Read Online Prince of Shadows: A Novel of Romeo and Juliet by Rachel Caine - Free Book Online Page A

Capulet—attended now by a covey of ladies-in-waiting, including the sour-faced woman who’d first braced us—down the candlelit hall toward the room I knew to be Rosaline’s. She did not bother to announce herself. One of the servants opened the way, and the party swept like a storm inside.
    I did not see Rosaline right away, only heard the intake of breath from Friar Lawrence. One of the ladies gave a faint cry—distressed, but hardly surprised.
    I caught sight of Lady Capulet’s expression. It did not change by so much as a flicker.
    I eased a few inches to the right, keeping my face as shadowed as possible as I risked a direct look at the scene ahead of us, and for a frozen moment all I could see was blood. Blood in drips and dribbles, staining the floor.
    Rosaline was wedged into a cold corner, knees drawn up, nightgown bloodied from her split lip and the open cut on her forehead. It would take time for the bruises to form, but her left eye was already swollen, and the right side of her jaw distorted from the beating she’d received. She held her right arm tenderly, and I saw the bloody scrapes on her knuckles.
    What sort of woman was she, to fight
back
? She’d lost, of course, and badly, but it was the sight of those wounded hands that made me feel as if I had lost my breath entire.
    That, and the fact that she recognized me.
    I saw her raise her head, and she met my gaze with her own, or at least half of it, and I saw the barely perceptible reaction that ran through her. There was an emotion there I could not fully understand—fear, of course; who would not be afraid? But something more.
    I thought it might—impossibly—be gratitude.
    “A fortunate thing that she is to be a bride of Christ,” her aunt said, “since His love transcends such earthly considerations as beauty. As you can see, the girl is inclined to be unbiddable at times, Friar.”
    “Is such violent correction necessary?” he asked, and I heard a sharp edge to the question. “The girl is, after all, promised to the Church.”
    “And it is our duty to ensure that she reflects well upon the house of Capulet,” her aunt said, with an imperious jut of her chin. She did not like being questioned so. “The scriptures tell us that a disobedient child should be corrected; is that not so? I thought you were summoned to tend to her spiritual needs, not her bodily ones.”
    “Sometimes one entwines with the other,” Friar Lawrence said cheerfully, and moved forward to kneel next to the girl. He took the voluminous wool of his sleeve and wiped carefully at the cut on her head. “How fare you, my lady?”
    “Well,” she whispered, and closed her eyes for a moment. “Well enough, I thank you.”
    “Well enough to understand that you have been summoned to the glorious service of Our Lord?”
    “At this hour?” Lady Capulet cut in, sharp as a blade. “Surely not. She’ll need at least a week to be presentable for the journey.”
    Friar Lawrence stood, pulling himself to his full height, and bulk, with his hands folded in his bloodied sleeve. “A week, you say? To do God’s bidding?”
    “God’s, or yours?” I risked a quick glance upward. Lady Capulet’s ale-colored eyes were far too sharp, her lips far too thin. She was suspicious of nature, and this miraculous visit had waked howls within her. It remained to be seen whether we would survive the Capulet hounds, if they had been set hard on the hunt. “I shall send to the abbess to confirm that this . . .
vision
of yours is inspired of God, and not from some lower place. You shall hear from me within the week. If your message proves true, you may have the honor of escorting the girl to the cloister. If not, you may be sure that we will speak to the bishop and request his instruction.” The bishop, of course, was a Capulet born. Friar Lawrence had placed himself squarely in danger for my sake, but looking at Rosaline—who had suffered for my sake, as well—I could see no