Chapter Text
The people of Los Angeles whispered among themselves that the alcalde’s anxiety was driving them loco. He almost twitched because of his nervousness. The slightest misstep by one of his lancers received a crushing sit down. Victoria told everyone at the tavern that she felt sorry for poor Mendoza, the usual recipient of DeSoto’s outbursts. Royal Emissary Resendo’s arrival in the morning—and quick departure—would bring relief to all the citizens and lancers of the pueblo, but especially for Mendoza.
"I want," the alcalde snapped as he dusted a spotless bookcase. "All of the lancers to be ready for inspection by five o'clock."
"Five? In the morning?" Mendoza squeaked. His voice always lifted an octave when he was surprised or nervous. The glare he received from the alcalde, the one causing him to stand up straighter, answered him. Pulling down on his jacket, Mendoza proudly proclaimed, "Sí, mi alcalde, the lancers will be ready."
"Good," DeSoto replied. Slowly turning, he looked over his office with a critical eye. As usual, everything was in its proper place. DeSoto's office was his refuge from the horrors of life in this godforsaken pueblo. Even Zorro never dared to enter it. "I want everything to be perfect."
"Relax, Ignacio," came an amused voice from the doorway. DeSoto turned, squinting into the sunlight streaming through the door. The dark shadow walked further into the room, closing the door behind it. "From what I've seen, there isn't a speck of dust in all of Los Angeles! Why, even the streets are bare of it."
Laughing, DeSoto walked towards his friend. He noticed that Mendoza glanced at Don Alejandro's son as he pulled at his collar apprehensively. It amused the alcalde to no end that Mendoza always managed to pale at the mere sight of the de la Vega heir. Personally, he felt that his friendship with the caballero was the one bright spot of this otherwise dismal assignment. Even while the man standing in front of him had been an underclassman—a mere freshman—he had impressed DeSoto, a senior. The two men formed a tight bond in Madrid, and the renewal of that friendship made DeSoto's assignment to Los Angles almost worth it.
Sitting down behind his desk, DeSoto waved for Mendoza to leave and for his friend to sit. "Would you care for something to drink or smoke, amigo?"
"Yes, I believe I would like one of your fine cigars," he replied. DeSoto smiled as his friend lit the excellent tobacco. The de la Vega heir was known for his refined taste in cigars and wine, as well as women.
"Tell me," said his friend pleasantly, leaning back in his chair to blow smoke rings into the air. "What's the emissary like?"
"Well," DeSoto began, his voice a little higher and shakier than normal. "I've never met Emissary Resendo, but I've heard of him. He's an amazing soldier, very trusted by the King. It's said that if the King wants a job done right, he sends Resendo."
The gentleman chuckled while looking at his cigar. "Ah, so now I understand the reason for your apprehension. Why is such an important man coming to our little hole in the wall?"
Suddenly, the door slung open. "Why, I'm here to collect taxes, of course. I'm sure the King told you about it, Alcalde DeSoto, in his correspondence."
DeSoto stood, staring at the man standing proudly in the doorway. He was tall—well over six feet—and handsome. There was a small scare on his temple, but instead of detracting, it added to his beauty. He was also in perfect physical health, if a person could tell by appearances alone. He could easily run circles around all the lancers under DeSoto's command.
Beginning to smile and hold out his hand, DeSoto finally noticed the man's eyes. They were an ice blue—so cold that they could freeze a man with a single look. Despite the above-normal temperatures, DeSoto found himself shivering under the emissary's gaze. Diego Resendo arrived a full day early, and DeSoto knew in his bones that life was never again going to be the same in Los Angeles.