Pedro does not manage to speak with Claudio until almost noon. He expected the lovestruck youth to be waiting excitedly for news on Hero, but when he searched the garden, Pedro could not find him.

After rising for a late breakfast along with the rest of the yawning household, he learned that Claudio had broken his fast earlier and wandered into town to visit his uncle. It is another hour before Pedro spies him along the dust path leading to the villa from the town and jogs to catch him.

"Good count, where have you been keeping? I have burning news I must impart."

Claudio turns stiffly. "Good day, my lord. Am I to congratulate you on a successful scheme?"

"Alas, the congratulations must wait, the lady requires a leisured wooing."

"She expressed such to you?"

"Indeed, and I think the better of her for it. Love is not to be won in disguise."

Claudio's lips purse as if he has swallowed a bitter tonic. "Aye, I have learned it late."

Pedro clasps his shoulder. "It is not a great sorrow, I hope? There shall be other chances."

Claudio's shoulders hunch. "Yes… there will be others…"

He looks so forlorn, Pedro pities the poor man. He must have had his heart set on being betrothed, Hero's hand secure.

"I am sorry to have served you poorly."

Claudio shakes his head, a harsh movement. "No — no — you honour me with your friendship. That bond between us is a greater treasure than a mere jewel. I remain in faith to you, as men should without the fairer influence."

Pedro chuckles and throws his arm around his friend. "You are an excellent man, Claudio. Next time I shall leave the wooing to you."

"Yes, do."

His response is curt and Pedro understands he is trying to conceal his disappointment. But his sadness shall not last long. Pedro is confident the lady will soon see what a fine gentleman Claudio is and accept his suit.

"Come, let us find Benedick. The lady Beatrice has his measure and he is in a right brood. It is most entertaining. Come."

:-x-:

Messina is without cloud, endless blue pooling into prosperous green, the vast hillsides rise in the background, Mount Etna's white peaks looking down on them all. John reclines under the hot sun, like the serpent in Eden, and wonders how he is to while away the hours. All he has now is time. No purpose. No ambition.

He has accomplished some mischief between Pedro and Claudio. Perhaps he can stir the pot. How far would he have to poke Claudio before he unleashed the monster John witnessed on the battlefield. There are names he does not let himself remember — their blood is on his hands. But it is on Claudio's too. Amidst Messina's peaceful hinterland, the birds chirping in the trees and the workers singing in the fields, he hears their screams the loudest.

"Good day, my lord."

John cracks open his eyes, squinting against blinding daylight before his vision adjusts. Hero smiles down at him, haloed in the sun's glow, swathed in a similar dress to the one which spun through his dreams last night.

"Lady," he replies, thoughts a seafoam swell.

"I brought refreshment." She holds out a cup, which John accepts, peering at the wine within. It is white.

"Thank you." He drinks.

When he lowers the cup, he notices her staring and arches a brow. He watches, fascinated, as the colour creeps across her cheeks.

"The weather is pleasant, is it not?"

John cocks his head. "It is."

She looks lost and John supposes he should offer a better response. But he has already admitted he is not a man of many words. He has never enjoyed small talk; pleasantries are a veil for barbed tongues.

Though, not with her.

She is all softness and sincerity.

He clenches his jaw and digs for his voice. "Your home is…" his gaze flits to hers, "...beautiful."

Her smile spreads and she sinks onto the ground beside him. "It is. I am blessed to live in such a place." Her fingers thread through the grass, twirling around the budding flowers. "What of your home? What is it like in Aragon?

The name is a hot poker through his chest. He bites down a curse, the taste of iron in his mouth. "That is not my home."

She flinches, her eyes wide and wounded. He swallows a snarl and is only half successful judging by her startled reaction. Hell, she looks like a frightened rabbit, its coat torn by the wolf's fangs. He lowers his gaze to the dirt — and he calls Claudio a monster.

"But… then… where is your home?"

He shuts his eyes. Why is she here? What does she want from him?

(This is why he does not talk.)

"Traitors do not have homes."

Blood settles on his tongue. Her fingers brush his arm and his eyes snap open. She is looking at him with those soft, doe eyes and his chest tightens.

"I am sorry."

He stares at her. "Why?"

She opens and closes her mouth a few times before she manages to answer, "Because… I am."

Her face is a bleeding heart. John looks away. "I was never welcome there."

Her hand squeezes his wrist. "You are welcome here."

He scoffs, mouth slanting in disbelief. "Am I?"

"Yes," she says with force and a purse to her lips.

In spite of everything, John mouth crooks.

Hero's lips part, blossoming into a smile. She leans forward, fingers warm on his skin —

"Lady!"

They turn. Hero's serving woman hurries down the path; her eyes widen as she spies John.

"Good day, Ursula," Hero greets the older woman. "Is there something you require?"

"My lady… my lord," she nods to them both, swallowing, "...I have come to bid you inside… dinner is soon to be served."

John stands, offering his hand to Hero, who takes it with a smile, rising to her feet. From the corner of his gaze he sees Ursula glancing rapidly between them. He lets go of Hero's hand.

"We shall be right along," Hero tells the other woman.

Ursula hesitates, looking uncertain. Then, she gives a brusque nod and walks back in the direction she came.

Hero smiles at John from under her lashes and his pulse stutters. "Will you escort me in to dinner?"

"Lady…" he trails off, unsure how to answer.

"I know you feel unwelcome at our table, but let me prove to you — and everyone else — that I want you there. No one will snub you if I am on your arm."

As if he cares what anyone else thinks.

He stares at her, the stubborn set to her shoulders. He does not understand. Why is she bothering with him? Is it pity? Some plot? But she seems so earnest, as if she truly desires his company. Like the bird hopping before the snake.

He offers out his arm. "My lady."

She beams and slips her arm through his. "You may call me Hero, if it pleases you."

He schools his expression so as not to reveal how much it pleases him. "You may call me John, if you wish."

She brightens and he tries to ignore how her heat presses into his side. "John."

He near stumbles as she says his name, warm and wondrous. The smallest crack shudders through his stone-heart.

:-x-:

There are stares as Hero enters with Don John, but she does not balk; her arm warm in the crook of his elbow, his words scrawled under her clothes — bastard, filth, traitor. He holds himself unflinching, that defiant tilt to his chin — and if he shall not be cowed then neither shall she.

Their united front is ended as they are sat on opposite ends of the table, these being the only places remaining. Don John is positioned next to Antonio, and Hero is reassured that her uncle will make a sincere effort to engage the taciturn prince.

To her distress, she is seated between Benedick and Claudio. She fears the latter will persist in the courtship the Prince began in his name the previous night. However, Claudio is unusually terse through the whole meal, scowling into his wine and hacking at the rabbit on his plate with a force that has her shuffling sideways in her chair.

She is thankful for Benedick, who compensates for his companion, engaging her in such lighthearted conversation that she almost forgets the scrape of the knife beside her. Across the table, Don Pedro also appears to notice the count's sullen mood and leans forward, attempting to stir Claudio into speech. His efforts are in vain and as the dinner comes to a close, Claudio is the first to excuse himself.

Hero wonders if his behaviour is because she rejected his suit and hopes he is not very heartbroken. She does not like the thought of causing anyone hurt, even if she has no interest in Claudio. However, as Claudio stalks from the room, her gaze catches on Don John, and she sees the satisfied smile that slips across his face.

She wonders…

:-x-:

"Has the Prince expressed no intentions towards you? You were dancing quite closely last night."

"None but friendship, father," Hero tells him as they walk together through the halls.

Her father frowns. "Hmm… I suppose it was a most fantastical dream. Still, we shall see over the moon's course what attentions he bestows on you."

Hero smiles politely and does not mention it was on Claudio's behalf that Don Pedro sought her hand. Her father would push her into the arms of the Florentine and that is not what she wants.

"What of Don John? I saw you dance with him as well. And you arrived for dinner on his arm."

Her smile blooms and she casts her gaze to the stones beneath her feet, cheeks warming. "I know not what is in his head, but find no displeasure in his attention."

This is the mildest description for how her heart leaps whenever Don John is near, her soulmarks singing as if they were written in gold. She amazes herself with how good an actress she is proving, managing to present a composed front even as her insides melt at the sound of his voice, the set of his jaw.

Her father hums, his face considering. "Then there too may something yield."

Hero sucks in a breath and squeezes her father's arm, leaning her head on his shoulder.

He smiles and strokes her chin. "Even princes and counts can see what a rare jewel my daughter is. We shall have you a husband before the summer's end, I am certain of it."

:-x-:

"Good den, my lord," Hero chirps as she skips over to John on the garden path.

He halts his stride, turning to her, a bemused lift to his lips. "My lady. We should stop meeting like this."

"But I enjoy our meetings." She smiles, her stomach aflutter.

He stares at her as if she is some make-believe fae-creature. His throat bobs and his shoulders tense, when he speaks his voice is low, "You do not want to be seen long in the company of a traitor. Folk will think we are conspiring."

"That depends on what we are conspiring." She blinks her lashes, leaning forward. "No one would ever believe me dangerous"

"I think you deadly." The corners of his mouth rise, before tightening. "But folk will assume I am corrupting you."

Hero is tempted to tell him any corruption happened years ago, when bastard, bitch, and whore were added to her vocabulary. But it is too soon for that reveal, she must be delicate.

"I promise to be extraordinarily pleasant to your brother so no one can accuse me of playing favourites."

She twirls along the path, her skirts fanning around her. When she looks back at him, he is gawping at her.

She smiles and holds out her arm. "John, will you be my escort to supper?"

There is a long stretch of silence in which her heart batters her chest, then he breaks from whatever trance he is under, striding forward to kiss her hand.

"My lady… Hero… it would be my honour."

Hero's toes curl and she manages to keep her feet on the ground. Just.

:-x-:

"I thought Don John gave me heart-burn, but Count Claudio's sour visage near spoiled my appetite," Beatrice drawls, lounging across Hero's bed. "It is better you do not tie yourself to such a man. If that is how he looks in gloom, you will starve in strife."

Hero laughs, climbing onto the bed beside her. "My heart did go out to him. He looked so poorly."

"Your heart cannot have gone far. For I suspect, sweet cousin, if it were given, Count Claudio would not appear so ill." Beatrice drapes herself around Hero, whispering in her ear. "Unless, to another it has gone. I saw how Don John watches you. As if his heart were burning."

Hero's cheeks flame and the two of them collapse onto the sheets, giggling.

"Tell me, dearest," Beatrice leans over her, brushing Hero's curls aside. "Is there some truth in my nonsense?"

Hero sits up, her thumb caressing the ribbon around her wrist. "He is handsome."

Beatrice does not ask who. "I never realised your tastes ran so sharp." Her shrewd gaze flicks to Hero's breast and the mark hidden beneath her nightgown. "Though, I should have suspected."

Hero meets her cousin's gaze and Beatrice hesitates, a rare occurrence. She cannot comment on Hero's soulmarks, unless she is prepared for Hero to inquire after the 'prince's jester' and 'very dull fool' she recently glimpsed.

"You will be careful with him, pet? He has turned his colours twice now."

Hero purses her lips and bites back a retort. Beatrice is only looking out for her.

"I have no intention of stumbling into a fall."

Beatrice smiles and embraces her. "Remember, dear heart, any man causes you trouble, send him to me. I shall sort him out."

"You will eat their hearts."

"A fitting punishment." She tucks a curl behind Hero's ear. "Though anyone who harms you, sweet, must be heartless indeed."

Hero hugs her cousin, toppling them together onto the bed, and hopes no hearts will be broken. Or eaten.