“Please, Tybalt,” Benvolio begs, sitting beside him at the bar of the Sea Maiden. “You’re the only one who can get me inside without raising suspicion.”

“She’s a Capulet prisoner,” Tybalt growls. “Anything we need to know, we’ll get out of her.”

“Have you gotten anything so far?”

Tybalt glares.

“And what makes you think you’ll be more successful?” he counters.

“I’m not a Capulet,” Benvolio says, half jokingly, “and I’m certainly not one of the people responsible for her suffering thus far. If she sees me, maybe she’ll feel more at ease and be more willing to say what she knows.”

“It’s not going to work,” Tybalt says stubbornly.

“We won’t know unless we try.”

Benvolio holds his gaze until Tybalt sighs.

“Fine, but you only have ten minutes to ask your questions, and you share whatever you learn with me.”

“Deal,” Benvolio says with a nod.

Wearing the hood of his cloak low and acting the part of a prisoner, Benvolio allows Tybalt to lead him up to the Capulet manor in chains. His body tenses as they approach the gates, praying the guards won’t notice something is amiss.

“Welcome back, Lord Tybalt.” The guard nods at Benvolio. “Who’s that?”

“This man claims to know something about Romana’s kidnapping. I’m taking him to the dungeon to be questioned.”

The guards let them pass without fuss. Benvolio starts to relax until one of the guards calls after Tybalt.

“Actually, milord, Lord Capulet said he wanted to see you as soon as you returned.”

Tybalt sighs.

“Just wait in your cell until I get there,” he whispers. He turns back to the guard. “Understood. Can I trust you to deliver this one to the dungeons?”

“Of course, milord!”

Benvolio plays along, allowing himself to be led away without fuss. He waits until they’ve arrived inside the dungeons before he knocks the guard out and frees himself from his bonds. He’s going against what Tybalt asked of him, but he’d ask his forgiveness later. Silently, he creeps through the dungeon, keeping his ears open to any approaching guards. He looks from cell to cell until he finally notices a body slumped against the bars. He hurries over.

“Chimere,” he hisses, “I need to—”

He stops short, his eyes widening and his breath ending on a gasp. Blood pools from her neck, down her chest, and onto the floor. He reaches out hesitantly and feels she is cold. She must have died some hours earlier. He curses under his breath. Could Tybalt have done this? The Capulets didn’t strike him as the kind to leave the dead to rot in a cell. Besides, why would he help Benvolio if their only witness was already deceased? Julius perhaps? His fists tighten. As hard as it is to imagine Julius hurting anyone, Benvolio can’t shake the feeling his cousin is involved somehow, especially after finding that letter.

So lost in thought, he fails to hear the approaching footsteps until it is too late. There’s nowhere to hide. A guard and maid walk in and gasp at the sight of him. He rushes past them, pushing the maid aside and into the guard to slow him down.

“Intruder!” he hears the guard shout.

With no time for stealth, Benvolio makes his way as fast as possible out of the dungeon and over the wall. He doesn’t stop running until he reaches the market and blends into the shadows, where he takes a moment to catch his breath. Behind his eyes, he sees Chimere’s crumpled form. Whatever she knew is lost along with her. Any answers she could have provided, taken to her grave.

He punches the wall, frustrated. If only he had been faster, had acted quicker. Gathering himself, he makes his way to Paris’ estate, keeping his face concealed as best he can. When he arrives, he finds Paris in his study.

“Where were you?” he says. “I—”

“Chimere is dead.”

“What?”

“Wait!” They hear a servant yell. “Please!”

Paris and Benvolio share a look. Quickly, Benvolio hides behind the curtains behind Paris’ desk. Tybalt storms in seconds later, a frantic servant hurrying after him.

“Where is he?” Tybalt growls.

“Forgive me, Count Paris,” the servant says hastily. “I tried to stop him but—”

“Where is who?” Paris says, waving the servant away.

“You know very well who!” Tybalt snaps. “Benvolio, that cowardly bastard. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and he played me like a fool!”

Paris spares a brief glance in Benvolio’s direction.

“Calm yourself, Tybalt,” he says evenly. “He isn’t here.”

“Lies!”

Paris frowns.

“You’re clearly too agitated to have a civil conversation right now. I suggest you leave—”

“Open your eyes, Paris,” Tybalt sneers. ”You’re being used. Played by the man who intends to steal your bride. Who murdered our only witness! Have you no shame? No self respect?”

Paris glares.

“Last warning, Tybalt. Leave. Now.”

“Fine, but pass on this message to your new friend.” He leans in close. “Leave Verona. Run far away and never come back because I’ll personally take his life if I find him.”

“Now that you’ve heard Tybalt’s message,” Paris says gravely after he leaves, “tell me why I shouldn’t hold his sentiment.”

Benvolio emerges from behind the curtain.

“You know I wouldn’t have killed Chimere.”

“Do I?” Paris says. “Because the truth is I hardly know you at all. We are just two men with a common goal, but even that could be false. So I ask again, why shouldn’t I turn you in or better yet, cut you down where you stand.”

“I approached Mercutio in the market yesterday and he dropped a letter from Chimere to Julius.”

Paris frowns as he passes him the letter.

“But why would Chimere send a letter to Julius?”

“That’s what I wanted to find out. Something just didn’t seem right about it, so I had Tybalt give me a chance to enter the Capulet dungeons to question her and—” He tightens his fists, his eyes falling to the ground. “She was dead when I arrived.”

“But how?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t able to look around before the guards came.”

“Could it have been Julius?”

“I suspect, but I’d need more proof.”

“Then find that proof,” Paris says, “and don’t come back until you do.”

“What?”

“I’m already risking a lot by harboring you. I refuse to risk any more until I know for certain I can trust you.”

Benvolio holds his gaze. Paris is right to be cautious, he thinks to himself. If the roles were reversed, I’d do the same. He clenches his jaw.

“Very well,” he says tightly.

He leaves Paris’ study and heads into town. 

After a few days of additional digging while avoiding Capulet's men, Benvolio is able to discover the type of poison Romana was given. Due to its rareness, not many were able to get their hands on it—save for one man. Once again, Benvolio’s belief is tested, but he decides to follow through with his findings and ask the man directly for the truth.

As the sun begins to set, Benvolio makes his way to the church looking for Friar Laurence. He enters the sacred halls, and immediately spots him at the head of the church standing off to the side. He is whispering to a man who looks as though he hasn’t had sleep in days, passing him a bag with a serene smile. Benvolio frowns, questioning its contents. He waits until the man leaves through the back before calling the Friar’s attention.

“Doing god’s work, Friar Laurence?”

The Friar’s look of surprise quickly turns to one of welcome and warmth.

“Master Benvolio,” he says cheerfully. “And to what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

“I was looking for something and was told you’d be able to help.”

“But of course, if I am able.”

“Tell me, Friar,” Benvolio says, his gaze narrowing, “do you know where I could find poison. A slow acting one perhaps?”

The Friar frowns.

“I can’t say that I do,” he says. “Holy men have no need for such vile things.”

“Truly? Then would you be able to explain why your name came up when I asked where to acquire such things?”

“And who told you such blasphemous—”

Benvolio blocks his exit, pulling out a dagger.

“No more lies, Firar. I just want the truth.”

“Y-you’ll burn in hell for this!” the Friar stutters, backing away.

“Perhaps, but I wonder if you’ll join me there.” Benvolio glares, moving closer. “Shall we find out?”

“A-alright. Alright! What do you want to know?”

Benvolio backs away slightly.

“Did someone buy poison from you?” he asks.

The Friar snorts.

“That’s like asking if people buy bread.”

Benvolio’s jaw clenches. He didn’t want to believe Friar Laurence is not a holy man, but there is no denying the truth before his eyes. How quickly he changed from the caring man he first presented himself as.

“Was one of those people Julius?” Benvolio demands.

The Friar swallows, but remains silent. Yet another truth Benvolio wasn’t fully ready to accept. He feels his rage bubbling, betrayal stinging in his chest.

“What did he want the poison for?” he asks roughly.

“H-how should I know?” the Friar says, indignant.

“You really expect me to believe you don’t?” Benvolio advances, pining the Friar against the wall and pushing the dagger until it bites into the skin on his neck.

“He wanted to poison the lady Capulet!” the Friar shrieks. “To punish her!”

“Punish her? But how does he even know her?”

“How the hell should I know? All I know is he isn’t too happy about your relationship with her.”

Benvolio’s mind races. Romana never mentioned that she knew Julius. Was the Friar lying? He could be trying to throw his cousin under the rug, but no matter what he thought, he couldn’t stop thinking about Chimere’s letter to Julius and her cold lifeless body. He backs away from the Friar, pocketing his dagger. The Friar rubs his neck, letting out the breath he was holding.

“You’re not the one who poisoned Romana?” Benvolio asks coldly.

“I have no reason to poison her,” the Friar spits. “I couldn’t care less about the Capulets or the Montagues. All I care about is lining my pockets and filling my belly.”

“Then you’ll have no problem helping me take Julius into custody.”

The Friar chuckles humorlessly.

“Sure. But it’ll cost you.”

“How about you help me or I take you before the Prince where you can confess your crimes in full,” Benvolio growls.

“Fine.” The Friar pulls out his pipe. “Are we done here?”

“Not quite.” He grabs the Friar’s pipe and throws it to the ground.

“Hey!”

“Come with me.”

He drags the Friar back to Paris’ estate, moving through the servants corridors to meet him in his office.

“Benvolio?” Paris says, his expression of disbelief morphing into anger. “I told you to—”

“The Friar procured the poison Romana was given,” he says, pushing the Friar forward. “He also knows who gave it to her.”

“Who?” Paris asks, brow raised.

Benvolio looks pointedly at the Friar. The Friar coughs, clearing his throat.

“Julius Montague.”

Paris’ eyes widen.

“But why—”

“If it helps,” the Friar interrupts, “the young montague purchased a bottle of the antidote along with it.”

“Julius is most likely the one behind Romana’s kidnapping,” Benvolio says bitterly.

“Do you have any idea where he took her?” Paris asks.

“I can’t say I do, milord,” the Friar says. “All I know is that the boy took her away.”

“If you’re lying—”

“I swear,” the Friar says. “As I told Master Benvolio, the only loyalty I have is to myself.”

Paris scoffs.

“Some man of god you are,” he mutters.

The Friar shrugs.

“Still, he can be useful,” Benvolio says. “In fact, I have a plan.”