The intelligence had come too late.
What they'd thought was a local uprising, disorganized rebels making noise, turned out to be something far more dangerous. French troops. Professional soldiers. Well-armed, well-trained, and led by the French king's nephew, Claude de Valois.
"They're using the rebellion as cover,"Marcello said, studying the maps with growing dread. "This isn't an uprising. It's an invasion."
Lorenzo stood at the war table, jaw tight. "How many?" "Two thousand. Maybe three. judging by their slow progression. Against our thousand. men"
The numbers were catastrophic.
"We can't retreat,"one of her captains said. "They'll take the whole region. Use it as a foothold."
Lorenzo's fingers drummed once against the table. "Then we don't retreat. We go in. Tonight."
"That's suicide—" another captain said
"No."Lorenzo's voice cut like steel. "That's war."That is what I have prepared all of you for."
They struck at midnight.
But this time, there was no clean surgical strike.
No minimal casualties.
No mercy.
This was the winner takes it all type of situation
The battle exploded into chaos within seconds, steel on steel, screams tearing through the darkness, blood turning the ground to mud.
Lorenzo moved through it like a nightmare made flesh.
She'd learned to spare when she could disarm, incapacitate.
But tonight, control was a luxury they couldn't afford.
Tonight, she killed.
A French soldier lunged at her. She drove her blade through his throat, twisted, pulled free. Moved to the next before his body hit the ground.
Another came from the side. She spun, blade flashing. He fell clutching his opened belly.
More came. They always came. She fought with the transformation barely contained beneath her skin, not fully unleashed, but close enough that her movements were too fast, her strength too great, her reflexes inhuman. In the cover of darkness, it was a slaughter, and she was the butcher.
She noticed everything thanks to her enhanced senses. Dodged arrows that should have been impossible to see coming. The ones whose eyes lingered too long on her face. The ones who saw something wrong in how she moved. The ones who would ask questions later, who would wonder, those, she faced head on, she made sure didn't survive to tell the tale. A soldier stared at her, really *looked*, as she cut through three of his companions. His eyes widened with recognition of something unnatural.
She was on him in seconds.
Her blade found his heart before he could speak. It had to be done.
The secret had to be protected. But it didn't make it easier.
Hours blurred together.
The transformation threatened to take her completely, red creeping into the edges of her vision, fangs aching to extend but she held it back through sheer will. *Marie. Think of Marie. Stay human. Stay controlled.*
Then she saw him, Claude de Valois, fighting in the center of his guard, shouting orders. "The nephew," she called to Marcello. "We need him alive."
" You heard the commander keep their leaders alive"
She was already moving. She cut through the French guard like they were paper, too fast, too brutal, not bothering to hide her strength anymore.
She *needed* this to be over. Needed to be away from the blood and death before she lost herself entirely. Claude swung at her with his sword. She caught his wrist mid-strike, squeezed until bones ground together. He screamed. She disarmed him, drove her knee into his gut, and as he doubled over, slammed the pommel of her blade against his skull. He went down.
"Take him," she ordered her soldiers.
They bound him, dragged him away. Lorenzo stood there, breathing hard, covered head to toe in blood and worse. Her clothes were soaked through. Her hands sticky. The smell was overwhelming.
She looked down at herself, at what she'd become, and felt something twist in her chest.
*Would Marie still recognize me like this? Would she look at me with those soft eyes, or would she see the monster?*
Around her, the battle was ending. The French were surrendering or dying. Her soldiers were securing the prisoners, the few she'd allowed to live.
Marcello approached, surveying the carnage. "You did what you had to do."
"I know."
"Then why do you look like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you've lost something."Lorenzo didn't answer. Just turned and walked toward the stream to wash the blood off her hands. But she knew no amount of water would make her feel clean.
THE RETURN TO COURT - ELEVEN MONTHS AFTER DEPARTURE**
The streets of the capital erupted in celebration.
Banners hung from every window. People lined the roads, cheering as the victorious army marched through. Children threw flowers. Women wept with joy. Lorenzo rode at the head of her troops, back straight, face composed. The perfect image of a triumphant commander.
Inside, she felt hollow.
They reached the palace square where Alfonso I, Emperor of all Italy, waited on a raised platform surrounded by court officials and nobility.
Lorenzo dismounted, and her troops fell into formation behind her disciplined, proud, undefeated.
"Kneel," the herald called. As one, the army dropped to one knee.
Alfonso descended from the platform, resplendent in imperial purple and gold. He approached Lorenzo specifically, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Rise, cousin," he said loud enough for the crowd to hear. "You have brought glory to our empire."
Lorenzo stood, and Alfonso embraced her, a calculated public display of favour that made the crowd roar with approval. Then he stepped back and produced a medal from his robes, gold worked with precious stones, the highest military honor.
"For exceptional valor and strategic brilliance,"Alfonso announced, pinning it to Lorenzo's chest, "we honor our champion." The crowd cheered louder.
Lorenzo bowed. "I thank Your Imperial Majesty." Then she turned to her troops. "But this honor belongs to every man who stood with me and has fallen on the battle field. We were a thousand, but we are now only 600. Theses warriors Who fought with me are more deserving than I am. Hail to the Emperor".
Her soldiers erupted in cheers, pounding their fists against their chests. Alfonso smiled, genuinely pleased. "You may ask one request of us,"he said, voice lowering so only Lorenzo could hear. "Anything within our power. To be granted when you choose."
Lorenzo met his eyes. "I will remember, Your Majesty. And I am grateful."
The ceremony continued, speeches, more accolades, political theater.
Lorenzo endured it all, face a mask of composed gratitude. Then Uraca appeared. She glided through the crowd like a serpent through grass, positioning herself beside Lorenzo as the ceremony concluded. Too close. Always too close.
"Welcome home, brother,"she said, voice dripping with false sweetness. She leaned in, lips nearly brushing Lorenzo's ear. "I've missed you terribly." Lorenzo stiffened. "Sister. You look well."
"And you look..."Uraca's eyes traveled deliberately down Lorenzo's body. "Dangerous. War suits you. All that violence, that brutality..." Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "It's quite arousing."
"Uraca." Lorenzo's voice was a warning. But Uraca wasn't finished. She tilted her head, smile turning cruel. "You know, you really should have chosen me. I'm the only one who still waits for you." She paused for effect. "Not like your precious little Boleyn girl." Lorenzo went very still. "What did you say?"
"Oh, didn't you hear? I figure with all that blood in your ears not surprised you know nothing" Uraca's smile widened, vicious and delighted.
"She's being married off. To some nobody named William. A teacher."She laughed, light and mocking. "Though rumor has it that's not the real story. Apparently dear Marie is being groomed to become King Henry's personal mistress. Married off to maintain appearances, then passed to the king's bed like a party favor."
The words hit Lorenzo like arrows. *Married. Marie is being married.* "The wedding is in three weeks," Uraca continued, watching Lorenzo's face avidly for any reaction. "So you see, brother, you waited too long. She's moved on. Found someone suitable."
Her hand touched Lorenzo's arm, possessive. "But I'm still here. I've always been here." Lorenzo couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Couldn't— *Marie. Married. To someone else. In three weeks.*
She pulled away from Uraca without a word, turning blindly toward the palace corridors. "Lorenzo! Time to come to who you rightfully belong" Uraca called after her, but Lorenzo didn't stop. She found Marcello waiting in her private chambers, already knowing something had happened from the look on her face.
"What is it?" he asked immediately.
"She's getting married." Lorenzo's voice sounded strange to her own ears—hollow, distant. "Marie. She's marrying some teacher named William. In three weeks."
Marcello closed his eyes briefly. "I see." I wish her the best "
And it's worse." Lorenzo laughed—a broken, bitter sound. "She's being sold to Henry. The marriage is just... cover. So he can take her as his mistress without scandal.""
Bastardo!!."Marcello rarely cursed. "That explains the urgency."
Lorenzo paced the room like a caged animal. "I told her to move on. I *told* her to forget me. And she did. She *did*."
"Did you mean it?"
"What?"
"When you told her to move on. Did you mean it?"Lorenzo stopped pacing.
"No. God help me, no. I thought I was being noble. Protecting her from—from *this*." She gestured at herself. "From what I am. What I'll become."
Marcello moved closer, voice gentle but firm. "Then you have a choice to make." "What choice? She's—"
"Listen to me."Marcello grabbed Lorenzo's shoulders, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You have two choices in front of you. Only two." Lorenzo went still.
"Choice one,"Marcello said, "you let this pass. Accept it. Bury your feelings and live the rest of your life as Alfonso's war dog. Safe. Obedient. Miserable. Watching from a distance as the woman you love becomes another man's wife and a king's whore." Lorenzo flinched.
"Choice two,"Marcello continued, "you do something about it. Something risky. Something that will have consequences. You go to England. You fight for her. You face whatever hell comes from it—political fallout, Alfonso's anger, a potential war—and you live one hell of an adventure instead of a half-life of regret."
Silence filled the room. "I won't lie to you,"Marcello said quietly. "The second choice could destroy everything. Your position. Your reputation. It could put your troops at risk, strain diplomatic relations, maybe even cost lives."He paused. "But you'd be *living*. Really living. Not just surviving."
"And which would you choose?"Lorenzo asked.
Marcello smiled sadly. "Only you can make this choice." "
But if I choose to go? Then I will follow you to the deep end. Same as always." Marcello's voice was steel wrapped in affection. "Same as I did when you were five years old and barely knew which end of a sword to hold. I've followed you into impossible battles, kiddo. This is just one more."
Lorenzo turned away, staring out the window at the celebrating city below. *Marie in a wedding dress. Marie walking down an aisle. Marie saying vows to someone else. Marie in Henry's bed, being used, being* No.
The word resonated through her entire being. *No.* Without another word, Lorenzo turned and strode toward the throne room. Marcello followed, a knowing smile on his face.
---
Alfonso was still holding court, granting audiences to nobles seeking favor after the victory.
Lorenzo walked straight through the crowd, guards moved aside automatically, recognizing the Emperor's champion and stopped before the throne whispering. "Your Imperial Majesty,"she said, "I would claim my request."
The room went on incapable of hearing what was being said. Alfonso leaned forward, intrigued. "So soon? Speak, cousin."
"I wish to attend Lady Marie Boleyn's wedding in England. I request leave to depart immediately, along with a small honor guard." Alfonso studied Lorenzo's face, reading something there that made his eyes sharpen with understanding and amusement.
"You wish to attend the wedding of your... friend?" He drawled the last word with knowing emphasis.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"To watch her marry a man?"
"Yes."
Alfonso leaned back, smile playing at his lips. "Are you happy torturing yourself, cousin? Is this some new form of penance?"
"Perhaps," Lorenzo said steadily. "But I gave my word I would see her again. And I keep my promises."
The Emperor considered this, clearly entertained by the drama. "Very well. We have no objection. In fact..."
He gestured expansively. "Take whatever guard you require.Consider it an official diplomatic visit. We should maintain good relations with England, especially now." "Thank you, Your Majesty."
As Lorenzo bowed and turned to leave, Alfonso called after her, "Do try not to start a war, cousin. We only just ended one." Lorenzo didn't respond. Just kept walking. She was halfway down the corridor when Uraca appeared, materializing from a side passage like she'd been waiting.
"You could have asked for us to be together!" she hissed, fury making her voice shake. "You had one request, anything you wanted, and you chose *her*?" Lorenzo kept walking. Uraca grabbed her arm. "Answer me!"
Lorenzo moved so fast Uraca didn't see it coming. One moment she was holding Lorenzo's arm. The next, she was pinned against the wall, Lorenzo's hand wrapped around both her wrists, holding them above her head.
Lorenzo's face was inches from hers, voice deadly quiet. "I am your kin. This obsession is wrong and I will not say it again."Her grip tightened just enough to make Uraca gasp. "Let. It. Go."Uraca's eyes blazed with fury, something possessive and bitter. "If it's madness you think it is, fine." Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "But mark my words, Lorenzo, if I can't have you, no one will." Lorenzo released her, stepping back.
"Threaten me all you want. I'm done with this nonsense" She turned and walked away, leaving Uraca seething in the corridor. Marcello was waiting at the end of the hall. "That went well."
"She threatened me." Lorenzo said unfazed
"She's been threatening you for years. Marcello said amused.
Come on. We have a ship to catch." Lorenzo said excitedly feeling more alive than ever.