Sitting at the far end of the room, elevated on a throne that seemed to have been carved from a single piece of dark wood, was King Henry himself.
He looked older than Marie remembered from recent visits—the weight of kingship etched into his face, his jaw softer than it had been, his eyes carrying a weight of years and decisions. But when he saw them enter, his expression shifted into something almost boyish in its eagerness.
Beside him sat his Queen, and Marie understood immediately why Henry had chosen her.
She was stunning—not in the delicate, soft way that Marie's own beauty was often described, but in a way that commanded absolute attention. She carried herself with a regal bearing that was unmistakable, an inherent dignity that seemed woven into her very bones. Every line of her posture, every angle of her face, spoke of absolute authority and absolute certainty in her position.
She wore her power like jewelry.
And when her eyes found Lorenzo, a subtle smile played at the corners of her mouth.
She seemed pleased to see Lorenzo.
Something about that smile made Marie's stomach twist uncomfortably. She was...Jealous.
Henry's eyes, however, were fixed entirely on Marie.
He could barely hide his excitement. His hands gripped the arms of his throne, his jaw clenched with visible effort to maintain royal composure, but his eyes were alight with undisguised interest and anticipation.
That expression made Marie's blood run cold.
And then she saw her.
Ann.
Standing to the right of the King's throne, dressed in royal finery, her face arranged in an expression of perfect composure.
Ann, who Marie remembered speaking so coldly about her abduction.
Ann, who had conspired with William to betray her, to sell her, to use her as a pawn in whatever game was being played.
Since Marie had learned the truth—since she had understood that Ann had been part of the plan to deliver her to the King—the loneliness she had felt had been unbearable.
Hearing her sister speak so coldly about abducting her, about using her, about treating her as nothing more than a commodity to be traded and bargained with—that had hurt.
But seeing Ann now, seeing her standing in the seat of power, dressed in silk and jewels, basking in the proximity of Henry's authority—
The pain became crystalline. Sharp. Impossible to ignore or diminish.
Marie's grip on Lorenzo's hand tightened involuntarily.
Lorenzo felt it immediately and moved closer, her body shifting slightly to shield Marie from the room's gaze.
As they approached the throne, Lorenzo bowed her head in acknowledgment—but not the deep, deferential bow that lesser nobles offered. As a prince of the Italian empire, she was not required to humble herself further than a nod of respect.
Marie should not have been required to bow deeply either, given her status as a princess by marriage to an imperial prince.
But Henry had made certain of that by denying them the formal recognition of their marriage. By calling them together without granting them the privileges due to their rank, he had stripped away the protections that should have been theirs.
It was a message written in protocol and politics.
You are here at my sufferance. You are here because I allow it. You have no standing here.
Henry stood from his throne and walked toward them, his gait slower than it had been in his youth, but still commanding.
He placed his palm on Lorenzo's shoulder—a gesture that was both familiar and deliberately claiming.
"I am happy all is well," he said, his voice warm. "I heard of an incident on the way. An animal perhaps? Did that cause you difficulty?"
Lorenzo's jaw tightened fractionally at the touch, but her voice remained respectful.
"Thank you, my King. I appreciate how much you care for my safety, Lorenzo replied, her tone carefully neutral.
Henry smiled and withdrew his hand, then turned his attention entirely to Marie.
"You are as lovely as the last time I saw you," he said, his voice dropping to something more intimate. "You were a child then. Now you are indeed a woman."
He approached before Marie could respond, and without waiting for permission, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her from the floor.
Marie's body went rigid with shock.
Lorenzo's entire frame tensed visibly, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Her eyes flashed red for just a moment—so quick that anyone not looking directly at her would have missed it.
The Queen rose from her throne in a smooth, graceful motion.
"Indeed, husband," she said, her voice carrying both approval and a subtle note of warning. "She is a woman. Such action could be considered improper. However, we all know how fatherly you can be."
It was a delicate reminder of propriety delivered with the finesse of someone who understood court politics intimately.
Henry held Marie for a moment longer than was proper—long enough that Marie could feel his chest against hers, his breath against her hair, long enough for his hands to slide across her body as though mapping territory he considered his by right.
Then he set her down.
Marie was pale, her hands trembling, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.
But she managed to control them, pushing the distress down where it could not be seen.
Lorenzo had moved forward, positioning herself just slightly in front and to the side of Marie—a barrier made flesh.
Then Henry gestured, and Ann stepped forward.
"Welcome sister," Ann said, kissing Marie's cheek with practiced warmth. "You are finally where you belong."
The words were a knife wrapped in silk.
Marie was shivering—whether from cold, fear, or revulsion, she could not quite determine.
Lorenzo noticed immediately.
And with perfect political instinct, she spoke before anyone else could.
"Mia signora ha subito molti viaggi," (My lady has endured much travel,) Lorenzo said respectfully, her hand finding Marie's and squeezing it gently. "She is in need of rest. May the King allow us to retire and refresh ourselves? We would be delighted to attend him this evening at the banquet."
Henry's expression shifted to something openly predatory as he looked directly at Marie.
"Absolutely," he said, licking his lip slightly. "La sola idea di stancare la mia ospite molto speciale." (The very idea of tiring my very special guest.)
The double meaning was not subtle.
Lorenzo did not hesitate.
She bowed her head sharply and Marie curtsied before either of them could be subjected to further attention. Then, with perfect composure, she straightened, took Marie's hand firmly, and led her from the throne room.
Behind them, they heard the Queen speak quietly to Henry in a tone that suggested she was reminding him of something he had forgotten.
But they were already gone.
Marie entered their shared chamber first, moving quickly as though desperate to put distance between herself and what she had just experienced.
Lorenzo handed Marcello several quiet instructions in rapid Italian.
"Stai di guardia. Se qualcuno si avvicina, fammi sapere. E assicurati che nessuno ascolti alle porte." (Keep watch. If anyone approaches, let me know. And make sure no one listens at the doors.)
"There are spies all over. We can't stop them but we can at least deny them access "
Marcello nodded and positioned himself outside, his presence a silent warning to anyone who might think to eavesdrop.
Lorenzo entered the chamber and found all the ladies-in-waiting attending to Marie.
She gestured sharply toward the door.
"Leave us," she commanded. "Tutte voi. Ora." (All of you. Now.)
The women exchanged uncertain glances, but they had learned not to question a direct order from the prince. They gathered their things and filed out quickly, leaving Lorenzo and Marie alone.
The moment the door closed, Marie rounded on her.
"Was it necessary that we share the room?"she demanded, her voice sharp with frustration and something that sounded almost like hurt.
Lorenzo snapped, her patience worn thin by the events of the past hours, by watching Henry touch Marie, by every moment of restraint she had been forced to maintain.
"Are you really asking that?" Lorenzo said, her accent thickening as her emotions rose. "Did you see what just happened? That man could barely keep his hands off you. We are literally trapped here, and your concern is whether you have privacy from me?"
Marie's face flushed with anger.
"And what did you expect?" she shot back. "I cannot be dealing with them and you at the same time. I need a safe space. I need somewhere I can breathe where I am not constantly terrified or confused or—"
She stopped abruptly, as though she had nearly revealed something she was not ready to say.
Lorenzo's expression hardened.
"We would not be in this predicament if you did not fuel rumors by misbehaving," Lorenzo said coldly.
"I never chose this,"Marie retorted, her voice rising. "I cannot be blamed for not knowing the truth. I did not ask for any of this!"
"No like you are the most credible source," she continued, her words tumbling out in a rush of bitterness and pain. "You kidnapped me. You deflowered me. You lied to me about everything—about who you are, about what you are!"
The words hung in the air between them like a blade suspended mid-fall.
Lorenzo's face went very still.
When she spoke, her voice was dangerous—quiet and controlled in a way that was far more frightening than shouting.
"Is that what you believe?" Lorenzo asked, her eyes burning in the candlelight. "That I took you like some common brute? That I have been lying to you about anything other than my sex?"
She took a step toward Marie.
"Everything between us before that grove was real, Marie. Every conversation, every moment of tenderness, every promise I made—all of it was real. The only lie was about my body and the curse. Everything else was truth."
Marie shook her head violently.
"How am I supposed to know what is truth?" she whispered. "I cannot remember any of it. All I have are your words and my own nightmares."
"Then believe the people around us," Lorenzo said, her voice raw. "Ask Bess. Ask Marcello. Ask anyone who witnessed what we were building together. They will tell you the truth."
She paused, and when she continued, her voice was barely above a whisper as she closed the distance, each step revealing a little more of her intention and her lust. The space between them had narrowed to something measured in breath rather than inches.
"Or ask your own body, Marie." Lorenzo's gaze dropped, just briefly, to the pulse fluttering at Marie's hardening nipples and then her throat before returning to her eyes. "Because every time I come near you, your heart races. Every time I touch you, I can see your nipples hardening under your dress, your dilated pupils. That overwhelming desire in your eyes before you remember to be afraid."
Marie's breath caught. She could feel the warmth radiating off Lorenzo's skin now, close enough that the faint scent of her—something musky and sweet, like crushed violets left too long in the sun—filled the small space between them.
"That is not fair,"she said, but her voice had lost some of its certainty.
"No," Lorenzo's expression was pained, her gaze tracing the line of Marie's curves as though memorizing it "It is not fair. None of this is fair. But it is real."
Marie turned away first, struggling to compose herself, her arms wrapping instinctively around her own waist as if she could hold herself together by force alone.
"We cannot afford to fight," Lorenzo said finally, her voice controlled now, though tension radiated from every line of her body. "Not here. Not where they are listening, where they are waiting for any sign of discord between us. You are right that you need a safe space. So we will maintain distance within this room.
Marie heard her move closer despite the words—close enough that if she turned, they would literally be pressed again each other.
"But in public," Lorenzo continued, quieter now, almost rough, "we must be united. Can you do that?"
"Yes,"she said quietly. "I can do that."
Marie wrapped her arms tighter around herself, willing her pulse to slow, willing her body to stop her body from getting more aroused.
"Good," Lorenzo said, and turned away to look out the window at the darkening sky.
Hours later, after they had been seated and courses of food had been served—dishes that Marie barely tasted, her stomach too twisted with tension and unease—the conversation turned to politics.
Henry leaned forward on his throne, his gaze fixed on Lorenzo with an intensity that suggested this was far more than casual dinner conversation.
"I have been meaning to discuss Spain with you, Prince Lorenzo," Henry said, his tone carefully neutral but his eyes sharp. "My wife's homeland. A nation that seems increasingly eager to exert its influence across Europe."
Lorenzo set down her goblet with deliberate care.
"Spain is a formidable power," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of diplomatic precision. "But so are we—England, Italy, the great houses of Europe. We each have our interests to protect."
"Indeed," Henry said, a slight smile playing at his lips. "Which is why I find myself puzzled by Italy's continued support of Spain. Surely you can see the advantage of aligning with England instead? We offer far more lucrative trade routes, greater military advantage—"
"Italy's support of Spain is unconditional," Lorenzo interrupted gently, but there was steel beneath the courtesy. "Not because we lack appreciation for England's strength, Your Majesty, but because honor demands we honor our existing alliances. Spain has been our ally for generations. To abandon that alliance for the promise of better terms would be to prove ourselves unreliable partners."
The Queen's expression did not change, but something flickered in her eyes—a glimmer of respect, perhaps.
Henry's jaw tightened.
"Honor is a luxury," he said flatly. "One that costs gold and soldiers and time."
"Perhaps," Lorenzo conceded, her voice never wavering. "But a kingdom that cannot be trusted to keep its word is a kingdom that will find itself without allies when it matters most. Italy will continue to support Spain. We will also support our newly acquire ally, England. But we will not betray our commitments. for the sake of another"
She paused, then continued with a humility that somehow made her words more powerful rather than less.
"Though I understand the King's position. Spain occupies a place of great influence. If England seeks to balance that influence, I would humbly suggest seeking alliances with other powers rather than asking Italy to abandon hers. There is room in this world for many great nations to coexist without one destroying another."
The Queen actually smiled—a small, genuine expression of approval.
Henry did not smile.
But he let the matter drop, returning his attention to his food with slightly more force than necessary.
Marie, watching this exchange, felt something shift inside her chest.
She had never seen Lorenzo like this—navigating politics with such graceful firmness, standing her ground without aggression, making a case for honor and loyalty while somehow making it seem like the most practical position imaginable.
It was impressive. Attractive, even.
Marie caught herself and quickly looked away, focusing intently on her plate.