrenaline high, she had cut off any emotions that had flooded her body right after the explosion, focusing on the task at hand.

But that had been when she had something to focus on.

Ludwig stretched out his hand to help her step out the car and his arm went around her waist, giving her the strength to put one foot in front of the other.  

Together, she and Ludwig walked through the courtyard, passing the palace employees as they made their way to the room where her family waited. Some gave a kind smile, some had tears in their eyes as they passed, but no one said a word. Angelica would have given anything to have one of them, any of them, say something. She didn’t want sympathy, she wanted normalcy.

But still she walked, Ludwig’s hand warm in hers as they entered the drawing room.

“Oh, mi hija,” her mother cooed, reaching for her the moment Angelica moved through the doorway. “You shouldn’t have stayed there. I was so worried.”

Angelica fought back the tears as she hugged Anchela, the familiar smell of her mother’s perfume comforting her.

She could see that they were all worried about her, that they cared. She could have lost her life today in more ways than one, and some of their citizens had. While there was a small part of her that was pleased with the reception she received upon her return, it irked her as well. She was more than a treasure that needed to be hoarded away. In the twenty-first century, it was difficult finding her place as a leader and as a woman. She needed to be seen as strong. She needed those around her to support her strength. But all she really wanted in this moment was for Ludwig to reach over and hold her in his arms. She wanted him to tell her under no uncertain terms that he was taking her to her room and that he was going to keep her safe. It was almost as if she were two different women residing in the same body. And she didn’t know how to make the two of them meet in the middle.

“Give her some room,” Valantín said softly, as Angelica stepped back from her mother and was immediately swamped by Maria’s hug. The tenderness in his eyes when she met his gaze nearly undoing her. He placed a kiss on her cheek. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she forced out. “In need of a shower, but I’m okay. How many are dead?”

“I don’t think we should discuss that now.” Valantín ran a hand through his hair as Ludwig tucked an arm around her waist, his eyes following Ludwig’s every move.

“I think you are right,” her mother chimed in, tears in her eyes. “Lives were lost today, and we will mourn them appropriately tomorrow.”

But her mother’s voice waned in Angelica’s ears. She drew in a deep breath, leaning against Ludwig for support, as the world zoned in and out in a strange way. Her practiced eye scanned over the arrangement of slender tapers, the presentation of pale pink and green mints in crystal candy dishes on the center table, the sherbet-colored pillows on the curved-back sofa where her mother was sitting so worried, grabbing Maria’s hand. When she placed the image side to side with the destruction she had witness today, it made her shudder from head to toe. It made her sick. The Harem was a place she had been so happy to move into.

Ludwig squeezed her waist. “I think Angelica could use some rest.”

“I agree,” Valantín said, with a nod to Ludwig. “We will discuss our plans of action later, Hermanita.”

Angelica gave them all a vacant smile as Ludwig led her out of the living room, toward her chambers upstairs, directly to the bathroom

She swallowed, looking about the calm powder-blue and baby-green spa space that was her bathroom. Ludwig had only turned on the Moroccan lanterns, which warmed it up with a soothing touch rather than fill it up with too much light.

Once he closed the door, Ludwig dropped his touch on her waist. “What do you need, Liebchen?”

“I don’t know, honestly.” She wanted to feel warm on the inside again. She wanted to erase the terror she had seen today and replace it with something else. Anything else.

“A shower,” he said after a moment, stepping out of his shoes. “We both need a shower and then a relaxing bath.”

Angelica watched him turn on the bath heat, more of a pool really. Then he tested the shower, making sure the water was warm, and only then did he strip off his ruined clothes.

His blond hair was gray with soot, his handsome face streaked with dirt, and even the light in his electric blue eyes was dimmed. Ludwig had not left her side for one second, had allowed her to do what she needed to do, not what was politically acceptable. In that instance, she hadn’t been a princess and he was accepting of that.

When he came toward her, she was still frozen in the same place.

“A shower,” he reminded her, reaching for the hem of her top. “Let me help.”

She allowed him to pull the silk top over her head and take off her bra, her body starting to tremble as he unzipped her skirt, letting it fall, and helped her to step out of her underwear, without saying a word.

She was about to fall apart. She knew it was written on her face, in the hitch of her breath. She could see he was rattled as well, but attempting not to show it to her, probably worried about what state she was in. The carnage, the horror they had experienced today had also torn him apart.

“Come.”

She put her hand in his a moment later and let him lead her to the shower, shivering as she stepped into the warm stream of water.

When he pulled her against him and ran a soothing hand down her back, she whispered, “Ludwig.”

“I won’t run if you cry, Kätzchen,” he whispered in her hair.

It had been many years since Angelica had allowed herself to cry.

She did, now. She buried her face in Ludwig’s strong chest and sobbed.

Crying didn’t solve any problems, but not crying hadn’t proven particularly effective, either. She’d always thought it weak to indulge in tears, but nothing else seemed to answer for the situation. And it felt strangely exhilarating to let her tears loose.

He drew in a breath and wrapped his arms tightly around her, allowing her to cry against his chest.

“Tears are the most irrational way to solve a problem,” he whispered after a while, after a long due weep, after she let out a soft hiccup. “But it feels so good, huh?”

“What do we do?” she whispered against his chest, her tears intermingling with the warm spray of water. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We get through it together, that’s what we do.”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She looked up through tear-blurred eyes and a watery smile. “Stay with me. Please?”

“Of course.” Ludwig felt his chest tighten as he gazed into her eyes, broken and glazed over. He pulled back until he could see her beautiful face, smoothing the hair from her eyes. “Let me help you wash and then we’ll relax a bit in the bath.”

As he washed her hair, slowly, massaging her scalp, she let out shuddering breaths and small sighs.

He knew how she felt; he knew the devastation. But he would not let it consume her. She would get through this and he would help her, love her even.

At one point he feared losing her too, which had made him want her more desperately than ever. After they showered, all traces of blood and death removed, he would keep her all night long in his arms, keep her safe, he swore.

When they moved to the heated pool, he sat in a corner and took her in his arms.

“Talk to me. About life, about love. Tell me something about yourself,” she spoke softly—barely above a whisper—as she snuggled into his body, slid her hands up his arms and around his neck, as if she feared letting him go, even for a second. “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

He told her that he liked classical music rather than the hard rock his friends preferred, but that information lacked the deeply personal touch she obviously craved. And Ludwig found that he wanted her to know him better than anyone else in the world. His sense of peace—true peace—deepened.

All because she was here with him. Because she had cried with him. Because she didn’t push him away and relied on him to help. Because she wanted to learn about him, too. Because he eased her torment. Because, when she looked at him, he suspected she saw man. Her man. Even though she didn’t know that right now.

A heady thought. Drugging. Shocking. Enough to earn his devotion.

“There have been a few times over the years that I wondered if I would ever have a wife and”—he gulped, confessing—“children.” He’d never told his friends, who would have laughed. He should laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

She didn’t laugh. “Why not?” There was a wistfully curious tone in her question.

It made him suspect that she might’ve had the same thought about herself. “I’m not sure. I’ve always felt like maybe I was missing some essential component that drove a person to want such things.”

She didn’t ask if he still felt that way, and he was relieved at not having to answer the question.

Because he didn’t feel that way. Not anymore. But he didn’t know how much he should reveal about his feelings for her.

“Tell me something about you. What was it like growing up in the palace?”

She told him how she’d spent part of her childhood being taught how to be a princess: how to talk, to walk, sit, eat and the endless classes of etiquette and protocol. The language lessons, piano lessons, dance lessons—the ever lonely lessons, which meant he now had a list of tutors to kill—and how she still spent most of her time alone.

Ludwig found it amazingly pleasant to pass the time just talking, just enjoying the smoothness of her skin, the silkiness of her voice.

When they totally relaxed and Angelica was dozing on his shoulder, he took her to bed.

After gently laying her down, he lay beside her and snuggled as close as he could get, wrapping his arms around her, wanting to undo the years of loneliness she’d felt, wanting to infuse her with the feeling that she was not alone anymore.

And if he had his way, she never would be again.