The Merchant Of Venice Novels & Stories

’ Aspen thought to herself while Lance went to the front door before their visitor could break it down. “Are you two ingrates?” It was Beta Vesper. He surely could not contain his hatred for Aspen’s presence in that house. And since Aspen was done asking why things were the way they were, she just waved off his anger as some old man tantrum and with a forced smile, she went to stand beside Lance. “Ingrate is a strong word, Beta Vesper,” Aspen said. “Why? It perfectly describes you and your riff-raff friend. The Luna Queen, who has housed you out of the generosity of her heart, arrived minutes ago. Should you not be outside and showing her your gratitude?”

Dante said softly, almost a whisper, “while he keeps her?” Marco’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer. Another voice rose from further down the table, one of the businessmen in a dark tie. “There are ways to negotiate. To trade. She could be exchanged for territory, for money—” The silence that followed was brutal. Dante’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and cold enough to freeze the man in place. “You think I’ll buy her like she’s a piece of property?” Dante’s tone was low, lethal. “She is not for sale, not for trade. She is mine. And I will take her back.”

On the balcony of one of the buildings stood a young man in his mid-forties clad in white, with a well-chiseled face, he had clear eyes, his hair was pure black and neatly combed, his white clothes were spotless, he had an average height, his hands were behind his back as he radiated a calm aura, he was gazing at the sea in the horizon as though he could see it, the wind was blowing gently making part of his hair cover his eyes. "Sir we've found it," a man suddenly appeared on the balcony and bowed, before informing him, that it was unknown how the man had got there. The figure turned around with a calm look, there were no ripples in his eyes, "have waited for many years for this, the world

“No. I think that would be horrible.” “Horrible?” Taking the empty gelato cup from her, Duke rose and tossed it in the trash, then returned to sit beside her. “How do you figure? He was the Doge of Venice. The most important leader of the most powerful city state in the Mediterranean and spent the rest of his days living high on the hog in that grand palace.” Her wide doe-eyes blinked once as she stared at him. “Did you read any of the plaques posted in there?” “They were in Italian, darlin’. Unless you were translating, there wasn’t much I was getting out of them. Based on what our guide said, it sounded like a pretty sweet deal to me.”

Plus, my old school had already covered this curriculum months ago. "Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Do with their death bury their parents' strife. The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love, And the continuance of their parents' rage,

[The Realto Ghost] The stone quay was cold, a damp, biting chill that seeped through the ruins of Ivy’s dress and settled in her marrow. Venice—the real Venice, or so she hoped—was a skeletal city of black water and shifting fog. Beside her, Silas Vane stared down at the clockwork doll in the bundle of blankets, his expression a mask of hollow defeat. The note in the doll’s hand fluttered in the salty breeze. The loop has eighteen layers, Ivy.

"Greetings, merchant! I require provisions for an evening gathering. What fine meats and elixirs do you recommend?" The merchant stopped wiping the stainless steel counter with his rag. He stared at me for long seconds. A heavy silence stretched between us. Had I used the wrong dialect? Had he recognized that I was an imposter from another realm? Was he reaching beneath the counter for a sword? Instead, the merchant blew out a long sigh and shook his head with fond, weary exasperation. "Look, Sigrun," he said, tapping a greasy spatula against the metal ledge. "I told you on Thursday, I'm not doing the whole Shakespeare-actor voice thing today. I got a delivery coming in ten minutes. You want

One of the students asked, “Why does this man wear the face mask like a clown?” Host Hook explained, “No, he is not a clown. It is the portrait of the rich merchant…” Sycamore giggled, “Merchant?” “No disturbances please.” Host Hook continued with unstable eyes which were wandering in a random direction, “He was a rich merchant of his times, Hexa De Morte. He was more commonly known as Merchant of Demise.” The students chorused, “Woooo”

‎By tomorrow morning, every major business headline would announce that Nathaniel Blackwood, the most powerful CEO in the city, had suddenly married a woman no one had heard of. ‎What the headlines would not mention was the truth. ‎That his company was drowning in debt. ‎That investors were pulling out. ‎That this marriage was the final condition set by the board and its largest shareholder. ‎Nathaniel placed the pen down and leaned back slightly. “The agreement is complete,” he said calmly. “You’ll receive the financial settlement outlined in the contract. In return, you’ll fulfill your role as my wife during public appearances. Private lives remain separate.” ‎His voice was steady. Control

"Sonjica here- " and Edward flapped his hand at the distracted man- "was just informing me that these birds are town bred. Well! I've put a penny on it, for they're country bred, through and through!" "You've lost your money, then" replied the merchant, Mr Casbane, "for they're town bred." "They are most certainly not!" "Take it or leave it, Mister! They're town bred, and I have the ledger here to prove it."