prince frowned. “No,” he said. “But I can forbid you from marrying another. Refuse Benvolio, Rosaline, and you will die a maid.”
Rosaline actually laughed. The men surrounding her were certain they had her trapped into doing as they wished; little did they know she’d already slipped the net. “Oh, my lord, ’tis my dearest wish. Long ere Romeo heard the name Juliet, ’twas my intention to one day remove from Verona and take holy orders somewhere Montagues and Capulets are unknown.” She moved for the door. “And it seems I have tarried long enough. Perhaps my lords will find another lady willing to bear sons to be fodder for Montague and Capulet swords, but you’ll find her not in House Tirimo. Good night, sirs.”
And with that, Rosaline walked past the astonished men, down the richly carpeted stairs, and through the gates of House Capulet into the cool air of the Verona night.
The breeze was soothing on her heated cheeks. House Capulet’s sentries blinked at her, and Rosaline could not help but laugh again, remembering the way her uncle’s jaw had hung open. Probably he’d yet to shut it. How often had she imagined telling her Capulet kin just how little she cared fortheir brawling, selfish ways? She never thought she’d have a chance to say it to their faces. To thwart the plans of both Montague and Capulet at once—ah, furious as she was, it was a heady thrill.
Of course, having Escalus there to see her screeching like a harpy had never been part of her daydreams.
His Grace
, she reminded herself,
not Escalus
. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, which burnt anew. He’d not spoken so much to her in years. And when he did seek her out, it was for
this
. To trade her off like chattel.
She’d spoken true: Ever since her parents had died, she’d been determined to become a nun rather than allow herself to be married off to some minor noble or other who would like as not die at the end of a sword. No, the life of a nun might not be exciting, but at least she would not watch her kin slaughter and be slaughtered. She would take orders as soon as Livia found a husband. She’d told no one of her plans, not even Livia. It was her greatest secret.
No, not her greatest secret. She rarely admitted it even to herself, but with her heart still pounding in her chest and the heat of his palm burning on the back of her hand, it was impossible to deny. There was, in fact, one man who could stop her flight to a convent with a word. Escalus.
“Rosaline!”
Speak of the devil. Her sovereign’s voice rang out behind her. Even now, there was little urgency in his tone, only annoyance; the prince, it seemed, was little used to being refused, and did not quite believe it.
“Rosaline, stop, I say!”
Rosaline halted and turned around. There stood her prince in a pool of torchlight, looking cross. She sank once more into a mocking curtsy. “Even as Your Grace commands. What’s your will?”
“Thou knowest my will.”
Now it was he who
thou’d
her. Did he do it as she had, to remind her of their old friendship? Or was he addressing her as he would a servant? “I am Your Grace’s loyal subject to command,” she said. “In all things but this.”
“By heaven, Rosaline, Benvolio is an excellent gentleman.”
“He is none.”
“I say he is. Wilt thou not take my word?” His smile, when it came, was as dimpled and sweet as ever. How was that possible? “As thou didst say, we were friends once.”
“Sweet little Rosaline, why dost thou weep?”
“Thou knowest right well why, thou churl,” she said with a sniff. “ ’Tis right a maid should weep when she’s heartsick.”
Escalus began to laugh. “I’ faith, who has left thy tiny heart so bruised?”
“Is’t true, my lord, you go at dawn to Venice?” She turned her little tearstained face to his
.
Escalus looked startled. “Aye, of course.” His adolescent chest was puffed with pride. “I serve the Duke of Venice as his squire.”
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