Page 113 of Thus with a Kiss I Die
I viewed him coolly, calmly, and for the first time cleanly asserted my authority over this man loyal to Cal. “I go to converse with my prince. Now get out of my way.”
Marcellus lifted his chest, straightened his spine, broadened his shoulders, showed all the signs of forming a barrier between Cal and me.
His opinion of me was of a light-minded woman, manipulative and unsuited to the high office to which Cal was raising me, and if he was being generous, a competent cook. He couldn’t comprehend the force majeure it took for me to run the Montague household from a young age, nor did he understand that I easily supervised my young, strong-minded siblings. So when I used the decisive whiplash of my next words—“Marcellus, move out of my waynow”—Cal’s bodyguard fell back under the power of my personality.
I didn’t rush. Not now. The unimportant obstacles had been overcome, and there remained only Cal, clad in shadow, baptized in blood, alone as no man had ever yet been before on this earth. In that deep, warm, masterful voice, he spoke, commanding the fascinated attention of the crowd gathered on the street. His thrilling description of Barnadine’s assassination of Elder, his ongoing treachery in the years since, and his attempt on dear Nonna Ursula’s life brought a cacophony of booing and hissing. When Cal described Barnadine’s act of luring Verona’s most loved Lady Rosaline Montague to the tower with evil intentions, the battle she fought courageously, and the horror of her near plunge to the ground, his words grew in volume and speed, and every man and woman gasped and moaned, feeling the terror he described.
He mesmerized, an improv actor who knew how to project an emotion: humor, revulsion, outrage. And then he began again. “When Lady Rosaline stood once more at my side, brave, strong, and true, I realized—”
It was time for my first step onstage as Prince Escalus’s wife. I took a fortifying breath and charged out the door.
Startled, Cal turned at the sound of my footsteps on the balcony and looked even more startled when I projected my voice toward him—and the crowd gathered below.
“Beloved betrothed, I thank you for your constant kind assurance to my soul’s well-being and your heated defense of my vulnerable woman’s body, taking such a wound to your chest deep enough to kill a lesser man!” I faced the crowd and touched my chest. “After your battle with the hated villain Barnadine”—the people booed at Barnadine’s name, which heartened me—“you embraced me in triumph and thanksgiving, and this bloody mark you left as a brand of your courage.”
Men and women gasped as I turned from side to side to show them the smeared stain on my skin; and when I pressed my palm to the growing spot of blood on Cal’s chest, I showed them that, too.
Cal flinched and, in a low voice, said, “Rosaline, don’t.”
I paid him no heed. “With your brave action, witnessed by so many of our citizenry, you have avenged your father’s restless ghost. Even now, you bleed as you take the time to assure your people of my safety as your future wife, the assurance of your dynasty, and their own safety. Your nobility is Verona’s essence, and thus I must beg our people, our citizens, to allow me to take you from them so that I may bind your wound and you will live another day, to the gratitude of your people and the delight of your multitude of friends.”
Cal’s citizens shouted instructions to him, to go and be well; and to me, giving advice on how to salve and bandage him, and exhorting me to be a healer and wife.
I waved acknowledgment, took Cal firmly by the arm; and when he didn’t move, I shoved him toward the door.
It was going to get ugly if he refused to move.
To my surprise, Marcellus joined me, took Cal’s other arm, and Cal, recognizing defeat, walked with us into his bedroom.
Cheers and shouted blessings followed us inside.
Princess Isabella unwound her arms from the red-faced Holofernes’s neck, and he shut the door behind us.
Cal looked between his sister and his bodyguard. “What are you . . . ?”
Princess Isabella grinned at him. “All’s well. Rosie stopped you!”
I spared a moment for Holofernes’s embarrassment, but she’d reminded Cal of his main concern.
Cal gestured indignantly toward the balcony. “Rosie. What the hell was that?”
CHAPTER62
“Igave you up, and now you’re back?” Cal no longer used his projecting actor’s voice, but his normal I’m-an-irritated-male voice.
With Marcellus’s help, I steered him toward the tall bed. “The true lesson of Romeo and Juliet in the tomb is that it’s not that easy to get rid of a Montagueora Capulet, and I’m both.” I gestured to Holofernes and Marcellus, who turned down the dark brocade bedcover, and Dion brought the steps that Cal must climb to reach the mattress.
“Isthatthe true lesson of Romeo and Juliet?” At my urging, Cal climbed the steps. “If I’d known all I had to do is relinquish my claim on you, I’d have . . . Wait. No.” He faced me. “My reasons for allowing you to live outside of the censorious and sometimes perilous public eye still stand. Even before our marriage, my enemies are your enemies.”
“I know. Where’s the justice in that?” I followed him up the steps, put my hands on his shoulders, and physically urged him to lie down on the mattress. “I can make enough enemies on my own.”
Marcellus snorted.
Everybody looked at him.
He kept a straight face.
Elder chuckled. “He knows you, that boy.”
