Read Online Still Star-Crossed by Melinda Taub - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melinda Taub
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She hated the look of pity on his face. Had this evening not been bad enough, but he must pry into her and Livia’s years of humiliation? She closed her arms around the pain in her chest. “Set your heart at rest. ’Tis none of your concern.”
He reached out two fingers, gently tipping her chin into the light. Rosaline took a startled, broken breath as he gently wiped the tears from her face with his handkerchief, just as he had when she was small. Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. “You would regain your station, and more,” he pointed out, “were you mistress of both the Montagues and Capulets.”
She laughed. “Poor persuasion, after all that you have ranged against my defenses this night. Admit defeat, Escalus.My chastity shall remain untouched.” She pulled away, offering him a curtsy once more.
He cocked his head, examining her with narrowed eyes, then nodded, giving her leave to depart. “As time shall try, Rosaline,” he said softly. “I am not so easily thwarted.”
“As you say. As time shall try.”
I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow
than a man swear he loves me.
—Much Ado About Nothing
P RINCE E SCALUS WAS NOT sure what to do.
He leaned out the window, feeling the morning breeze on his face. All of Verona was spread out beneath him, and beyond her walls the river, neat green fields, and roads ribboning off past the horizon. The palace of Verona was at the very height of the city, atop the summit of the highest hill.
Verona’s welcome
, it was sometimes called, for if one came up the river, the towers of the palace were the very first part of the city a weary traveler would spy.
Escalus’s perspective on the palace was an unusual one. Immune to its beauty, he found its thick gray walls stifling. Even more so now that he dwelt within them alone. His mother had died when he was fourteen, three years after he’d gone to Venice to be the duke’s squire; he had been too far away to return for the funeral. The next time he had come back was to bid farewell to his father, who was wasting away from a fever. Three days after he arrived, the old prince had died, and Escalus took the throne shortly after his sixteenth birthday. The crown was heavier than he’d expected.
Which was why he was now leaning out the window andstaring down at the river, indulging in a game he had been refining since he was small: Suppose Prince Escalus Forsook His Crown to Become a River Pirate.
A game all the more charming for its juvenility. No more squabbling families. No more demanding ambassadors from neighboring tyrants. No more hurt in the eyes of his childhood playfellow, just because he asked for her aid in keeping the city from flying apart at the seams. Just himself, his trusty crew, and the sparkling blue water …
“Your Grace.”
With an inner sigh, Escalus turned to find his chancellor, Penlet, waiting patiently for his attention. Penlet was middle-aged, and had been for as long as Escalus could remember. His drab black robe, his colorless hair, his mouth always set in a frown—all these looked the same as they had when Escalus was still in the nursery. The man seemed always to have the slightest of colds—not enough to keep him from his tireless work, but enough to provide a discreet cough to draw his liege’s attention back to the business at hand. Escalus trusted him, relied on him utterly, and sometimes loathed him as the plow horse does the whip.
Escalus settled himself behind his desk. “Yes, Penlet,” he said. “What news?”
“My lord,” Penlet said, after covering his mouth for one of those genteel little coughs. “ ’Tis something concerning the houses Capulet and Montague.”
Escalus resisted the urge to turn back to the window and ignore him. “Yes, what now? Has Capulet finally rousted Rosalineto the altar? I’ve waited three days for him to persuade her. How long can it take a lord to bend a maiden to his will?”
Penlet shook his head. “She claims she is
He reached out two fingers, gently tipping her chin into the light. Rosaline took a startled, broken breath as he gently wiped the tears from her face with his handkerchief, just as he had when she was small. Her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. “You would regain your station, and more,” he pointed out, “were you mistress of both the Montagues and Capulets.”
She laughed. “Poor persuasion, after all that you have ranged against my defenses this night. Admit defeat, Escalus.My chastity shall remain untouched.” She pulled away, offering him a curtsy once more.
He cocked his head, examining her with narrowed eyes, then nodded, giving her leave to depart. “As time shall try, Rosaline,” he said softly. “I am not so easily thwarted.”
“As you say. As time shall try.”
I had rather hear my dog bark at a crow
than a man swear he loves me.
—Much Ado About Nothing
P RINCE E SCALUS WAS NOT sure what to do.
He leaned out the window, feeling the morning breeze on his face. All of Verona was spread out beneath him, and beyond her walls the river, neat green fields, and roads ribboning off past the horizon. The palace of Verona was at the very height of the city, atop the summit of the highest hill.
Verona’s welcome
, it was sometimes called, for if one came up the river, the towers of the palace were the very first part of the city a weary traveler would spy.
Escalus’s perspective on the palace was an unusual one. Immune to its beauty, he found its thick gray walls stifling. Even more so now that he dwelt within them alone. His mother had died when he was fourteen, three years after he’d gone to Venice to be the duke’s squire; he had been too far away to return for the funeral. The next time he had come back was to bid farewell to his father, who was wasting away from a fever. Three days after he arrived, the old prince had died, and Escalus took the throne shortly after his sixteenth birthday. The crown was heavier than he’d expected.
Which was why he was now leaning out the window andstaring down at the river, indulging in a game he had been refining since he was small: Suppose Prince Escalus Forsook His Crown to Become a River Pirate.
A game all the more charming for its juvenility. No more squabbling families. No more demanding ambassadors from neighboring tyrants. No more hurt in the eyes of his childhood playfellow, just because he asked for her aid in keeping the city from flying apart at the seams. Just himself, his trusty crew, and the sparkling blue water …
“Your Grace.”
With an inner sigh, Escalus turned to find his chancellor, Penlet, waiting patiently for his attention. Penlet was middle-aged, and had been for as long as Escalus could remember. His drab black robe, his colorless hair, his mouth always set in a frown—all these looked the same as they had when Escalus was still in the nursery. The man seemed always to have the slightest of colds—not enough to keep him from his tireless work, but enough to provide a discreet cough to draw his liege’s attention back to the business at hand. Escalus trusted him, relied on him utterly, and sometimes loathed him as the plow horse does the whip.
Escalus settled himself behind his desk. “Yes, Penlet,” he said. “What news?”
“My lord,” Penlet said, after covering his mouth for one of those genteel little coughs. “ ’Tis something concerning the houses Capulet and Montague.”
Escalus resisted the urge to turn back to the window and ignore him. “Yes, what now? Has Capulet finally rousted Rosalineto the altar? I’ve waited three days for him to persuade her. How long can it take a lord to bend a maiden to his will?”
Penlet shook his head. “She claims she is
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