Note: So, welcome to this story! Given the title, you probably won't be surprised to hear that this is a prequel to Romeo and Juliet, taking place many years before the events of that play. Nevertheless, you'll find a few familiar characters cropping up, and I hope that you enjoy their story as much as the story of the generation that follows them.

This story is also set within the greater universe of my long AU story, Caro. I don't think it's absolutely necessary to have read Caro to get this one, and it's set far enough in the past that it won't affect canon much either way. People who like AUs and people who prefer canon the way it is should both be able to read and enjoy this.

There are a couple of issues worth mentioning here, just so they don't blindside anyone later on. First of all, though the focus of this story is not a slash relationship, there are several gay and bisexual characters who do manage to carry on their sex lives, even in the rather hostile atmosphere of Renaissance Verona. Second, you will meet some prostitutes who would today be considered far too young for the job. This wasn't the case in the time in which Their Parents' Strife is set – the prostitutes are definitely considered young, but not too young. And finally, there are mentions of spousal abuse. Not all of the characters in this story are nice people, and they can do some terrible things to each other.

That said, welcome again, and I hope you enjoy it!

1. Their Parents' Strife

Escalus pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. For the seventeenth time that morning, he regretted the day he had offered to review Aurelio's personal accounts. It was not that Escalus had no care for his brother's welfare; he and Aurelio had always been close, and Escalus, the elder by a scant year and a half, had looked after Aurelio for as long as both of them could remember.

However, as close as they were, there were marked differences between the sons of Prince Cesare of Verona. Escalus was a serious, scholarly young man, who might have been destined for a monastery had he not been his father's heir. Aurelio, on the other hand, was vibrant and sociable, popular with the ladies of Verona both before and after his marriage to the former Niccola Baldacci. Though he loved to spend money, he found it difficult to account for it, and had asked Escalus for help, as he had done all of his life. Escalus, playing his part in their old accustomed dance, had agreed.

It did not take long for Escalus to regret his decision. Aurelio's accounts were in such disarray that it had taken him all morning simply to decipher the notation in the books. Escalus suspected that it was time for another chat with Aurelio. It was a shame that Niccola had not been taught more than basic arithmetic; she was as level-headed as Aurelio was flighty, and might have been of use to him. But it was no use sighing over what could not be. Escalus stretched a kink out of his back and bent over his work again.

A light tap on the door of his study provided a welcome distraction. Escalus looked up and smiled as his beloved little sister, Donatella, entered the study. "How now, poppet?" he asked.

Donatella smiled a little at the old pet name. "Am I still thy poppet?" she asked. "I am a grown lady now. Nurse tells me that I must put away my toys and childish things now that I am fourteen and coming to my flower."

"Thou wilt always be my poppet, even when thou art an ancient crone," Escalus assured her.

Fourteen-year-old Donatella was ten years younger than her oldest brother, and had been preceded by two sisters who did not live long enough to be weaned. Upon meeting his third baby sister, Escalus had determined not to love her as he had loved the others so as not to cry when she died. He had refused to call her by name, and had called her his poppet instead, as if the inevitable loss of a thing might hurt less than the loss of a real sister. But, against all expectations, Donatella had not died. She thrived, and grew into a laughing, mischievous child who had stolen the hearts of both of her older brothers with no more effort than a sloppy baby smile. Though it was hardly appropriate any more, Escalus had never stopped calling her his poppet, and she had always taken it as a sign of affection from the brother she adored.

Donatella smiled at Escalus's words. "I am barely become a lady," she said. "There is more than enough time before I must think about becoming a crone."

Escalus blinked, surprised to note that she had spoken truly. He had not quite noticed it, but Donatella had grown up. She had chosen a simple cap that allowed her long, wheat-blond hair to tumble down her back, emphasizing her tall, slender figure and framing the creamy oval of her face. But her sparkling blue eyes remained unchanged, and Escalus was glad of that. She sighed, and a shadow flitted across her face.

"What troubles thee?" Escalus asked her. "I meant no offense in speaking of thee as a crone."

"That is not my concern," Donatella replied. "It is the consequences of being a lady that prey upon my mind now. Father has said that I am to be married."

Escalus sat up straight, Aurelio's accounts forgotten. "This is sudden news indeed," he said. "I knew not that Father planned for thy marriage already. These are joyous tidings!" But one look at Donatella's dubious expression made him regret that last remark.

"I should be more joyful," she said, "but I find myself apprehensive instead. I do not wish to leave thee and Aurelio so soon."

"It cannot be helped, if Father has decreed it," Escalus said. "And thou hast no cause to fear such a blessed state. Thou dost take such joy in our little nephew now, and soon thou wilt have children of thy own."

The mention of Aurelio's three-year-old son Paris put the smile back on Donatella's face. "Niccola has said that I might play with him a little before supper, and she will tell me things about marriage that every lady must know."

Escalus nodded. "That is well said. And what of thy old playmate – what was her name? The daughter of Umberto Algardi."

"Susanna," Donatella supplied.

"Ay, Susanna, that was the girl. She is married now, is she not? Thou canst seek advice and reassurance from her."

"May I?" Donatella's eyes brightened. "Father has said that I may not associate with Susanna now that she is Lady Montague. He has said that no member of our house should associate too closely with the Montagues or the Capulets, lest we be accused of taking one part or the other in their great quarrel."

Escalus sank back into his chair with a sigh. He had almost forgotten that particular edict. He himself rarely had cause to associate with either the businesslike Leonardo Capulet or the scholarly but proud Montague brothers, Tiberio and Lucio, and it had not occurred to him that Prince Cesare would extend his decree to include the young ladies they married. He put on a smile to reassure Donatella, gathered his papers together, and rose from his desk. Aurelio's accounts could wait, but Donatella's situation could not. "I will speak to Father about thy concerns," he told her.

Donatella flung her arms around him in gratitude. "Wouldst thou do that? Oh, dearest brother, many thanks!"

Escalus held Donatella close for a moment, as the realization struck him that his time with his baby sister would soon come to an end. "Dost thou know the name of thy intended bridegroom?" he asked.

Donatella shook her head. "Father has not told me yet. He says that the negotiations are not yet complete, and he does not wish to raise my hopes until the match is certain." Her voice wobbled a little as she spoke.

"I will ask Father on thy behalf. I, too, am curious." Escalus gave Donatella a final squeeze, and strode out of his study.

He did not have a chance to speak with Cesare immediately. The Prince of Verona was occupied with affairs of state for much of the afternoon, and it was only as the sun was beginning to set that he was able to spare a moment for his son. Escalus did not mind the wait, as it meant that he could spend the time with his father in a relatively relaxed, leisurely fashion, with cups of wine to facilitate conversation. And, indeed, it seemed that Cesare felt the same way, for he greeted Escalus with a broad smile and outstretched arms.

"Escalus, my boy, this is a fine way to begin the evening! Come, sit thee down, and speak to thy father of the cares of thy heart. Of that do I long to hear."

Escalus embraced his father, but did so with a certain amount of care. Cesare was past fifty, and his health had declined rapidly in recent months. Though his mind was as sharp as ever, his body was growing increasingly weaker, and Escalus sometimes had occasion to fear for Cesare's approaching mortality. Cesare lowered himself into his favorite chair with a great sigh, and Escalus signaled his page to pour them cups of wine. The page did as he was bidden, then left the room with a silent bow.

"How fares Verona, Father?" Escalus asked.

Cesare made a sound that was half a harrumph and half a cough. "The city is as prosperous as ever, despite the best efforts of the houses of Montague and Capulet to ruin the peace for all. I have only now managed to resolve a dispute between the retainers of those two houses that began some months past."

"Oh? Do they even remember the cause of the dispute?"

Cesare waved his hand in the air. "I know not. I believe that it involved the ruin of a fine cloak from mud splashed by a horse on the occasion of Tiberio Montague's wedding, but I cannot remember which family owned the cloak and which owned the horse."

"And yet the dispute was resolved in the end?" Escalus gave a snort of laughter. "One day, those two families will see that their entire feud rests on ground no more solid than this recent quarrel."

"I would lay no money on that blessed event coming to pass in either of our lifetimes." Cesare drank deeply, then gave a sigh of contentment. "But I have no desire to prolong my consideration of the thrice-cursed Montagues and Capulets. Come now, let us turn our talk to more pleasant matters."

That suggestion suited Escalus's purposes admirably. "Indeed," he said. "Since no subject brings as much joy as that of marriage, shall we speak of that for a while?"

Cesare's watery eyes sparkled. "Ay, that we shall. Hast thou come to tell me that thou hast found a bride at last?"

Escalus gritted his teeth, but put on a smile for show. He would not allow himself to be drawn into that particular discussion yet again. "Nay, I have not. I have come to ask about the husband that you have found for Donatella."

"Ah." Escalus had not thought that it was possible for Cesare to look even more pleased with himself, but the old man managed it. "We have completed the negotiations just this day, so I will tell thee. In a month's time, thy sister will be wed to a noble merchant of great wealth, a man of honor both in Verona and in other cities as well."

"Impressive. Does this paragon of husbands have a name?"

"He does. Perhaps thou hast heard the name of Giacomo Rinuccini?"

The smile froze on Escalus's face as he searched his memory. He knew who Giacomo Rinuccini was, of course. There were few in Verona who did not know the name of the city's wealthiest businessman, as legendary for his social prowess and bonhomie as for his vast fortune. But there was something else as well, though Escalus could not quite recall what it was at the moment. He had heard tales about Giacomo Rinuccini, tales that had left a sour taste in his mouth, but he did not remember precisely what those tales had been.

Of course, he could not share these twinges of misgiving with Cesare. The acquaintances from whom he had heard the stories were not men he could admit to knowing in his father's presence. There were days when Escalus wished that he could find the courage to admit his great secret to Cesare and acknowledge his friends, but his rational mind knew that such an act would be tantamount to suicide. And Escalus's death would leave charming, feckless Aurelio as the heir to the city of Verona, a position for which Aurelio had little desire and even less ability. As long as Escalus kept his secret, his life and the future of Verona were safe. But the rumors he had heard about the man destined to marry his sister were a part of that secret, and could also never see the light of day.

It was no use worrying about that now. He would simply have to investigate Giacomo Rinuccini on his own. Cesare had asked him a simple question, one that deserved no more than a simple answer.

"Ay," he said, and he was proud that his voice betrayed none of the turmoil he felt within. "I have heard his name. I am not well acquainted with the gentleman, but I know that Verona thinks highly of him for his wealth and outgoing nature."

"It will be no small thing to have such a man allied with our house," Cesare said, as a smile of satisfaction spread across his face.

"That is undeniably true. Will you tell Donatella, or shall I? I know that she is desperate to know the identity of her future husband."

Cesare chuckled fondly. "All in good time. It is not healthy for a lady to take too much interest in these affairs before they are properly settled. But I will tell her the joyful news myself, this very night."

Privately, Escalus thought that Donatella's interest in the identity of the man to whose bed she would soon be delivered was entirely appropriate, but Cesare was not a man to be swayed by such an argument. So he held his tongue, and nodded.

"I believe that you will find her in the company of Niccola and Paris."

"Wilt thou accompany me to deliver these tidings to thy sister?" Cesare grunted as he began the arduous process of rising from his chair.

Escalus waved away the servant who hurried over, and assisted his father himself. "By your leave, I should rather spend the evening carousing and finding such sport as may befit a young gentleman. I have already spoken with Donatella this day."

"Very well. Do as thou wilt. Well do I remember the days of my youth. But do not spread thy seed too widely, for thou dost not know what thou may'st reap."

"Ay, Father." Escalus prudently held his tongue concerning the details of the evening he had planned for himself. Instead, he made a graceful bow to his father and turned to leave. As he placed his hand on the door handle, he remembered that he had not yet discharged all of his duty to Donatella, and turned back to Cesare.

"Father, there is one more thing I would ask of you."

"Hm? Ay, what is it?"

"You have done well to raise my sister as a kind lady and a virtuous, and I am certain that she will make a fine Christian wife because of it. But may her virtue not receive its proper reward?"

Cesare snorted. "Speak plainly, boy."

Such a topic was delicate enough, even when the subject of the discussion was not his own sister, but Escalus gritted his teeth and spoke quickly. "I have reason to believe that Donatella fears the act of marriage. Since her wedding night is inevitable, might she at least be permitted to have conversation with such of her friends and playmates as have already been married? It would ease her fears and would therefore be a great kindness to your daughter."

"Is there aught concerning the affairs of women that she cannot learn from thy brother's wife?"

"She did speak to me most particularly of her playmate Susanna, who is now Lady Montague."

"Ah." Cesare was silent for a few moments, as he considered the implications of this. Then he shrugged, as if the matter were of no great consequence after all. "Donatella may do as she pleases," he said. "In a month's time, she will no longer belong to this house, but to the house of Rinuccini. Her affairs and friendships reflect on that house, not ours."

With that, Cesare motioned to his servant to accompany him, and swept out of the room. Escalus stood alone for a few moments. It was not the most gracious of concessions, but he had achieved what was important. Donatella would be permitted to retain her old friendships. For now, that would have to do.