Still Star-Crossed (13 page)

Rosaline swallowed. In truth, it was not unheard of for the prince to draw this noble or that aside for a private word during a ball—but said noble was normally not an unmarried young girl. Uneasy as she was, though, she could hardly refuse her sovereign in front of all Verona. And no matter how they had quarreled, she still knew Prince Escalus was an
honorable man. Surely he would not do anything that would besmirch her honor. A few minutes couldn’t hurt.

Besides, the touch of his arm at her elbow had kindled a shy, fluttering warmth in her belly. Even if she should, she did not want to draw away.

As they drew near the top of the staircase, the crowd’s hush was broken by a sudden commotion in the back. A loud crash was followed by a female voice calling, “Oh, Lady
Millamet
, you
fell
, you poor thing, let me
help
you.…”

The prince craned his neck back to see what was going on. “What in the world was that?”

Rosaline, for her part, had no need to look. “Lady Millamet being pushed in a barrel of wine,” she said. “Shall we?” Escaping the ballroom had suddenly become much more attractive.

The air in Prince Escalus’s study was cool and quiet after the press of bodies in the Great Hall. Lamps hung around the walls, but when the prince released her arm, he lit only one, leaving the room filled with ruddy light and black shadows. He took a bottle of wine from the cupboard and poured himself a glass and, without asking, one for her as well. Rosaline took a polite sip, though she’d already had as much wine this night as she thought wise.

Escalus drew her down to sit on a chaise by the window. He leaned easily against the arm; she sat so straight her spine ached. With a deep breath, she said, “My lord, I hope you do not take my attendance here tonight as a sign that I have changed my mind. I assure you, I am as adamant as—”

He laughed at her. “
Peace
, my lady Thorn, for God’s sake.”
He took her hand when she tried to rise, pulling her back down. “Did you never imagine that I might have invited you here to ask your forgiveness? That I might truly hate forcing such a dear friend as you to marry against her will?”

He had not let go of her hand. Between that and the wine, she was having trouble thinking. “
Trying
to force me to marry, Your Grace. You’ve not succeeded.”

“Of course.” He leaned back, gazing at her with a warm, lazy smile she had not seen on his face since he took the throne. His eyes, however, were as sharp as always. “Isabella said to give thee her regards, by the way. She regrets she had not more time to speak with thee tonight, but she had to retire early, since she is to leave in the morn.”

Rosaline smiled. She and Isabella would have plenty of time to speak on the way to Arragon. Escalus was staring at her glass, so she took another sip. “ ’Twas wonderful to see her tonight. If only because you had to stop tormenting me while we were all in the same room. I am sure that had she learned what you are about, she would shave your stallion’s mane again.”

“Ah, so that
was
she. She always denied it.”

Ought she to admit it? The bravery of two glasses of wine said yes. “Well—not she alone. I had a hand in it.”

“You too?” Escalus shook his head. “Trouble even in the nursery. And you looked so innocent. I should have known.”

“You deserved it,” she said. “You were forever pulling our hair.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “So I was. Well, were there more in this tiny conspiracy? Or just you two?”

“Oh, no, just me and Isabella,” she said. “The little girls were far too in awe of you.”

He sighed. “Well. Juliet, at least, learned to flout my will.”

“Aye. I would she had not, poor wretch.”

Silence fell. Through his open window, laughter and music drifted up from the party below.

Rosaline tried again to rise. Again, he pulled her down, holding one of her hands in both of his. His smile was gone now; his gaze lost somewhere in the darkness. “Sit thou with me, Rosaline,” he said. “Just—sit with me awhile. Be not afraid of your old friend.”

She returned to her place. “Very well, Your Grace,” she said. “Just for a moment.” He said nothing else, but refilled her wine glass.

Livia was growing rather bored.

Now that the grand feast was nearly over, she was no longer sure what it was she had been so looking forward to. Her feet aching from dancing, she slipped outside to wait for Rosaline to reappear from wherever she’d got to. Livia was ready to go home.

She smothered a yawn, nodding and smiling to the stream of nobles leaving the feast. Their aunt had long since returned to her house, leaving Livia with a few coins to hire a carriage. Thus discharging her financial duty to her nieces for the summer, Livia supposed.
Good
, Rosaline would say.
We’ve no need of her help. The less we are under the Capulet thumb, the better
.

Livia wondered, occasionally, if the Capulets’ neglect of them was really as much of a snub as Rosaline believed, or if it was also a response to Rosaline’s own fierce independence. Rosaline might not need the Capulets, but Livia was not sure what she needed. Certainly Lady Capulet had been nothing but kind to her these past two days that she’d helped to nurse Sir Paris.

She’d been surprised tonight at how often her thoughts returned to him. She had always loved feasts—dancing and flirting and fashion, and the notion that she could at any moment meet her one true love and be swept away to a life of riches and ease.

But now it all seemed so frivolous. Livia heartily approved of frivolity as a rule, but spending the last few days trying to save a dying man took some of the joy out of fancy clothes. She could not smell the ladies’ perfume without remembering the scents of the sickroom. And her handsome young dance partners only called to mind the heat of Paris’s cheek against her fingers as his feverish eyes burnt into hers.

She sighed at the remembered romance of the moment. What was a dance compared to
that
?

Rosaline had made her promise to meet here when the clock struck midnight—she said they had an early morning on the morrow, but she would not say why. And now it was nearly one and Rosaline was nowhere to be found. The stream of guests leaving the Great Hall had slowed to a trickle
before Livia realized that Rosaline wasn’t coming out. She must have gone home without her. Oh, spite.

“Another Capulet harlot,” a voice slurred behind her. “Waiting for thy strumpet of a sister?”

Livia turned to find a young man with a jagged scab across one cheek. This must be he who’d attacked Rosaline. “Indeed no, Orlino,” she said. “I wait for a physician to sew up that ugly hole in your face. But I fear that if he mends the ugliest one, ’twill leave you unable to speak.”

Orlino’s face darkened with drunken fury. “You little shrew!” He raised an arm. Livia took a step back, heart pounding. Would he really strike her on the very steps of the prince’s palace?

“Let her be, Orlino!”

Livia looked to her left. Her cousin Gramio was there, hand on his sword, glaring at Orlino. To her right stood Lucio and Valentine, two more young Capulet kinsmen. “Leave her alone,” Gramio repeated. “Get thee gone. And the next time you speak a word of discourtesy to one of our kinswomen, ’twill be your hide.”

Orlino barked a laugh at that, but he was clearly outnumbered. With an obscene bite of his thumb at Livia, he turned and ran off into the night. Young Lucio made to pursue him, but Gramio seized his arm.

“There’s naught to be done so near the prince’s palace. We’ll see to him anon.” He gave Livia a smile. “For now, let us see our sweet cousin home.”

Livia’s cousins had not taken such notice of her in years. Apparently all it took to be valued as a Capulet was to be
threatened by a Montague. She allowed Gramio to help her into their carriage, but when they set off, the thought of going home to her dark house was suddenly frightening. “Would you take me to our great house, please?” she asked. “I shall spend the night with my aunt Capulet.” Rosaline had slipped off without her, after all. Let her sit at home and worry about Livia in turn. She would spend the night at Paris’s side.

Rosaline, the prince realized, was drunk.

That had not, strictly speaking, been his intention. But he’d simply had to distract her somehow, so that she would not insist on returning to the ball. The maid had a very overdeveloped sense of honor.

The danger of her departure was quite past. The stiff, cold woman of two hours ago had melted once he’d poured a bottle of wine into her. She was now ensconced on his chaise, giggling into the arm, feet tucked beneath her. Her curls had come unpinned, and they tumbled over her shoulder.

A knock on the door was quickly followed by a cough before it opened to reveal Penlet. His eyes widened when he saw Rosaline, but if he had any opinion of the scene before him, his years of service kept him from revealing it.

“Your Grace, your guests have all departed,” he reported. “Your sister is abed. Shall I arrange a carriage for the—ah—” His eyes landed on Rosaline. “The young lady?”

“That shall not be needed. Thanks and good night, good
Penlet. That will be all.” Escalus ushered him out, ignoring the disapproval emanating from the prim little man, and shut the door behind him.

When he turned back, Rosaline had risen from the chaise. Most of the musicians had left, but a lone lute was still picking out a melancholy air. The song drifted up through the open window, and Rosaline stood before it, dancing in the moonlight.

Escalus caught his breath. He knew, of course, that Isabella’s little friend had grown into a woman. But it was only now as she twirled, humming to herself, that he truly realized how lovely she’d become. Curls loose and wild, skin silvered by the moon—she was a captivating creature.

When she caught him looking, Rosaline smiled and extended a hand, and before he knew it she’d drawn him into her dance.

His feet followed the familiar steps as his eyes locked on hers. “I did not think thou wouldst grace me with a dance, lady.”

Her eyes were soft now. “ ’Tis lucky thou art to have it, scoundrel that thou art.”

“Scoundrel, am I?”

“Aye, ’tis the kindest word for thee, for thou didst break a young lady’s heart most grievously.” She twirled away before turning back into his arms. “Mine own, when I was seven. Never did a lady weep harder for a lost lover than I did when thou didst go away to study.”

He laughed. Her hair smelled of something sweet and
springlike. Escalus wished he could pull her closer. “Thy pardon, dear playfellow. I never knew thy little heart was mine to break.”

“Oh, it was,” she said. Gaze catching his, she whispered, “It is still.”

Escalus’s eyes widened. “Rosaline—”

She kissed him.

Since the moment Escalus took Verona’s throne, practically every waking thought had been devoted to the care of his city. Even momentary pleasures, like riding Venitio, he only permitted himself so that he could attack his work with more vigor afterward. God knew Verona required all he had to give. But this was the first moment in memory when he realized just what he had given up.

Brawling families, aggressive neighboring cities, the thousand headaches Penlet brought him daily—all of it melted away, leaving nothing but the press of her lips and the warmth of her body and her arms winding round his neck. He knew she was drunk, he knew he was being dishonorable, and, God, he knew what he was going to do to her on the morrow—but still, Escalus found himself wrapping her in his arms, and, just for a moment, pulling her closer.

It was over as soon as it was begun. Rosaline pulled back, and “Oh,” she said. “Oh, I do not think I can stand anymore.”

He steadied her swaying body. “That is because you are drunk, lady.”

She blinked at him. “Oh.”

With a sigh, he tucked her against his side and helped her
carefully up the stairs to his bedchamber. True to her word, she could not keep to her feet, and Escalus had to scoop her up and carry her.

As he laid her in bed, her eyes were already drooping shut. Escalus brushed a few stray curls from her cheek before stepping away. He would pass the night on the chaise downstairs. But first, he spent a few moments watching her as she slipped into a deep, trusting sleep.