So the night of the season’s grand ball was cast as a last chance. Her mother commissioned a royal-blue silk dress threaded with gold, as if expense could distract the eyes of men trained to rank beauty with ruthless efficiency. Jimena descended the staircase with a bravery that deserved medals. The whispers arrived before she reached the floor.
Who will choose her?
She breathed through it, as a lady is taught, while another girl in a lighter dress was whirled away by an eager suitor. By the time the carriage took them home, the silence was louder than any verdict. In the morning her father summoned her to the room where contracts were made. He spoke of futures and usefulness. He spoke of arrangements. And in a decision that would echo across years, he arranged to send Jimena away to an Apache reservation on the northern frontier, where a captured warrior named Tlacael had been given a parcel of land under government supervision.
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