Chapter 7
724 Year Ago
My breath catches at the sight of the girl I just secured a marriage with. Her dark hair gleams in the light from the torches that line the walls, illuminating the festivities. A breathless laugh as she spins, dancing with the other women.
My eyes dart back and forth across the room, scowling as I think of other suitors eyeing her. My expression deepens when I see three others fixated on her, as I was a moment ago. I resist the urge to be uncivil, the desire to walk to the trio and run them through with my sword.
Instead, I train my focus back on my love. All that matters is I will have her.
Juliet Capulet will become my wife.
Her father was insistent we wait, though I do not know why. Girls younger than Juliet’s sixteen have been brides for generations. At ten years her senior, I should be able have the maturity to be patient.
But I know what I want, and that is her name with mine behind it and a babe growing in that flat belly of hers.
I curse myself as Juliet laughs again, this time a free, loud laugh. I’ve known Juliet since I was a child. I always dismissed her as one of the annoying young ones who impeded the older children’s fun. Now, I realize how I missed opportunities to have built something with her before now: companionship.
In the end, that’s truly what I crave from my future wife. I don’t just want to claim her and breed her. I want love and friendship between us.
When the moment is right, I move, gliding directly to Juliet and bowing deep when she notices me. I catch her hesitation before she places her hand into mine with a delicateness that reeks of uncertainty.
Fuck. Someone told her I’ve asked for her hand—and I don’t mean for this dance right now. We start into the steps facing one another, our hands lifted but not touching.
“Hast the night been to thy liking, thus far, my lady?” I ask, leaning closer so that only she can hear my voice low.
Juliet’s downcast eyes find mine in an instant, a sort of surprise showing in pretty green of them. “V’ry much,” she says softly.
“Thou art a vision.”
A blush creeps onto her cheeks, traveling across the olive skin of her face and down her neck. I want to know if it extends below the neckline of her gown. “Thou art v’ry kind, Count Paris.”
“Paris,” I insist. “Calleth me Paris.”
“Paris,” she repeats, beaming at me. As almost as if she is catching herself, I see her eyes blink and a neutral expression fall across her features. “And thou? How hast the evening treating thee?” Her voice is back to polite and reserved, just in time for us to turn opposite of each other, hands hovering a breath apart as we circle together.
“Juliet,” I say sharply, then wince and attempt to soften my voice when she tenses. “Ign’re what thou hast been told. I only desire to knoweth thee bett’r.”
This time when she meets my eyes, there’s a bit of defiance in them while we turn again, in the opposite direction.
I love it.
“Because thou shall marry me.”
“I will,” I answer, lifting a brow. “Doth thou take issue with that?”
Juliet’s training and mind war with one another in front of my eyes, her mouth opening and snapping shut. She turns her face away, her eyes searching for anything that isn’t me.
“Juliet,” I say again, but it’s softer this time. “Alloweth me to court thee. I shall beg if thou desires.”
Surprise shows in her eyes again, along with curiosity. “Thou desires me so much?”
We stop moving, our hands falling to our sides, despite how aware I know we both are while the other dancers move around us. Eyes locked, I lean in like before until our lips are almost as close as our hands were a moment ago. Juliet’s breath hitches, heat entering her expression as I open my mouth.
“If thy father would permit, I would marry thee tom’rrow. Thou art the one I desire—the one I shall f’rev’r desire.”
I know my lips brush across hers as I speak, and her response is a subtle shifting of her body until it’s closer to me. Neither of us speak, only the little excited breaths puffing on my lips tell me where Juliet’s thoughts are. I’m sure hers are much more innocent than the ones going through my mind, as visions of her soft, smooth, bare skin laid out underneath my own assault me.
“Uncle, this is a Montague, our foe. A villain that is hither come in spite to scorn at our solemnity this night.”
The words break our trance and we both look to where Lord Capulet and Tybalt stand a few paces away.
“Young Romeo is it?” Lord Capulet answers Tybalt.
“‘Tis he, that villain Romeo.”
“Content thee, gentle coz,” Lord Capulet says, clapping him on the back. “Let him alone. He bears him like a portly gentleman, and, to say truth, Verona brags of him to be a virtuous and well-governed youth. I would not for…”
I lose interest in what I know will become a squabble, due to the drama of a Montague at a Capulet feast, my gaze going back to Juliet at the same time she looks back up at me. Without a care for what anyone will think, I lean in, my hand framing her jaw and press my lips to hers; a chaste kiss, at odds with the way I want to ravage her.
I break the kiss but do not move away, watching as her eyes flutter back open.
“Paris,” she breathes, and the sound goes straight to my cock.
I’m two seconds from telling her father to go to hell and marrying her tonight so I can take her as my own.
“Juliet!” a matronly-looking woman snaps, marching up to the two of us.
I put space between me and my future wife reluctantly, letting my hand drag down the delicate column of her throat. It is not lost on me that Juliet doesn’t let her eyes leave my face. I’m tempted to tell the woman, who appears to be Juliet’s Nurse, to fuck off. But I suspect that will not bode well with either female.
“I has’t taken too much of thy time,” I murmur, taking Juliet’s hand and bringing it to my lips. I press a lingering kiss to it, my tongue darting out to swipe across her skin and capture her taste. “Until we meet again, Juliet,” I add, a smile curving my lips when I hear her breath catch at my bold move.
I take two steps away, pivoting on my heel, my heart wrenching in my chest as I make myself leave.
“Paris,” Juliet calls out, her voice soft enough that I almost miss her plea. I spin back around expectantly.
“Juliet,” her nurse reprimands quietly, tugging at her hand.
She ignores the woman, her eyes searching my face. “No,” she says to me, making my heart drop out of my chest before her next words lift it back up. “I taketh no issue with that.”
I grin at her, feeling victorious. “Still, I shall court thee first.”
Her smile grows bemused. “As thou wish,” she says through a laugh.