At twelve she married a boy of ten who was not even in the room. On the same day, his sister married her brother. Each family would gain a daughter-in-law. Each would send a daughter away.
She had lost every child born to her before him. As a little boy, her son was painted by Velázquez on a rearing horse, a command baton in his hand, to hang between the portraits of his parents. The family's future had been given a place on the wall.
Diego Velázquez painted her at three years old. Then at five. Then at eight. Then at nine. Her father sent every portrait north to Vienna so that the man she was going to marry could watch her grow up. That man was her uncle.