The Infanta Margarita refused to be still. Frustrated, Mercedes knelt down to the little girl’s eye level.

“Mi princesa, you must be good while good Señor Velázquez paints the king and queen. Doña Carmen has promised you sweets, remember?”

The little girl turned away from Mercedes to look at her parents. El rey y la reina were posed stiffly. The smile usually present on the queen’s face was absent, making her face look almost vacant. Margarita watched her parents and took a deep breath—a tell-tale sign that a tantrum was brewing.

Mercedes shot a desperate look at Isabella. Her sister heaved a sigh, and bent down to the princess. She grabbed the younger girl’s hand—a feat Mercedes never would have even contemplated, especially not in front of the king and queen—and led Margarita over to Fiocco. The lazy dog was lounging on the floor, but Margarita nevertheless seemed entranced.

Standing, Mercedes momentarily closed her eyes. Next to her, Velázquez grinned out of the corner of his mouth.