Page 8 of Royal Caleva: Luis

“We have factored all that into our analysis, of course,” Huarte said stiffly.

The two aristocrats were part of the same group who had tried to wrest control of the lily fields away from the crown a year before. Luis had fought them off then, and he would do it again. He just wondered who had whipped up this sudden hunger for more money within the consejos. In this case, the money from the military base’s lease flowed into the national treasury. He assumed the councillors would promise their constituents tax cuts if the proposal was approved. At least that was less greedy than the nobles who had wanted the profits from the dementia-stopping lily sap for themselves.

Luis turned his gaze to the two representatives who did not hold titles. One had been an agitator in the Consejo de los Ciudadanos since his election seven years ago. He attached himself to any cause that brought publicity and strife. Felipe Camacho, though, was new to the consejo and an unknown quantity politically, according to Francisco’s briefing. Camacho was in his early sixties, had a mane of white hair, and worked as a professor of mathematics at the national university.

“Señor Camacho, the military base is in your district,” Luis said. “Do your constituents feel it is a burden economically? I would have thought the opposite.”

“I am honored by your question, Su Majestad,” Camacho said, tilting his head downward in a gesture of respect before he met Luis’s gaze. “Our concerns are less about economics and more about interactions with our citizens. We have had some…friction with the military personnel recently.”

“How will raising the rent ameliorate those issues?” Luis asked, his tone sharp.

“It will not, of course,” Camacho conceded without hesitation. “I simply hoped to use this opportunity to bring these problems to your attention.”

“Ah.” The man might be new to politics, but he understood how to work the system. “That should be a separate report.”

“I will be happy to submit it at your soonest convenience, Señor.” Camacho’s words were polite, but Luis saw a flare of anger in the man’s eyes.

Luis had no intention of getting involved in a local matter, but he nodded before turning to Huarte. “Don Pedro—”

A knock sounded, and the heavy oak door swung open. Mikel slipped into the room and glided to where Luis sat at the head of the conference table, his presence creating a ripple of uneasiness on the faces of the assembled consejeros.

Mikel bent to murmur beside Luis’s ear. “You asked to be informed the moment Quinn found the DNA information. She is waiting for us in your office.”

Luis nodded, keeping his expression neutral as a strange mix of excitement and anger pinwheeled in his chest.

“My apologies,” he said to the group. “A pressing matter calls me away. El Principe Raul will continue this meeting in my stead.”

Luis stood, and everyone at the table rose with him, bowing as he walked out of the room. Before Mikel closed the door, Luis saw Raul claim his chair at the head of the table with authority in every line of his posture. Having Raul give the opening address to the consejos had brought unexpected dividends in the seriousness with which the politicians regarded the prince.

Luis strode down the carpeted hallway with Mikel at his side but one step behind him. Neither of them spoke since this wing of Castillo Draconago was busy with staffers and other officials at this time of day. Mikel pressed his thumb to the pad beside the entrance to Luis’s private office suite and held the door open for Luis to pass through.

Quinn had jumped to her feet and now curtsied, her black-rimmed glasses catching a glint of light and her brown braid bouncing with her motion.

Luis waved her back to her seat in front of his desk. “What did you find?”

“If you will be seated, Su Majestad,” Mikel interjected. “We will share all the information we have gathered.”

Luis tightened his lips in irritation but allowed his security chief to stage-manage the revelation for the time being. He moved behind his desk and sat in the leather chair. “Quinn?”

She pushed the glasses up on her nose. Despite all his efforts to ease their relationship, she was still nervous around him.

“Odette made it almost too easy,” she said. “Of course, that was only true once we knew what to look for.” She pulled two sheets of paper from the leather portfolio she held and slid them across the polished wood of Luis’s desk.

On top was a New York State birth certificate for a baby named Marie Dupont. The mother’s maiden name was Jeanne Dupont, the French equivalent of Jane Doe.

And the father was listed as Luis Dragón.

Seeing his name on the official document socked him in the gut, which was why Odette had done it. He looked up at Quinn. “And the DNA record?”

“That baby was definitely yours,” she said, her voice growing more confident.

Luis rocked back in his chair and closed his eyes, releasing the emotions he had shoved into a box and slammed the lid on. His hatred for Odette flared a moment before he was swamped by joy at the knowledge that he had a daughter. He snapped his eyelids open. “What do you mean ‘that baby was’?”

“The next page is the amended birth certificate that was issued when Marie Dupont was adopted, the day she was born,” Quinn said.

Luis flipped the page to find a similar document, except on this one, the baby’s name was Grace Howard, with parents Eve Beaumont Howard and Benjamin Howard. Luis ran his finger over Grace Howard’s name as though he could conjure her up from the ink.

“The amended birth certificate appears legitimate,” Mikel said. “But given the implications of acknowledging the child as yours—”

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