Chapter Text
That Montague!
Tybalt’s heart filled with fury as he stared at Romeo–no, the Montague. The Montague with a smirk permanently plastered on his face, the one with the dirty linens from all his adventures, and the one who chased after nuns like a kicked puppy.
Romeo dramatically unbuckled his cape, billowing into the Verona wind. Younger maidens squealed with delight over the prize as they dived down for the cape. Tybalt felt a scoff rise in his throat as he watched them tussle over the cape, imagining starving dogs fighting over a bone.
Fighting? Over a Montague’s cape? I’ve seen beggars fight for more valuable things.
“Foolish Montague, how dare you treat a duel like a game!”
Romeo smirked, “Well, Prince of Cats. Since you’re the righteous lord of the Capulets, I figured to take off my cape in respect, and as a gift for the ladies.”
Montague blew a kiss towards the crowd, the women gasping and giggling over the affection. Hatred flooded Tybalt’s heart as the insult flew through the crowd, multiple citizens laughing over Romeo’s clever comment. Now, the merchants and the maidens jeered along with the Montagues, no longer fearing Tybalt.
Icy terror rushed through Tybalt’s veins as the crowd’s jeers began to grow louder.
“All hail the Prince of Cats!”
“Not even his servants can behave under his watch!”
“What would Lord Capulet think?”
His eyes widened. What would Lord Capulet think?
Tybalt’s heart pumped against his chest, his sweat glazing his skin. His teeth ground against another as he gripped his sword with fury. How dare they? Mocking the strongest, most clever man in all of Verona, the man who’ll eliminate those treacherous Montagues.
Tybalt thundered, “Shut the hell up!”
Once again, the crowd fell silent as their mocking ceased. Merchants quickly lowered their disrespectful gazes, and maidens clutched each other in fear of the outburst. Tybalt’s bloodshot eyes glared into the crowd’s souls, his shoulders heaving with his uncontrolled anger. His hands itched to pierce through their hearts, puncture out his servants’ lungs, and leave their spilled blood to dry like laundry.
Suddenly, slow clapping paused the Capulet’s gruesome fantasies.
“Marvelous, marvelous,” Romeo clapped, “The Prince of Cats does have claws.”
Romeo then flashed his charming smile, his stupid, stupid smile. Fire rushed through Tybalt’s skin, his flushed face burning with an unfamiliar feeling.
Tybalt seethed, “H–how dare you.”
The Prince of Cats swiftly drew his sword, his cavalier hat tussling against his long hair. He marched to his servants among the crowd, pushing his hat onto Gregory’s chest. Gregory and Sampson exchanged a wary glance as they watched Tybalt stare down his competitor.
Romeo soon drew his sword, “Now let’s–”
Tybalt sprinted, slashing his sword through the wind. Sparks flew between the two men as Romeo’s sword met Tybalt’s. The two held their guard, their swords colliding in one swoop. Tybalt held his ground, pinning his sword against the Montague’s.
“There he is,” Romeo grinned, “Now, you’re truly proving yourself.”
Whispers flooded amongst the crowd as the two men held their stance. Maidens fanned themselves with their handkerchiefs, giggling over Romeo’s passion. Despite their pleas for love, the Montague’s eyes never left Tybalt’s, his eyes staring deeply into Tybalt’s soul. Tybalt stared right back into his eyes, his tender, gentle, beautiful–
Tybalt snapped back to reality, striking back against Romeo’s sword, and scowled at Romeo’s compliment. Their swords bellowed against each other as Tybalt overpowered Romeo’s blade, forcing the Montague to crouch.
“Silence, you foolish Montague!”
Romeo smirked, holding his crouch as he pressed back against the attack. With his newfound strength, Romeo abruptly stood against the Capulet. Tybalt stumbled through the pressure, awkwardly arching his back, protecting his neck from the blade.
Suddenly, Romeo leaned in real close, too close for comfort. The Prince of Cats and the crowd watched in suspense as the Montague dipped down deeper. Tybalt’s face flushed once again as he watched Romeo’s eyes, slowly pushing his head closer towards the ground.
Romeo brushed his cheek against Tybalt’s as he whispered into his ear, “I always knew you were a great fighter.”
Tybalt’s mind grew blank, his eyes growing bloodshot. His weapon lay forgotten in his palm as he processed the enemy’s words.
He was a good fighter?
Of course he was! He was the dashing, resilient, and charming Tybalt Capulet! Anyone and everyone in Verona could witness that for themselves. But why did his mind ask the question? Why did Romeo think so?
The Capulet glanced towards the crowd, his long strands of hair falling upon his skin. The crowd’s whole demeanor shifted upon seeing the two men’s embrace. Disgust and confusion swept through their faces as they watched. Gregory and Sampson sat awkwardly amongst the crowd, clutching the cavalier’s hat like a prayer.
“Oh, my lord.”
“What would their families think?”
“Sodomy!”
The insults pierced Tybalt’s heart like Cupid’s hateful arrows. His breath ran ragged as he stared back at Romeo’s eyes. Now, his deep, lustrous brown eyes were filled with sorrow, like a dead man’s grave. Tybalt found himself gazing at Romeo’s deep, peachy-kin lips, plump like a plum itself. It was like a maiden’s, but actually caught his attention. Maybe if he just leaned in–
Snap out of it, he fumed.
Tybalt felt his rage reemerge; he was a Capulet! He wouldn’t let this… trickster distract him from victory!
“Get the hell away from me!”
Within an instance, the Capulet surged forward with his attack, pushing through the Montague with his hatred. Romeo, caught off guard, stumbled back as his sword flew loosely in his hands. The blade launched briefly into the air as it caught Tybalt’s shoulder, slicing his skin like ham.
The Prince of Cats yowled in pain as he backed away from the challenge, clutching his wound within his palm. His sword lay forgotten on the pavement as his blood seeped like honey from his battered skin.
Sudden cries of terror rose from the crowd as they watched the Capulet fall onto his knees, watching his blood flood his royal clothing. Maidens fainted in horror, but some merchants dared to tiptoe to the Capulet’s side, attempting to dip their handkerchiefs into his blood as a twisted souvenir.
“My lord,” cried Sampson and Gregory.
Pushing their way from the crowd, the servants rushed to Tybalt’s side and crouched to his level. Gregory pulled his own linens from his clothing, attempting to cease the bleeding, but Tybalt smacked his hand away.
Tybalt glared directly at Romeo, “You bastard!”
His threat met Romeo’s pale face as the Montague backed away in horror over what he had done.
“I–I.”
Abruptly, the crowd disappeared like rats in a kitchen at the sound of the royal trumpets; the prince was arriving.
Oh no, Tybalt thought.
Horseshoes galloped across the square as the village folk hid behind their stands, leaving the men for themselves. However, some remained outside to watch the show, seeking a sick pleasure from watching the two families get punished.
Soon, the prince himself, Prince Paris, peered over the feuding men. He dismounted his mustang as his eyes swept the town’s square, watching the blood stain his precious stones.
“Members of the Capulet and Montague houses, are you not ashamed of the disruption you caused for the citizens of Verona? For what, anyway? Just for the sick pleasure of proving who’s the strongest?”
“But, your majesty,” Gregory began, “It was the Montague–”
“I don’t care who started it. This feud has gone on long enough,” the prince interrupted.
He turned to Romeo, “Return to your estate with your own servants, Romeo. If I catch you out here making a spectacle of simple children’s insults again, then I’ll kick you far away from these lands. Do I make myself clear?”
Romeo swallowed, “Yes.”
“Good.”
Paris mounted his horse once again, dipping his head in respect for Tybalt as he turned, but a sneer told Tybalt otherwise.
I need to watch my back, too, Tybalt concluded.
Once the prince disappeared, the square returned to their lives as if nothing ever happened, stepping over Tybalt’s spilled blood. Gregory and Sampson hauled Tybalt up, placing his arms around their shoulders. Tybalt’s head remained bowed, from shame, embarrassment, or pain?
He didn’t know.
His servants began the long, gruesome walk home with their bloodied and battered lord. Gregory desperately tried to preserve his life by pressing cloths against his wound, his wound dangerously close to his throat.
Tybalt inhaled through the stench of copper as he looked at Romeo one last time, his back turned with his foolish friends, Benvolio and Mercutio, walking him home as well. Romeo did turn for a brief moment, a glimmer in his eye like a pond basking in the sun. But, as quickly as the soul showed itself, it disappeared as Romeo quickly turned his head.
Samspon decided to break the silence, “What will we tell Lord Capulet?”
Tybalt’s heart froze.
What will they tell him?