Lorenzo bowed with regal grace. "I greet you, King of England. My brother sends this blade, forged of pure silver, adorned with diamonds. A symbol of strength for your reign."
Henry's smile sharpened. "I hear your cousin' is busy with rebels in the south. Perhaps he needs it more than I do."
Courtiers snickered.
Lorenzo didn't flinch. Just tilted his head slightly, lips curving. "Your Majesty, if rebels are all a king has to fear, he's living a blessed life."
Henry went silent. Caught off-guard. Unsure if he'd been complimented or out maneuvered. He chuckled tersely. The hall exhaled.
Music resumed.
Lorenzo approached without guards, gliding through the crowd. Marie froze.
He stopped before her. Bowed his head slightly.
"Marie."Soft acknowledgment. Almost a secret.
Her lips parted in the first genuine smile of the night. "So your name is Lorenzo."
"And Marie is yours."
Warmth flickered in his eyes. "You've grown. Into someone very beautiful... and very wise."
Marie raised a brow, teasing. "And you've grown into a man who still won't give his title until the second meeting."
His lips twitched. Rare. Private.
Behind them, Matthew approached, stiff with jealousy. "Signor Lorenzo. We met once. Strange circumstances. I was young. Foolish." Extended his hand.
Lorenzo looked at it. Didn't take it. Bowed only to Marie. "Lady Marie. Until next we speak."
He flashed Matthew a glance cold enough to cut steel. Then left.
Matthew swallowed hard. Leaned toward Marie, bitter. "Stay away from him."
Marie's smile was small, cold, triumphant. "You gave poor advice once before, cousin."
---
Later, after the hall emptied, Lorenzo approached Thomas Boleyn with calm confidence.
Thomas nearly tripped over himself. "My lord...an honor,..."
Lorenzo's eyes drifted to where Marie stood with Philip. He cleared his throat. "Lord Boleyn... your daughter Marie. Is she married? Or promised?"
Thomas's eyebrows shot up. He understood instantly. "No, Your Highness. No betrothal. Some names suggested, but nothing serious."
"Then may I send her letters?"
Thomas nearly burst with joy. "Letters? My lord, you honor us. Marie will be delighted."
Across the room, Matthew watched, jaw tight. Slipped to his father Gilbert. "We shouldn't mingle with these Italians. They bring trouble."
Gilbert snorted. "Thomas can do what he wants with his children. Anne's already turning the king's head. Marie's sweet but politically useless."
"You know I care for her—"
"I know you *want* her," Gilbert corrected sharply. "But she's your cousin. And above your reach. Forget her. Forget competing with an Italian prince."
Matthew's jaw clenched painfully.
---
Marie received the first letter two days later. Flower seeds tucked inside. She laughed softly, holding them. He remembered.
Her reply? Equally playful. A letter adorned with dried rose petals and a note that made Lorenzo chuckle in ways his guards had never seen.
His next gift was audacious: *The Prince* by Machiavelli. Original edition. Leather-bound. Formidable.
Marie raised an eyebrow, smirking as she penned her response. She sent it back with her own notes scrawled in the margins. Mocking. Clever. Sharp enough to make him grin at every page.
Whispers spread like wildfire. Courtiers and merchants gossiped endlessly about the mysterious exchange between the foreign prince and the Boleyn girl.
Even the king listened to court gossip now. A vicious curiosity glinted in his eyes. He wanted to crush this haughty prince who dared stand up to him.
Weeks later, Henry VIII made an announcement: he would stay on Boleyn land during his countryside tour. It would coincide with Anne's official entry to court as lady-in-waiting. Gossip claimed the king wanted to escort her himself. Unofficial. Scandalous.
To humiliate Lorenzo further, a prince of the empire on official diplomatic mission, Henry ordered him to join the convoy.
Prince or political pawn. Lorenzo was at the king's mercy until his brother secured alliance.
The carriage doors opened at the Boleyn estate. Henry emerged first, radiant, eyes immediately seeking Anne with a wolfish grin.
"Lady Anne."Voice dripping with pleasure. "The countryside grows lovelier with each visit. Fascinating, isn't it?"
Anne curtsied flawlessly.
Then Henry's gaze slid to Marie. Lingered on her cleavage. Her curves.
"And here,"he murmured, "is a blossom I hadn't fully appreciated at court."
Heat climbed Marie's neck. She hated how his eyes roamed. Hated the feeling of being touched by a gaze alone.
Henry leaned toward Anne, loud enough for Marie to hear. "If the little one grows as quickly as you did... I may need to visit more often."
Marie stiffened.
Anne's jaw locked.
Before the silence could thicken
Lorenzo dismounted with effortless skill. Bowed smoothly to the king. Then Placed himself between Marie and Henry's hungry stare without seeming confrontational at all.
"Your Majesty, the gardens here are famed across Europe. I was hoping Lady Marie might show them to me."
The king blinked. Chuckled. Waved dismissively. "Yes, yes. Admire the flowers. The adults will discuss business."
Marie exhaled relief.
Lorenzo offered his arm, gently. Asking permission, not demanding compliance.
She accepted.
---
They moved beneath a shaded arch of climbing roses. Marie hesitated. Then whispered, without looking at him:
"I don't wish to marry. I feel unsafe around men. Their eyes... their hands... always greedy. Always wanting. Even the king looks at me like I'm something to take."
A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it.
Lorenzo didn't move closer. Simply stood still. Offered space. Offered silence instead of pressure.
"Marie," he said finally, voice low and warm, "I would never want to be another pair of greedy hands in your life."
She looked up, surprised.
He held her gaze. Steady. Sincere.
"You have my heart for your sorrows and my sword for your protection. I hope to be a friend to you."
Her breath caught. No man had ever spoken to her like that.
"Lorenzo..."
He smiled, small, calm, gentle. "You may trust me. But even if you can't... I'll wait."
"If I were ever forced to choose a husband, I'd simply pick you, Signor Lorenzo. At least then I'd know I wouldn't be defiled. Reduced to an object of pleasure."
Her tone teased, but the tightness beneath it betrayed truth.
Lorenzo stopped. Slowly. Like the movement required careful thought. He turned toward her, expression unreadable beneath those dark, straight brows.
"Lady Marie," he said quietly, "I'm not a man anyone should marry."