Once night has fallen and most of Verona has gone to sleep, Julius, Friar Laurence, and Chimere creep through the shadows to remove Romana from Capulet grounds. They all pray for the plans’ success, though not all are aware of its true goal.

With a moonless sky concealing their approach, Friar Laurence guides the carriage towards the back of the Capulet residence, far enough away to avoid detection by the guards guarding the front. They stop a short distance from the back gate, and approach on foot. Chimere watches them from the shadows, and waves them over.

“Follow me,” Chimere whispers. “We must move quickly while the guard is changing.”

Moving as fast as they dare, Julius and the Friar follow Chimere through the servants' halls. The endless hallways seem like a maze as they follow the light of Chimere’s candle. Eventually, they arrive at Romana’s chambers. Julius takes in the sight of her pale, swallow complexion. He dabs at the sweat on her brow, and tucks her hair away from her face.

Chimere grabs his arm, searching his eyes pleadingly.

“Do you truly believe taking Romana away will help?” she asks.

He pats her hand.

“It may be her only chance.”

Chimere swallows her unshed tears and nods. Wrapping her up in a blanket to avoid recognition, the Friar carries Romana to the waiting carriage, Chimere and Julius following behind. As the Friar settles Romana in the back, Chimere turns to Julius.

“I’ll do everything in my power to keep Lord Capulet from finding out for as long as I can. Please, Julius. Save Romana.”

He smiles gently.

“You have nothing to worry about. She’s safe with me.”

He climbs onto the driver’s bench and urges the horse forward without a backwards glance. Chimere and the Friar stand side by side, watching as the carriage disappears in the distance. 

“Let us pray for her safe arrival,” the Friar offers, bowing his head.

As Chimere follows suit, she prays with all her heart that her lady will be well again, and that she’ll be able to see both Romana and Julius soon.

Meanwhile, Julius continues to follow the road until the dilapidated old church comes into view. He stops the carriage near the door, and carries Romana inside. In the back of the cellar lies a room that once belonged to the grounds keeper of the church. There isn’t much besides a small window and a cot, but Julius fixed it up as best he could for Romana’s arrival. Placing her in the cot, he adjusts the blanket she’s wrapped in and stares at her sleeping face in the dim candle light.

She doesn’t look peaceful—her face is scrunched up in pain, moans of discomfort occasionally leaving her lips. It would be so easy, Julius thinks as he watches Romana. Just a little squeeze and no more breathing. A cruel, maniacal smile widens his lips. 

“Serves you right for lying to me,” Julius mutters, pulling out a vile from his pocket. He unstops it, and brings it to her lips. “While you don’t deserve another chance, I’m giving it to you. Don’t disappoint me.”

Making sure she takes every last drop, he blows out the candle and leaves her in the small, dark room, locking the door behind him.

⬥⬥⬥

Benvolio approaches Paris’ residence, keeping to the shadows. Blending in with the workers moving food from a cart to the kitchen, he slips past the guards and makes his way towards Paris’ study. The door is cracked. Inside, Paris sits alone, his focus on the papers on his desk. He looks haggard—his long hair unkept and dark circles under his eyes. As much as it pains him to admit, it is clear Paris cares deeply for Romana.

“Benvolio Montague,” Paris says, astonished when he enters the room. His gaze darkens. “How did you get in here?”

“Before you call your guards,” Benvolio says, “please listen to me.”

“And why should I?” Paris rises to his feet. “I heard about you from Lord Capulet. The audacity you have to try your hand at a woman already betrothed.”

“She was not betrothed when I met her,” Benvolio says irritably. “We—”

“How foolish of a Montague to believe he even had a chance,” Paris sneers. “It’s pitiful.”

“That woman means the world to me!” Benvolio snaps, tightening his fists. “I would do anything for her.”

“Anything but leave her alone like you should,” Paris says. 

“You don’t abandon the ones you love.”

“Love,” Paris snorts. “Is that what you call it? Tell me, do you truly love her or have you been telling lies so much you’re starting to believe them?”

“I never lied about my feelings for Romana.”

“Oh? Then did she know you were doing her father’s bidding in an attempt to win her hand?”

Benvolio clenches his jaw. Paris glares.

“That’s what I thought. Make no mistake, if she holds any affection for you it's because you told her pretty lies and she was just kind enough to believe them.” Paris walks around his desk, coming face to face with Benvolio. “What outlandish promises did you make her? Diamonds? Gold?”

“Freedom,” Benvolio growls.

Paris frowns.

“Freedom? As if freedom is what she needs! Letting her roam alone would be begging for misfortune to befall her, as we can clearly see,” he says gesturing at Benvolio. “Perhaps Lord Capulet is too restrictive but it is not without purpose.”

“But at what cost?”

“Her life!”

They hold each other's glare, both thinking about Romana hanging on the brink of death, her future uncertain. Benvolio sighs.

“I didn’t come here to argue about who the better man is.”

Paris scoffs.

“As if there was a question.” 

“I came because I need your help,” Benvolio continues. “For reasons I won’t mention, I am no longer welcome among the Montagues. Without their resources, I don’t have a means to help find a cure for Romana.” He takes a step back and bows. “Please, all I want is to see Romana well again. I ask that you help me in this or rather, let us help each other.”

Paris studies Benvolio. 

“If you truly wish for Romana’s well being,” he says evenly, “you will leave her in peace once she is healed.”

Benvolio looks up, clenching his jaw. Though the thought breaks his heart, his only focus is Romana’s recovery. 

“Very well,” Benvolio says. 

“So you give your word?”

“I give my word that as soon as Romana is well again, I will leave Verona and never return.”

“Fine.” Paris sits and nods to the seat across from him. “We’ll compare what we’ve learned so far and go from there.”

Hope rises in Benvolio’s chest as he takes a seat. Though he questions how well they’ll work together, he knows that between the two of them, they’ll find a way to save Romana.

⬥⬥⬥

Mercutio stands by the stables, struggling to hold onto consciousness as he waits to receive Julius and the carriage. He can feel blood seeping down his back, and forces his thoughts on other things. Just as he manages to find pleasant thoughts, he hears the sound of a horse approaching. Adrenaline courses through his veins, his body begging him to run, when he catches sight of Julius’ wicked grin as he comes into view.

“W-welcome back, milord,” Mercutio says, pain coursing up his spine as he takes the reins.

“My rooms are clean?” Julius asks coldly.

“Yes, milord.”

“At day break, go to the market and bring me these things,” Julius commands, holding out a list. “Be sure not to draw too much attention.”

As Mercutio goes to grab it, his eyes catch a glimpse of the list Julius has written: medical supplies along with women’s clothes. His heart drops, guilt and terror weighing him down.

“Well?” Julius says impatiently.

“Y-yes, milord,” Mercutio says and rushes to tend to the horse, anxious to get as far away from Julius as he can.

The following morning, Mercutio goes out to the market to collect the items on the list. He gathers the medical supplies without issue, but struggles to find suitable clothing. Julius probably doesn’t care if the attire is simple, but even then, Mercutio is at a loss. The shop owner—a kindly woman—noticing Mercutio’s struggle, offers assistance.

“Who is it you are shopping for?” she asks. “A wife? A lover?”

Mercutio hesitates.

“M-my sister,” he says softly.

“What a lucky lady to have a brother willing to buy her clothes,” she says with a laugh. “Is it for a special occasion?”

“N-no. Just. . .because. She could use some new clothes.” Mercutio stares at the ground, his heart pounding. He doesn’t know how convincing he’s being; he prays she doesn’t suspect something is amiss.

“Well then, do you have an idea of her tastes?”

“Something simple,” he says. “She won’t be able to come in to have it adjusted, so. . .”

“I see. I think I have just the thing. Wait here a moment.”

As Mercutio waits for the lady to return, he glances around the store. Outside the window, he spots a familiar figure walking down the street. His heart drops. 

Benvolio.

He hides behind one of the mannequins, praying he wasn’t seen. He chances a peek. Benvolio’s focus lies ahead of him, his steps sure. He couldn’t have noticed Mercutio and yet, he hesitates to come out of hiding. He recalls Benvolio’s face when he entered Lord Montague’s study. He couldn’t bear the question in his eyes at Mercutio’s presence nor the shock and anger that took its place after Lord Montague confronted him. 

Mercutio chances another peek, but Benvolio is further along, almost out of sight. Guilt weighs heavily on Mercutio’s chest. It is his fault Benvolio is left to wander the streets.

“Here you are!” The lady returns with three dresses in hand. Even to Mercutio’s untrained eye, they look simple enough to wear. “Will these do?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll take all three.”

After Mercutio purchases the dresses, he stares in the direction Benvolio went. He could try to catch up to him. Tell him the truth of what is happening. Why he had to betray him like he did. He winces as his back stings. Instantly, he is taken back to that night, Julius’ whip biting into his flesh. He shivers, adrenaline running through his veins. He couldn’t. If he wanted to survive, he’d have to live with his guilt and keep his head down. 

Holding tight to his shopping, Mercutio turns in the direction of the Montague manor and hurries on his way.