Free The Assassin: (Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #2) by Pamela DuMond

be here.” I said. “I’m staying.”
    “I am not going without you.” He tugged harder on my leg.  
    “Stop it!”
    “No!”
    I kicked him with the back of my heel. Hard. I felt it connect with his face and he grunted in pain and released me. I felt terrible, but then reminded myself to get a grip. I had a job and it was important. And I shouldn’t have to be distracted because the boy I loved for an eternity didn’t remember me for a heartbeat.
    “I think you just broke my nose.” He clutched his face. “I should never have agreed to this insanity!”
    “Just go. I promised I would deliver a message to Inêz, and I don’t break my promises.” I climbed to the top of the wall, peered down at the other side, and jumped.

~ nine ~

    I careened down the bumpy, misaligned stone edges and landed in a thicket of bushes. The shrubbery broke my fall, but a few thorns pricked my skin, and I tried not to wince.  
    Shouts and child-like screams came from the house that was now merely a dozen or so yards away. I snuck through the small courtyard filled with painted tiles, fountains, and greenery until I reached the rear of the villa. I backed against its walls and despite my racing heart, struggled to quiet my breath. I peeked inside the doors that were flung wide open.
    A thirty-something pretty woman wearing a modest, long dress stood in the middle of the room, a defiant thrust to her chin. Three young children surrounded her: two held tight to her sleeves, and one little boy wrapped both arms around her waist, his head tucked under her arm.
    A group of men stood across from her. Some were young and looked tough like guards; others appeared older and were dressed like noblemen.
    A tall, old man dressed in a fine, rich black cloak stood a few feet from the woman and stared down at them, mildly perplexed. “What do you expect of me, Inêz? I have warned my son Pedro time and again about the dangers of aligning with your brothers and their disruptive Galician politics.”
    “Your ties with the kingdom of Castile still remain strong, King Afonso,” Inêz said. “The power stays with Portugal and Castile. Taking my life will not solve any political, or other problems, that stem from vicious gossip delivered by jealous nobles.”  
    “Founded in jealousy or reality, the problem is already here, Inêz, because even though I exiled you multiple times, you always come back . You have been here for over ten years. You seduced Pedro away from his true wife, Lady Constanza of Castile, who most likely died of heartbreak. Their son, Prince Ferdinand, the legitimate heir to my throne, is sickly, and weakens daily.”
    “That is not my fault, Your Highness,” Inêz said.  
    “Unfortunately, most people do not believe that,” said a skinny, older man draped in a rich velvet cape.
    “Sir Flaín is correct.” King Afonso sighed. “Come here, Denis.” He reached a hand out to the young boy holding tight to his mother’s arm. “Come to your Grandpapa.”
    Inêz gently pushed her son who reluctantly made his way toward the King.  
    He took Denis’s hand, drew the child toward him and hoisted him in the air. “You’re growing into such a big, strong boy.” King Afonso placed Denis back on the ground and smiled as he tore back to his mother. “You bewitched my son, Inêz. What if you cursed my legitimate grandchild? Your children with Pedro are simply royal bastards, but they multiply, scurry around, and flourish like mice in the cellars.” He moved a few feet toward Inêz, reached for her face, and ran his thumb down her cheek.
    She flinched and blinked back tears. “Please spare my life, honorable King Afonso, father of my beloved Pedro. If not for your son, then for the sake of our children, your grandchildren, whom we all deeply love. I humbly remind you that your blood runs through their veins.” She dropped to her knees and quietly sobbed. “Spare me. I beg you.”
    “Unfortunately, my advisors have convinced