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“T he central atrium of the palace contains exotic trees and plants from far-distant lands, like Persia and Aksum. You can tell this tree, commonly called a palmyra by the long, hanging leaves and the rough, scaly bark.” Prince Escalus used his long fingers to display the leaves to the whole Montague family, who nodded in unison, holding their eyes open as wide as they could to keep from nodding off.

“It is said to grow to great heights far to the east, in the warmer parts of Jambudv pa.”

In the big scheme of things, this oratory was nothing more than a fleeting moment of discomfort, but .

. . my fault. My fault that my beloved family was bored almost to tears and we all now knew that we faced many more moments of excruciating ennui.

Moments that would stretch into hours, and hours into years . . .

Because I was betrothed to Prince Escalus, soon to be married to him. I’d doomed my family and myself to an eternity of listening to him expound about his peculiar enthusiasms as if they were interesting.

I groaned gloomily.

Prince Escalus stopped talking and looked at me in inquiry.

Mamma and Katherina viewed me in warning.

Cesario piped up, “Rosie, you sound like Mamma. Does your tummy hurt like hers?”

I put my hand on my belly. “Sweet Jesus, no!”

Papà glared at my hand.

I dropped it to my side and faked a smile. “Prince Escalus, while as an apprentice apothecary, I admire your enthusiasm for your garden—you have so many gardeners!”

I’d glimpsed a dozen men and women lurking in the bushes, kneeling in the dirt holding a trowel, carrying plants in pots.

Prince Escalus flicked a glance around. “My garden is dear to me.”

“Obviously.”

“As an apprentice apothecary, would you like to tour the herb garden?” He gestured toward the walls that separated the common herbs from his more exotic plants.

“No, I thank you.” Heaven forbid! “I fear my family doesn’t share my enthusiasm for herbal preparations.

While we have our whole lives to enjoy this marvelous space, I’d hoped to hear more about the palace art and culture.

” A lousy excuse, and one that had my siblings rolling their eyes, but better than any suspicion that I might be with child.

Prince Escalus strode over, loomed over me (I was to discover he used looming to great effect), and looked into my eyes. “I was going to tell you about this spring-blooming plant, commonly known as rhododendron. But whatever my future bride desires is my command.”

Behind us, Imogene faked sticking her finger down her throat.

Mamma slapped her lightly on the back of the head.

I grinned.

One side of Prince Escalus’s mouth lifted. I think it was supposed to be a smile, but with this melancholy guy, who knew? Anyway, why was he smiling? He hadn’t seen the byplay.

The word “melancholy” fit Prince Escalus like a well-tailored coat.

He’d never been a handsome boy, and, in fact, before the battles, I remember him comporting himself like the self-important youth he knew himself to be.

Son of the podestà, heir to the rule of Verona—how learned, how glorious, and how commanding in his every word and deed!

Even young as I was, I disdained him. Not that it mattered; I was a girl and unworthy of his notice.

Then, eleven years ago, his life had been split in two.

The house of Acquasasso tried by stealth, violence, and deception to take the office of podestà for their own.

Prince Escalus the elder put down their rebellion, for he was a warrior of renown, and in the aftermath was assassinated.

To this day, the assassin remained at large and undetected.

Barely thirteen, Prince Escalus the younger survived imprisonment and torture.

He rose from the dungeons to take command of the city, and now his importance was indeed as great as he’d previously imagined.

Still, suffering had marked the unremarkable countenance, and not in a good way.

Although he was now but twenty-four, he wore black, and black, and more black, lightened by occasional trims of midnight blue, mold green, and gloomy maroon.

Streaks of white marked his shoulder-length black hair, his brown skin bore a gray tinge of dungeon, and his scarred complexion would eternally show signs of the knife and the heated rod.

He limped slightly from the iron bar they had used on the bones of his right leg, and although I’d never seen him in action, he’d earned a fearsome reputation as a swordsman.

In other words, Prince Escalus was the complete opposite of my One True Love, Lysander of the house of Marcketti.

Cesario’s patience had been tested long enough, and he blurted, “Prince Escalus, where’s Princess Isabella? I love Princess Isabella. I want to see her. ”

Prince Escalus glanced around as if puzzled. “I don’t know. I believed she would join us for this part of the tour. She always seems so interested in my garden.”

In other words, she was staying the hell away.

“I’m sure directing a formal dinner could be a challenge for a twelve-year-old.” Mamma had already established herself as the orphaned Princess Isabella’s surrogate mother. “Perhaps I should find her and offer my assistance.”

“And me!” Katherina said.

“And me!” Imogene said.

“And me!” Emilia said.

“And me!” Cesario said.

Papà put his hand on Cesario’s shoulder. “Son, men don’t interfere in the business of women.”

“That’s not fair!” Cesario protested. “I’m the one who asked about her!”

“Princess Isabella is surprisingly accomplished at such formalities,” Prince Escalus assured us, “and needs no assistance.”

“If you have no taste,” Katherina said to me out of the corner of her mouth.

I widened my eyes to keep from cackling.

The prince continued, “If you come this way, this door leads into the long walk.”

As with most rich homes in Verona, the palace stood as a private enclave surrounded by tall stone walls built to keep intruders out and the residents safe, for Veronese families fought for power, and at any moment, another city-state could march to bring us under their control.

Yet while the palace walls were the tallest and most heavily fortified, and the towers were created to support the prince’s archers and watchmen, the interior reflected all the wealth and comfort of a master family.

The atrium at the center of the house was the largest I’d ever seen, and the balconies and stairways and great carved wood doors led into the home itself.

Despite my recent humiliations at the prince’s hands, the interior of the palace interested me.

Prince Escalus led the way. “Within the great walk, we display the works we collect for public display.”

“You allow the public to view?” Papà knew very well he did not. Since the revolt, the prince had instigated a security shutdown and no one entered the palace except to speak privately to the prince, and that in one designated and well-guarded office chamber.

“No.” Prince Escalus was brief, blunt, and unapologetic. “The best works of art we keep above with the bedrooms for our private enjoyment.” He turned to me and without appearing to move closer, again he loomed. “I look forward to giving you, Rosie, a private showing.”

Gentle reader, what was I supposed to say to that?

I’m looking forward to it, too?

Because while I’m not a subtle person, I knew his private showing had little to do with works of art.

Papà made a low, rumbling growl.

That was never a good sign.

Mamma, bless her, stepped in with a firm hand on Papà’s arm and a pleasant reprimand. “As you know, Prince Escalus, Romeo is one of the most renowned swordsmen in Verona—”

Cesario interrupted, “ The most renowned.” He knew the legend as well as anybody, and although he didn’t quite understand Prince Escalus’s subtext, he did know he didn’t like the tone of the conversation.

Mamma placed her other hand on the top of Cesario’s head. “—and should anyone unsheathe their works of art prematurely, I don’t know if I could stop my beloved husband, Romeo, from removing said works of art from their hooks on the wall.”