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“I gave 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 Montague or a 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.

“Is that the 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.”

Ah. Elder had come along to see the entertainment and make sure his son survived my tender care. I should have known he wouldn’t whisk away on a cool, heavenly breeze. Or a hot, hellish wind, either.

“Marcellus, I need whatever bandages and medicines you keep here,” I told him, “and when Dion returns with Friar Laurence, bring them at once to this room.”

Marcellus bowed and departed.

Cal seated himself, then eased himself backward onto the pillows.

I observed the care with which he moved and diagnosed pain and blood loss as the reasons he hadn’t remained on his feet to argue with me. “Holofernes, if you would meticulously remove the clothing from the prince’s upper body, I’ll endeavor to preserve his life for another day.”

Cal gripped my wrist and gazed at me, his lids partially lowered over his dark eyes.

“It’s not my first visit to the altar of losing to win.

Barnadine and I knew each other too well.

For me to defeat him, I had to suffer the molestation of my flesh on his knife.

It is as naught when compared to the serving of justice for my noble father. ”

“I wouldn’t call a stab wound to the chest naught !” Elder said. “Listen, boy, I do appreciate your seizing the moment to avenge me, but let us not sacrifice your life, too!”

“My prince, in your youthful years spent in the dungeon, you suffered an exaggerated experience in grave wounds, which leaves you unfit for medical judgment.” I watched as Cal’s bodyguard unlaced his doublet and shirt and Cal eased his arms free, revealing the close-fitting leather vest. A blot of blood marked the place where Barnadine had stabbed him, and as Holofernes unlaced it, he revealed the crimson stain that spread like a malicious miasma across the white linen of his undershirt.

Elder swore.

Holofernes echoed Elder and, pulling his knife, slashed the material, revealing Cal’s bronze skin, with its dark, curled hair, already scarred from the torture of his youth, and the sullenly oozing wound on his chest.

Princess Isabella gasped and turned white. “Sit down and put your head between your legs,” I told her. She was twelve, and all girls of that age found the sight of blood fearsome, and knowing how the womanly years would unfold, for good reason.

Yet upon hearing Cal’s casual assurances, I’d hoped for better. “Light!” I demanded, and climbed on my knees on the bed to better examine his wound.

The always hovering servants appeared, opening curtains and windows and lighting candles, which they held close.

“Bandages!” I held out my hand. Someone thrust a wad of soft cloth in it and I blotted the wound and examined it closely.

The cut was small and deadly aimed, placed exactly at the center of the chest over the heart.

Indeed, the only thing that saved my prince’s life was the leather vest and Barnadine’s precision, for he had stabbed exactly at the thickest part of the breastbone.

When Cal’s blade found its final resting place in Barnadine’s body, he’d been unable to complete his last act of brutal treachery against the Leonardi family.

Cal read my face and offered the obvious. “He failed.”

“Barely!” Irritated, I stuffed pillows under his head and shoulder to raise them and slow the bleeding.

He continued, “However, I suspect the slender tip of the stiletto broke off and remains lodged in the bone.”

“Yes.” I could see its silver glint. “That’s actually fortunate, for the metal blocks the heaviest blood flow. Yet . . . intense pain, I think?”

I watched Cal struggle with the need to proclaim it only a scratch, but under my steady gaze, he admitted, “Every time I breathe, it’s as if the piercing occurs once more.”

I turned to the servants. “The medicine chest and more light.”

Marcellus came forward, placed the chest on the bedside table, and opened it; then stepped aside for more candles to be brought close.

“Is all in order?” I asked him. “Labeled?”

Princess Isabella appeared at the bedside, still pale but steady. “It is, for after I met you, I took over its tending. What do you need?”

I lightly touched her cheek. “Thank you, dear sister. You’re brave and thoughtful.”

Cal did the same with a kind touch and a brotherly smile. “I feel stronger knowing my sister is nearby.”

“I’m so glad to have the chance to see them together.” Elder gazed at his children fondly. “They are very caring.”

Princess Isabella used her royal voice to me. “What are you waiting for, Rosie? Fix him now!”

Elder chuckled. “Although she takes after you. ”

I smiled. “I hope so,” I told him. After a quick calculation about the time of Friar Laurence’s arrival, give or take, I said, “Cal, if you wish, I can remove the sliver and poultice and bandage this wound. It’ll be a miserable few minutes, but I know not whether Friar Laurence is in his shop or out answering a call for mercy, and with so much of the citizenry surrounding the palace, I fear traffic clogs the streets and his arrival could be delayed. ”

“Do it,” Cal said.

“No!” Holofernes exclaimed.

Cal and I looked at him.

“She’s a woman! A mere apprentice!” Holofernes was ruddy with dismay. “You’re the prince! Wait for Friar Laurence, I beg!”

“Holofernes,” Cal said, “I’ll pledge my life to Lady Rosaline very soon and put myself into her keeping.”

My heart lightened to hear him uphold me.

Unfortunately, he added, “Besides, as my wife, she could end my life with a well-placed cup of poison. If she’s going to kill me, might as well get it over with now.”

Elder cackled.

Princess Isabella exclaimed, “Cal!”

I sighed. “You really are your father’s son.”

Cal didn’t smile. Of course not. But he did that one-sided lip twitch and closed his eyes halfway.

And in full view of Marcellus, Holofernes, Princess Isabella, and every single servant who could crowd into the room, I went to work on him.

By the time Friar Laurence arrived, the blade point had been extracted, the wound bathed and poulticed, a temporary bandage had been put in place, and Cal, who had stoically borne the extraction process, took my hand, kissed it, and thanked me in a voice that projected to the far reaches of the corridor.

The man knew his audience.

Friar Laurence heartily approved my handiwork.

I shot Holofernes the side-eye as Friar Lawrence gave Cal a lecture on what he could and could not do for the next fortnight or until given permission.

Approved activities included walking, reading, talking, drinking moderate amounts of wine to build up his blood, eating the higher foods, like birds and eggs and fruit, rising late, sleeping during the afternoon, going to bed early, and devout prayer.

Unapproved activities included dancing, fighting with fists or swords, practicing fighting with fists or swords, excessive wine consumption, and nocturnal activities of any nature.

When he saw Cal’s bodyguards smirking, he enjoined them to follow their master’s lead to encourage him in his recovery.

I carefully did not smirk.

He then announced that since I’d assured Verona’s populace of my firm intention to wed Prince Escalus the younger—apparently, there’d been some worried discussion among the citizens of my irked and formidable resistance—he would now bless our betrothal in front of this assemblage.

He had me kneel on the bed beside Cal, had us join our hands, and went into a loud, long-winded prayer of thanks to the Virgin Mary and all the angels that I’d at last perceived my feminine duty to my prince and Verona.

Then more thanks that I was a woman of chastity, who would come untouched to the marriage bed, and yet more thanks that Prince Escalus was a lord of patience, who would gently guide me into my proper role as a submissive wife.

By the time Friar Laurence said, “Amen,” Cal gripped both my hands so hard I couldn’t wrestle them away to take a swing at the beloved monk or the attendants, who chuckled and nudged each other.

Cal thanked Friar Laurence and asked for a moment alone with me.

I don’t know what Friar Laurence saw in Cal’s stone countenance, but he said, “No.”

“Do not worry, Father, we’re never really alone.” I glared at Elder’s grinning ghost hovering near Friar Laurence’s left shoulder.

He glanced, saw nothing, said, “Nor will you be,” and seated himself solidly in the chair close to the door.

“I’m glad this whole marriage kerfuffle is settled.” Elder sounded positively smug. “Luckily for you, Rosie, I’ll be here to offer sage advice for the rest of your days.”

Cal turned his head as if he’d heard a voice.

“That’s not necessary,” I assured Elder. “I’m sure it’s time for you to go on—”

“Yet it appears I cannot.” Elder cut me off. “So I’ll help you through the difficult early days of your marriage. I’ll take command, make sure you behave with the pomp and dignity of a proper princess, realize how privileged you are to be the bride of—”

“Papà, she is not privileged. I am.” Cal had interrupted his father’s full-blown discourse.