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I didn’t understand how I, who had gone through so much less than childbirth, could stand before my mamma as she cradled her two new sons and still feel a nagging ache in my gut and a consciousness about my very black, black eye.

“Unless the fever takes her, a woman recovers from childbirth,” she assured me.

“To have my oldest daughter deliver these two wonderful boys, it’s an omen from God that they are blessed, and you are blessed, and our family, so happy within the realm of glorious Verona, shall be blessed forever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen.” I kissed her and the babes, and held them tight. I felt her hand caress my braid, and keep my head against her chest as if I were once more her infant.

“You will be careful.” It was a command, not a request.

“Mamma, I’m always careful.”

“You’re always impetuous, Rosaline. You fling yourself at life, imagining you are right and end battered and bruised.

” She caressed my still-swollen cheek and lifted my face to look into her eyes.

“You may be always right, but let you not be dead right. You must always be smart, too. Be strong. Think ahead. Marry, have children, live as the heart of your family, and always, always come back home to us.”

“I will, Mamma,” I vowed. “I go now to the palace and I’ll dig my way through the trash and the lies to the truth.”

“Be wise. Your new brothers need you. We all need you.” She touched my sleeve. “In your manner and your dress, you are a princess.”

“Thank you.” With Katherina’s help, I had dressed carefully today. I wanted to reveal no more weakness than my bruised face. I wanted to be the brave, strong princess-to-be.

Well, no. That wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be with Lysander, my One True Love, but I well knew how to face a future not of my choosing. That was now my life.

I kissed them all, first Mamma, then Adino, then Efron.

Turning from the huddle on the bed, I kissed Papà, then each of my siblings, told them I loved them (knowing how uncertain life can be, speaking aloud of love had become a tradition in our household).

I hugged Nurse and in a whisper commanded she care for Mamma and send for the midwife and me in case of fever or any abnormality.

I stepped out the door; the warm autumn day smelled fresh with a breeze that carried away the stench of violence.

I boarded the waiting sedan chair for the palace and, with Tommaso running beside, I was carried through Verona’s shouting, odiferous, homey streets to the palace.

Knowing Nonna Ursula showed signs of life gave me reason to endure the jostling.

At my approach, the great palace doors opened, Tommaso helped me out, and I entered to . . . no fanfare. Not that I expected ecstatic greeting, but the palace atmosphere—gloomy, tense, and foreboding—contrasted with the vivid, recovering life in Verona.

A footman joined me and murmured, “Early this morning, Prince Escalus went out to walk Verona’s streets. We await his return.”

I thanked him and turned toward Nonna Ursula’s suite, Tommaso on my heels.

Along the great walk, a line of soldiers waited to go into the room Friar Laurence had set up as an examination chamber.

I glanced inside; Friar Camillo handed a bag of herbs to Biasio, while Friar Laurence counseled him on how to use them.

As far as I could see, tired, grim-faced guards stood about or leaned against walls, suspiciously silent.

Too tired to speak? Or had Nonna Ursula taken a turn for the worse?

My sudden suspicion sent me hurrying toward her rooms. Her dark, empty sitting room was stifling and without air, and my heart beat in protest at my blossoming fear.

In the bedchamber, the window was closed, the drapes drawn, the fire lit—and a man’s tall, bulky shadow loomed over her bed, his hands reaching for her reclining, immobile figure.

I didn’t hesitate. I bolted across the room and tackled him.

With a cry of pain, he fell to the floor.

I followed him down.

From all around, a tumult of voices and cries broke out.

A woman’s voice screeched, “That girl is mad!”

Princess Isabella gasped, “Rosie! What are you doing?”

The man convulsed beneath me, gasping and holding his gut, and by the sickening sweet smell, I knew at once who it was. I had landed on Duke Yago’s well-clothed and exceptionally padded frame, and at that moment, I knew this whiny man was not faking an illness.

Old Maria threw back the drapes. Light flooded the room.

From the bed, Nonna Ursula cackled.

The noise froze all sound, all motion.

Nonna Ursula leaned on her elbow, thin and drawn, but alert, watching me and Yago. “Well done, Rosie. He leaned close to speak, and his breath is putrid.”

I leaped to my feet, relieved she was well; but knowing I had blundered, so rather than rushing to her side, I offered my hand to Duke Yago. “My apologies, Your Grace, I saw only a man’s form lurking over Nonna Ursula, and after the attack, I feared the worst. Let me help you rise.”

I thought for a moment he was going to slap me.

Someone grabbed the back of my skirts and pulled me away from him, and as I stumbled backward, Lugrezia dropped to her knees beside her husband and hissed at him.

“Stop making a display. Get up, get up, I tell you!” Grabbing his arm, she forcibly pulled him to his feet.

I wanted to stop her; I had recognized by his spasms of pain and his trembling gasps that I had hurt him. Something was truly wrong with this man.

But he regained his footing and his dignity, dusted at his clothing as if I’d merely insulted him, and in a voice a little higher than I remembered, he sniped, “You are a romp of a girl who doesn’t deserve the honors my nephew has bestowed on you! You . . . you . . . virago!”

I placed my hand on my heart and curtsied. “My apologies, once again, Your Grace.”

“He’s fine,” Nonna Ursula scoffed. “A little slip of a girl like you could hardly harm a duke of Verona. Isn’t that right, Yago?”

He glared at her, but said, “Aye, Mamma. Now I should go and leave you to those whose breath is fresh and young. Come, Lugrezia.”

They swept from the room in a rush of rich clothes, injured dignity, and that lingering stench.

I followed them, summoned Friar Laurence as I walked past his examination chamber, and not far away in the great walk, we found Duke Yago collapsed against the wall, holding his gut and moaning.

A humble monk he might be, but Friar Laurence could exert a powerful presence and he did so now. Taking Yago’s arm, he walked with him to the next room and shut the door in my face.

I turned to Lugrezia. “What’s wrong with Duke Yago?”

“He told everyone what happened, but he complains so much, no one listens.” Her face twisted in scorn. “After the Acquasasso defeat, he was celebrating and villains set upon him. He fought them off, but one stabbed him in the belly.”

I pressed a hand to my own aching gut.

“—a minor wound, only. Long, but not deep—enough to draw blood. Not even he thought it serious, for he pranced about so satisfied with his own manly performance with a sword. He lamented the safety of the streets, but turmoil still ruled. Then Escalus was assassinated. Yago had to decide whether to seize the reins . . . and he did not.”

“Out of loyalty to Prince Escalus the younger,” I suggested.

She turned on me in an outraged rustle of skirts.

“Out of cowardice! He wanted the riches, the power, but with Verona still the prey of scavengers, thieves, and mercenaries, and Escalus murdered, he was afraid. I told him I would be there to watch his back, and no one would touch Duke Yago of the house of Leonardi, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

I had power within my grasp”—she squeezed her fingers into a fist—“and it slipped away, and all that’s filled the years since has been fine clothing and excellent food and bad sex with a man who complains that having an erection hurts to the tip of his manhood. ”

TMI! TMI!

“So he’s not in much pain.” She tittered.

I wanted to bolt back into Nonna Ursula’s suite, but thankfully, the door opened and a grave-faced Friar Laurence assisted Duke Yago out of the room.

“Take him home,” Friar Laurence told Lugrezia. “Make him comfortable for the time he has left.”

She stood stock-still. “I don’t understand.”

Impatiently Duke Yago said, “I’m dying, Lugrezia. Friar Laurence gives me until the new moon, perhaps less, and you’ll be rid of your disappointing husband.”

“But I’ll be a widow! In mourning! That will not do!”

Friar Laurence, God bless him, looked shocked to his sandaled toes, and taking her by the arm, he marched her toward the entrance, counseling her in his most priestly voice.

“I beg you, Your Grace, forgive me for that wicked assault.” I was wretched with guilt.

“I’m already far gone. You hardly made matters worse.

” Duke Yago smiled wanly. “I wish you luck in your forthcoming marriage. Not that you’ll need it.

You’ll make Cal a good wife and be an excellent princess.

May God bless you with long life and many children .

. . and now I go to take my farewell of my mother. ”

“Will you tell her it’s the final farewell?”

“She pretends to be psychic, you know. She isn’t, but she’s a sharp old lady. I suspect she’ll know.” Yago leaned a hand against the wall and walked sideways like a crab back to Nonna’s suite.

With one of those disconcerting pops, Elder appeared at my elbow. “Poor sap! Lugrezia commands him his whole life and now he dies a miserable death. At least he goes on without her.”

“I can smell it on him. He’s infected all the way to the bone.”

We stood together, staring after Yago.

Friar Laurence returned from his consultation with Duchess Lugrezia, shaking his head sadly. He lifted my face to examine it. “Is it painful?”

Aware of the prince’s men who had suffered so many worse wounds, I made light of my discomfort. “I come from my mother’s childbed. This pain fades by significance.”

“Good answer,” I heard a soldier say somewhere behind me.

“Are you hurt elsewhere?” Friar Laurence asked quietly.

“A kick.” I gestured to my gut. “It aches.”

He stroked his chin. “That is more concerning. Let me know, Rosie, if you need a potion.”

“I will.” I was still spotting, but less and less all the time.

“Now I must go, or Friar Camillo will take my place as the palace apothecary.” He chuckled.

“Does he wish for the post?” A question of more than usual interest to me.

Friar Laurence shook his head. “He hasn’t the knowledge yet. Like you, he’s an apprentice. But he’s a good man, brave and upright, and he’s learning quickly.” He blessed me, then returned to the examination room, having answered again my questions about Friar Camillo.

Marcellus, Holofernes, and Barnadine walked past us. Marcellus and Barnadine scowled. Holofernes called out, “Nice shiner, Montague!”

I waved and said to Elder, “I’ve never had a black eye. Is commenting on it a ritual?”

“An acknowledgment of your newfound status,” Elder confirmed. He examined my face. “You took a solid hit.”

“I did.” I shuddered. I expected a lecture about going out, because men seemed to receive the same dialogue over and over, no matter which character they played.

Instead Elder said, “I’ve made a grisly discovery.

” He sounded almost conversational, as if he feared I’d dissolve into a wet, weeping blob of female sorrow.

“Pasqueta’s in the herb garden, half-buried under the rosemary hedge, with Yorick’s skull atop the mound.

Whoever did it was in a rage.” Unnecessarily, he added, “She’s dead. ”