How dare they?! Those wretches, untamable beasts, creatures of wild bloodlust! Fie, fie! They, O miserable Capulets, O unlistening Montagues, have once more - 'tis the fourth time now - fought in the streets of Verona!

And this time, they have taken one of mine own.

My good, gentle coz Mercutio, he whose tongue wert far sharper than any other man's, he whose wit was boundless like the tides, my prideful, sinful, brilliant cousin, is dead. Slain by the hotheaded Tybalt, who in turn young Romeo did slay. By Saint Peter, have these men lost their minds? Didst they not think of my creed ere they drew their rapiers, or did their bloodlust overpower the threat of death? Careth they in the least?

I have been kind, to say the least, and hath exiled Romeo from Verona in stead of the execution I swore to dole out to trespassers of my creed. His sentence is mild, for Tybalt indeed deserved his death. But hark, subjects! Hark me, House of Capulet, House of Montague! 'Twas not Romeo's place to carry out justice of the law; therefore did he earn his banishment. Subjects, 'tis not thy place to question my judgement; therefore do not plead and coddle me; do not beg. My orders are irrevocable, an thy trivial tears shalt not convince me in the least.

The death of my dear coz Mercutio hath convinced me that I have been too lenient, too kind. Zounds, but what punishment art more dreary to men than death? Have I not tried my hardest to create peace in Verona? Mercy, I see now, is a cheap, worthless trinket - 'tis a facade, an excuse. Marry, mercy is the sword that kills more than any man, for mercy pardons and lets live those who kill, thereby killing more and more.

I shall be kind no longer.

It has come to my knowledge, though I pray not Montague's nor Capulet's, that not only have gentle Romeo and fair Juliet fallen in love, but have coaxed the Friar Laurence to marry them. An outrage, and a fool's act! 'Tis not his place to interfere in this forbidden course of action, an I daresay he must have a death wish to step between Montage and Capulet so brazenly. Mayhap his wish is for the union of the two houses, an I couldst not agree more, yet naught could be more foolish than this. Dost he truly think the secretive manner of the dark and the forbidden could be brought into broad daylight for all to see? The blessed moon, for all its midnight beauty, could not as such withstand an embrace with the fiery, hotheaded sun, which is as quick to burn as to give warmth. 'Twould wither and die a desparing death, as I fear this act by Friar Laurence shall cause for young Juliet and her Romeo. If he darest lead the two young loves to their untimely end, he shalt answer to me and all of Verona for his wretched crimes.

My subjects, I am not at all opposed to Romeo and Juliet's marriage, seeing as it may quiet the streets of my beloved city end the ancient feud. I, as Prince, seek only to bring peace to Verona. What worriest me is the danger of a great conflict between Montague and Capulet shouldst they find out about this forbidden marriage, and only thus drives me to oppose of the Friar's actions.

As I write, my attention hast been drawn to a delicate little bird sitting above my windowsill. The color of pure, untainted snow, it sits prettily, as if waiting for its prince. Or its Prince. I jest.

'Tis true, that Love doth arrive on dainty wings, that Love art tempting, that Love art a beautiful thing. 'Tis also true, however, that Love is a dangerous temptress, that 'tis both lovely and terrible. The word that love is blooming between Romeo, son of Montague, and Juliet, daughter of Capulet, has reached my ears. Mayhap this shalt be the way to part the feud of Capulet and Montague. At the same time, I fear for these two forbidden lovers. Old Capulet and Montague wilt not be pleased with this predicament, I am certain. Marry, I cannot give the two lovers my blessings either, for my fair cousin Paris told me only recently of his attraction to Capulet's daughter. He hath sworn to court her 'til she become his. Paris is a noble, virtuous young man, fair and polite, and every bit deserving of Juliet's hand in marriage. Never hath he uttered a vile word to either Capulet or Montague, and treads with ease the line between the two houses. I am proud to call him my dear coz. When he confessed to me he did love young Juliet, I encouraged the courtship. Now, even upon the knowledge of Romeo's love, I continue to place Paris as the rightful suitor of Juliet. Strong and passionate as Romeo's love may be, that which 'tis forbidden 'tis bound more than any free act.

Love is light and dainty, but I fear that it should be shot down with a poison-tipped arrow. Better to embrace it in the light than smuggle whispers and kisses in the darkness.

I say I dream of peace, of a quiet and beautiful Verona, of friendliness amongst all, whether they be of the house of Montague or Capulet, yet that is not what I dream. They say dreamers often lie, and doubtless it is true. Dreams art of a fragile substance, spun of smoky lies and the make-believe. Yet I fear the recurring dream that hast been plaguing me for the last fortnight.

I was walking in the cold and empty streets of Verona. I knew not whither had I come, or whither to, but in the lifeless streets a strange unease enveloped me. It felt strange to walk instead of ride Pride, my stallion, but more importantly, Verona is a bustling city - it should not have been so cold and quiet. I wished to halt, but I could not...my feet led me on, like a gentleman guiding a lady at a dance. As I continued, a faint sound became knownst to me. It seemed muffled, and I could not tell whither it had come. Emboldened by fear, I called out,

"Who goes there?" The sounds, still unintelligible, brought to mind the chattering of sparrows in the morn, but i'faith, they wouldst have been Satan's birds to utter such bone-chilling cries. I whirled about, heart thrumming in my chest.

'Twas a masked man.

He looked young, mayhap the age of Montague's son, Romeo. A frightsome leer hung about his lips; he looked the Devil himself.

"Who goes there?" As the Prince, I was reluctant to repeat myself. The masker did not reply, but spread his arms, as if in greeting. I watched, stricken, as bodies appeared on the forlorn streets of Verona. Stained with crimson, dying, the citizens of Verona. I was frozen. The masked man laughed - a scraping, murderously sadistic sound, and suddenly the muffled cries shifted into shrieks too sharp for any human ears. Ere I could draw my rapier, they were upon me, a horde of black crows, the Devil's birds. They cried out,

"Death!"
"Slaughter!"
"Capulet! Montague!"
"Romejullparimercu-"
"deathdeathdeathescalus! - death! - death! - death! escalus!"

"ESCALUS!"

I awoke, terrified, my mind whirling. I knew I was paler than the sickly moon above, my breath coming in rapid bursts. The last image I had seen before the dream ended burned into my eyes.

The masked man, drawing a dagger, laughing insanely, and thrusting it into his own bosom.

Those men - dare they call themselves men, and not beasts? - have received my creed. Will they obey their Prince and his creed, and henceforth keep their tongues - and rapiers - in check? It is my hope, yet somehow I dread the outcome of this bloody and ancient feud. Verona's streets are stained with blood, both ancient old and newly formed, and hath I not intervened that day, more blood of both Montagues and Capulets would have been shed.

Marry, it was that dread which propelled me thus to issue the creed with such  severity as I did. Only pain of death, it seems, could part those men as drawn to fighting as bees to the morning honeysuckle flowers.

I shall not spare mercy to he who dares defy my creed. More swiftly than any rapier, I will fall upon transgressors and collect my fee: their life.