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further. “I was heartsick, and I wanted to die.”
    “Heartsick?” Hamlet made a sharp noise that Romeo supposed served as a laugh. “A man who looks like you? I doubt you want much for feminine company.”
    “It was not lack of feminine company, in general, that made me heartsick, your highness. ”
    Hamlet’s eyes flared in recognition. “Oh, yes. Your beloved. You mentioned that last night.”
    Friar Laurence stooped down close to Romeo’s ear. “Please. You need this man’s help. Be cautious. Tell him what he wishes to know.”
    Faced with the wisdom of his friend and the prospect of another dead end, Romeo could see no other option than to acquiesce. If he was going to tell his tale, he should start at the beginning. “I was banished from Verona for killing a man.”
    The advisor, Horatio, went wide-eyed and pale. Perhaps he’d never been in the presence of an actual murderer before. Romeo ignored him. “He was a kinsman of my bride, Juliet.”
    Just speaking the name sent a stab more deadly than any blade through his heart. It seemed wrong, that he should share this story with strangers, when Juliet did not live to protect her half of it. Would she want these men to hear it? “We had married in secret, and she would have been forced to forsake her vows to me to marry another, but…”
    “She killed herself?” Hamlet finished for him.
    That was so much simpler than what had happened, it seemed an insult not to tell the rest, the foolish coincidences that had conspired against them. There was no way to make these young men understand the brilliance of the light that had been extinguished with Juliet’s death. They could not miss the joy of her smile, or her soft breath against their skin. Perhaps a skilled bard could weave such magic from simple words, but Romeo was far more skilled with sword than pen. When Friar Laurence started to speak, though, Romeo covered him with his own voice. “Yes, that was the way of it.”
    “And you poisoned yourself in your grief.” Horatio was taller and leaner than his royal companion, with golden hair and a nose that was just slightly too large to be handsome. He’d been tapping his lips with steepled index fingers as he’d listened, but now he crossed his arms, studying Romeo’s face intently. “But someone saved you?”
    “It didn’t take.” Romeo could still taste the bitter poison on his lips sometimes, at night, when he lay in darkness like that of the tomb. “I appeared dead for a few hours, then, as my mother wept over my body, I began to stir.”
    “Why did you kill your wife’s kinsman?” Horatio asked in the silence that fell over the room like a shroud.
    Hamlet waved a hand, indicating Romeo’s act of murder didn’t concern him. Somberly, the prince spoke almost to himself, “That is the beloved you speak of bringing back from the dead. What do you think, Horatio?”
    “I don’t think he’s lying.”
    “Lying?” The word left Romeo on a barren whisper. “Who would lie about such a thing?”
    “Italian spies,” Horatio suggested.
    Before steel could be drawn, Hamlet stepped between his advisor and the chair upon which Romeo sat, ready to spring. “I thought before that you were a spy, sent by my uncle. You see, last night, when you spoke of seeking the seat of a murdered king… you have found it. I thought perhaps my uncle had sent you, to test my suspicions.”
    “Why do you believe differently now?” Although Romeo bristled at being branded a spy and assassin, he also felt relief and elation at the confirmation of the strega’s promise.
    Hamlet leaned down, his hands braced on the arms of the chair Romeo occupied. “In my life, I have seen all manner of performers, from traveling minstrels to the bawdiest playhouse players, and never once have I believed a declaration of love as I believe in the story you’ve just told. If you have been sent here by my uncle, then your art of deception is truer than any I’ve ever seen, and I