To a certain someone...Get over yourself.

All right, author's note done. I swear I'll never do that again. And I didn't even mention the Spanish Inquisition. Oh, wait! Oops, too late:)

1. Welcome to New Verona

Tinted windows hid from view what might have been quite an event in New Verona, even for a city of its size. The long black car slipped quietly through the busy streets, its tiny purple and gold flags fluttering in the wind as they allowed the car to bypass traffic jams and tollbooths. A moving truck followed the limousine closely, as did two matching black cars behind and in front.

The woman encased in the stifling safety of the limousine was no ordinary celebrity. With the passing of her mother three months ago, she had become perhaps the most beloved young woman in the country. Her four year absence from her city had only endeared her to the populace more, for her cause was so noble and, as believed the people, her heart so pure.

Twenty-one and a newly-minted graduate of Cairo University at Luxor, Evelyn Capulet's life had been minutely documented in tabloids and countless tell-all biographies, but they had never succeeded in tarnishing her image. Intelligent, of course. Valedictorian, 4.0, honors. Untouchably beautiful, but never cold. Her kindness was well-known throughout Hamunaptra; the charity that bore her name generated more income for more causes than all the other organizations in the country put together. The people of Hamunaptra all thought of her as their own daughter, perfect, lovely, giving.

Evelyn's father held almost as esteemed a position in the public eye, though this was due less to personality than obligation. For Evelyn's father, Seti Capulet, was king, and although in these modern times the monarchy had devolved into little more than a figurehead, the family Capulet still held more prestige and power than any other name in New Verona.

Well, almost any other name.

The woman in question was not paying much attention to the passing scenery, for she was much too involved in the nervous workings of her own mind. She'd never been close to her father growing up, and her mother's death would only drive the wedge further, she suspected. Sporadic phone calls had strung together their relationship over the last four years, and Evelyn's being 300 miles away in Luxor had certainly deteriorated their already tenuous rapport. He hadn't even attended her graduation.

Evelyn rolled the window down, drawing a warning look from her driver, but she ignored him. She closed her eyes and pretended that she wasn't in a limousine, for once, that maybe the wind she felt on her face was the result of riding carefree down the street in a little sports car.

Right. The day her father allowed her that much freedom was the day she was dead. Evelyn grabbed her purse off the seat beside her and dug through it until she found the small compact mirror. She tucked a stray hair behind her ear and checked carefully to make sure that her makeup had not smudged. Perhaps a bit too much foundation today, but the cameras would be at a distance, she hoped. People had no idea how much work it took to appear this perfect. Even in college she hadn't had much of a chance to rework her image. Three-hundred miles didn't do much to calm the public's seemingly insatiable fascination with her life. That was one thing her father had never forgotten to tell her...

"Image, Evelyn, it's all about image. We have a responsibility to the people, you have a responsibility to your family. It's like a full-time job, the people expect it. Image, it's all about image..."

Today that advice had translated into a black suit over a gray and black striped blouse, hair straightened and confined into a neat bun, smoky kohl eyeliner that Evelyn felt was her one cry in the night of rebellion. And of course the same locket she wore everyday, antique silver, slightly tarnished. It had been her mother's, and she hadn't opened it since Anck had bestowed the treasure upon her. This was not for lack of attempts to open it, but her mother had never given up the secret of its unlocking. According to Anck, there was a picture of Evelyn's father inside. Evelyn supposed she'd never actually see it, for Queen Anck had taken all knowledge of her mysterious locket to the grave, and the lock showed no signs of releasing its hold after all these years.

Tattoos stretched from wrist to elbow on the left arm, from index finger to shoulder on the right, though no one could see if that arm was further inscribed as the man's shirt obscured further viewing. If they had been at liberty to peruse the rest of the artwork, they would have seen "Ardeth" scrawled across his back, obscured by a complicated weave of shapes and outlines. "Betsy" was forever entombed further down, as well as a "Gracie" on his left arm and a "Tia" somewhere he'd care not to mention. His long black hair was slicked back behind his ears as was the fashion, and in combination with his dusky skin was likely to send most women into comas with a mere glimpse.

This all would have been if not for the fact that he lounged comfortably in a chair in the prison lobby. He was not there on his own behalf, but owing to all those tattoos, that was what most assumed. His wallet, however, was at the moment empty in aid of another slightly shady character, though one that might have appeared more clean-cut at first glance.

The man he waited for was led out into the lobby, and Ardeth stretched lazily and unfolded himself from the small chair. His friend's tired blue eyes were bloodshot, he noticed, but that was understandable after a night in prison and what looked like a monster hangover. They exchanged no words until they'd exited the police station and walked out into the bright sunlight.

Ardeth unlocked the passenger door of the white sports car. "Care to enlighten me?" he asked.

His friend squinted in the sun and slumped as far down as possible into the seat. "Take a guess."

"Sweet Rosaline broke up with you again."

"Yes."

"A drinking binge followed."

"Yes."

"They threw you out of another bar, didn't they?"

"You know me too well."

Ardeth swung the little car out of the parking lot. "Listen, Rick, Rosaline isn't worth it. There are plenty of nice girls out there--"

"Could you please not say her name anymore?"

"Sorry, man."

Rick closed his eyes and slid farther down the seat. He'd heard the name Rosaline enough to last him more than one lifetime. If he ever saw that woman again it would be too soon. In fact, any woman right now would be entirely too much to take.

Rick had never had any trouble at all in getting dates; his good looks had seen to that. His handsome face was framed by brown hair just short enough to be respectable, just long enough to keep up with the trend, and set off by a pair of startling blue eyes. Tall, muscular, dashing to a fault, he'd certainly inherited his father's way with women.

That was, as Rick saw it, most of the problem. His father was on his fourth wife at the age of forty-five, and never seemed to have qualms about keeping one or two more women around as spares. Rick's own mother, first in the line of Mrs. Montagues, had died in childbirth, so he supposed he couldn't fault his father for that one ending on a sour note. The current wife was Sheila, 29, blond, vapid, though perhaps more ambitious than the others. That prenuptial was going to run the Montague fortune into the ground.

This might have all added up to a rather dysfunctional family, and indeed it did, but there was one more circumstance which made it an absolute nightmare. Jonathan Montague, Rick's father, just happened to be the prime minister of the fair country of Hamunaptra, and though the public pretended to be horrified at the scandals surrounding him, they knew the family Montague could squash anything or anyone that got in its way.

Well, except for maybe one.

Ardeth slammed his foot on the breaks, causing Rick to fly forward into the dash. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Red light," replied Ardeth, placing a pair of blue-tinted sunglasses over his eyes. "Put your seatbelt on."

As they watched the traffic crawl across the intersection they both noticed the limousine approaching. "Capulet flags," muttered Ardeth. "Stay low, could be that bastard Lock."

Rick was only half-listening, for just as he had begun to slouch down in his seat he'd caught sight of the open passenger window, and he saw something there which made him sit up a little straighter.

It wasn't just that she was beautiful, for she was certainly that, but there was something longing in her green gaze that caught his eyes and held them. Something distant, far away, as if her soul held untapped riches that were kept in check by pure force of will. Something...

The limousine cleared the intersection and was gone. New Verona and its people would never be the same.

~*~*~*~

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