From wielding his sculptor's chisel with Michelangelo, they are roped with veins and as hard as the stone he hews. Just the memory of their feel stirs me. But as firm and thrilling as are his arms, it is the skin on the Undersides of them that I most crave to touch. It is as soft and smooth as an infant 's cheek.With a sigh, I closed my eyes.I woke to the sound of muffled voices outside, and the Queen easing open the window. I slipped to her side as the cavalcade, all flapping banners and capes and clashing hooves, poured through the street below.The Queen wrested some crumbling plaster from the window frame. She searched the stream of riders and then, when Don Carlos approached with Don Juan, flung the plaster hard. It smashed on the stones next to Don Carlos, Unnoticed.She scrabbled at the frame again. When it yielded no more grit, she scanned her own person, seized a black pearl from the clasp of her robe, and hurled it with a grunt. It bounced off the hilt of Don Carlos's sword with a bright ping.He looked Up."Hey!" A grin swallowed his pasty face as he pointed at her window.
