The emissary smiled thinly as he entered.
"It pleases us to see the prince still enjoys the pleasures of the flesh," he said lightly. "Word reached us that you were in the company of women. One of the Boleyn sisters, was it not?" His gaze flickered with idle curiosity. "I am told she pales beside her elder sister but is enchanting in her own way."
Lorenzo did not smile.
She glanced briefly at Marcello, then turned back to the emissary, voice cool and precise.
"Men would do well to refrain from gossip," she said. "Lady Boleyn is not a thing to be weighed or trifled with. She is a good friend and she will be spoken of with respect."
The emissary stiffened.
Only then did Lorenzo sit. Only then did she gesture for him to do the same.
"Now,"she continued calmly, "you may tell me why you are here."
The emissary obeyed, smoothing his robes before speaking.
"You are needed," he said, all levity gone. "Urgently."
Lorenzo's fingers tightened once on the armrest.
"The rebellion in Galicia has flared again," he continued. "His Majesty requires your presence. You are to put an end to it."
Silence settled over the chamber.
Lorenzo inclined her head slowly.
"Then we leave at once."
---
Lorenzo sent a single instruction through one of her guards.
*Meet me at the fountain. *
Marie went at once.
She found Lorenzo already there, standing rigid beneath the moonlight, posture formal, expression closed, too closed. Not the man who had touched her with trembling hands. Not the man who had kissed her like she was air and he was drowning.
This was a prince.
Cold. Armoured. Distant.
Marie's chest tightened. "What is wrong?"she asked softly, voice already breaking.
Lorenzo did not waste words.
"I am leaving," she said. "Now. I must return home. I have been recalled to serve the Empire."
The words struck like a blade between her ribs.
Marie's breath caught. She felt dizzy, unmoored. "Now? But "
"The emissaries are waiting. My men are already preparing the horses."
"That's..."Marie's voice cracked. "I thought we'd have more time."
"So did I."
The two words carried more weight than any speech.
Marie stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, close enough to catch the scent of leather and smoke that clung to his clothes. Carefully, as if approaching a wounded beast.
"I knew this might come,"Marie whispered. She reached for Lorenzo's hand.
It was cold. Trembling.
She brought it to her cheek, pressing into it like it was the only warmth left in the world. Her eyes closed. Tears threatened but she held them back.
Then she turned her face and pressed her lips to his palm soft, lingering, reverent. Kissed each knuckle like a prayer.
"Be careful,"she whispered against his skin. "And come back to me... so we may finish what we began."
For a moment, Lorenzo wavered.
The mask cracked.
She pulled Marie closer, not gently, but desperately, until their bodies pressed together, until Marie could feel the wild hammering of his heart against her chest. Lorenzo's hand slid to the back of Marie's neck, fingers tangling in her hair, lips lingering on her shoulder.
"I would never ask you to wait for me," Lorenzo said, voice rough and low. "I have no right."
Marie's hands fisted in Lorenzo's coat, holding on like he might disappear if she let go. "I will wait,"she said fiercely, looking up into his face. "I do not mind. It is worth it. *You* are worth it."
Lorenzo's jaw clenched. She could feel Marie's pulse beneath her fingertips, rapid, fluttering, alive. Could feel the warmth of her body, the soft curves pressed against harder planes.
She wanted to kiss her. Wanted to lay her down right here and claim every inch of her. Wanted to mark her so thoroughly that no other man would ever dare...
She stepped back.
Deliberately. Painfully. Creating distance like severing a limb.
"Forget me," she said, voice harder now, colder. "Move on."
Marie stared at her, eyes wide with disbelief and hurt. "You cannot mean that.
"I do," Lorenzo replied, even as everything inside her screamed otherwise. "I may not return. And if I do... I may not be the same. My life does not belong to me. It belongs to my emperor."
Tears spilled freely now, hot tracks down Marie's flushed cheeks.
"How can a prince be so powerless?"Marie cried, voice breaking. "You could take me with you. You could choose—"
She wiped her tears with the heel of her hand, forcing herself to breathe through the pain.
"If you will not choose me," she said, voice shaking but clear, each word a blade, "then I will do my duty as well."
Lorenzo turned sharply.
"I will forget you,"Marie went on, deliberate and cruel, cutting herself free even as it killed her. "I will let another man court me. I will smile at him. I will let him touch me."
Lorenzo felt something crack inside her chest.
"I will marry him," Marie continued, lifting her chin though tears still streamed. "I will give him my loyalty. My body."Her voice dropped, intimate and devastating. "I will lie beneath him on our wedding night. I will let him undress me, touch me where you touched me. I will carry his seed in my woumb. "
"*Stop,*" Lorenzo whispered, the word torn from her throat.
Marie shook her head, relentless now. "You told me to move on. So I will. I will let him take what you refused. I will make those sounds for him instead. I will give him my innocence, my pleasure—"
"*Marie—*"
The words were poison.
Lorenzo felt the thirst surge, violent, sudden, uncontrollable.
Her vision darkened at the edges. Her pulse roared in her ears. A sharp pressure spread along her jaw, unbearable, burning
She tasted blood.
Her own.
She staggered back, fingers flying to her mouth as pain flared along her gums. She didn't need a mirror to know what had happened.
Fangs.
Marie noticed the change instantly.
"Lorenzo...?" she whispered, eyes widening as she stepped forward. "Are you—is that blood?"
In the moonlight, she thought she saw something dark on his lips. Red. Wet.
But Lorenzo turned away sharply before she could be certain.
"Go," Lorenzo said hoarsely, voice muffled, one hand pressed to her mouth. "Please. Just go."
Marie hesitated, tears blurring her vision. She could see him trembling violently, could see something was terribly, horribly wrong.
"Lorenzo, you're hurt—let me—"
"*Leave!*"
The command came out harsh, desperate, raw with something that made Marie's heart stutter not quite a growl, not quite human.
Marie flinched.
She saw his shoulders heaving, saw the way he wouldn't—couldn't—look at her.
"Please," Lorenzo whispered, and the word sounded broken. "Please, Marie. Go."
Marie's throat closed. Tears streamed freely down her face.
She didn't understand. Didn't understand the blood or the trembling or the way he looked like he was fighting something invisible and losing.
But she understood the plea in his voice.
She nodded once, small, broken, devastated.
"Goodbye, Lorenzo," she whispered.
Then she turned and walked away, every step agony, leaving him standing alone in the moonlight.
She didn't look back.
If she had, she might have seen him collapse to his knees the moment she disappeared from view.
---
As Marie's footsteps faded into the darkness of the garden, Lorenzo sank to the ground.
She pressed her palm hard against her mouth, shaking as the thirst raged through her veins. Her other hand clawed at the stone fountain, nails scraping, trying to ground herself in pain.
She could still smell Marie. Could still hear her heartbeat fading into the distance. Could still taste her own blood where her fangs had pierced her lip.
*Sweet. She would taste so sweet.*
Lorenzo bit down hard on her own hand, fangs sinking deep into flesh, letting her own blood fill her mouth instead.
It didn't help.
It wasn't what she craved.
She had told Marie to forget her.
But she knew now, with terrifying, absolute certainty that she would never forget Marie.
Could never forget.
Because the curse had marked her. Chosen her.
Lorenzo didn't just want Marie.
She didn't just desire her.
She *craved* her.
Her blood. Her life. Her soul.
And that made Marie the most precious, and most dangerous, person in the world.
Because Lorenzo knew, with sick certainty, that if she ever tasted Marie's blood, she would never stop.
She would drain her dry and kill her.
And what worst, she would love every moment of it.