Lorenzo left the palace as the sun was setting, casting everything in shades of blood and gold.
She'd pushed hard to get here sailing through rough seas, riding through the night. The guards recognized her immediately and sent word ahead. By the time she reached the main hall, King Henry was there, conducting his final bit of business before departing for tomorrow's wedding.
Henry's eyes widened slightly when he saw Lorenzo.
This wasn't the quiet, composed prince who'd left England nearly a year ago.
This was something sharper. More dangerous. Battle-hardened in a way that couldn't be faked.
"Prince Lorenzo,"Henry said, recovering quickly. "What an... unexpected pleasure."
"Your Majesty." Lorenzo bowed with perfect propriety. "Forgive the intrusion. I've only just returned from campaign."
"So I've heard." Henry gestured for wine to be brought. "Galicia, wasn't it? Rumor has it you crushed a French incursion quite... thoroughly."They sat, and servants poured wine into goblets.
Lorenzo drank, letting Henry take his measure.
"The rumors are accurate," Lorenzo said. "We captured the French king's nephew and secured a complete withdrawal from Italian territories. A peace agreement has been signed." Henry's eyes sharpened. This was significant.
"A peace agreement? Terms?"
"Favorable to Italy," Lorenzo said carefully. "France has agreed to cease all territorial ambitions in our region indefinitely. Trade agreements were established. Borders confirmed."
Henry leaned forward, political instincts firing. This was exactly the kind of intelligence England needed. If France was pulling back from Italy, it changed the entire European power balance.
"Fascinating,"he murmured. "And you came all this way to...?"
"I heard Lady Marie Boleyn is to be married," Lorenzo said, voice carefully neutral. "She was kind to me during my last visit. I wished to offer my congratulations in person."
Henry studied her face, looking for something. Finding it, perhaps the careful control, the tension beneath the surface. A slow smile spread across his face. Oh, this was delicious. The Italian prince had feelings for little Marie. And he'd arrived just in time to watch her marry someone else.
"How... thoughtful," Henry said. "The wedding is tomorrow, actually. At the Boleyn estate. I'm leaving at dawn." He paused, making a show of considering. "You must join me. I insist. We can discuss this peace agreement in more detail during the journey."
It was a trap, of course. Keep Lorenzo close. Extract information. Watch him suffer. And Lorenzo knew it. But she smiled and inclined her head. "Your Majesty is most gracious. I would be honored." "
Excellent."Henry raised his goblet. "To old friends and new beginnings."
Lorenzo raised hers, meeting his eyes. "To promises kept."They drank the wine
--- **THE JOURNEY TO THE WEDDING**
The journey to the Boleyn estate took most of the next day. Lorenzo rode beside the king's carriage, part of the royal procession. Henry had insisted on her presence inside the carriage for part of the journey, ostensibly to discuss politics.
Really, to watch her squirm. "Tell me, Prince Lorenzo," Henry said as the countryside rolled past, "what brings a victorious commander to a simple country wedding? Surely you have more pressing concerns."
"Lady Marie showed me great kindness. However, I have also grown fond of your kingdom"Lorenzo said carefully.
"I see" Henry repeated, smile sharp. "Kindness right. Marriage. Every young girl's dream." The words dripped with false sincerity. Lorenzo's jaw tightened imperceptibly.
"Indeed, Your Majesty."
"You know," Henry continued, swirling wine in his goblet, "William Stanford is a fine man.Educated. Kind. He'll treat her well."
"I'm sure he will."
"Of course, marriage is just the beginning. There are... expectations. Duties." Henry's smile widened. "But I'm sure they'll navigate those together." Lorenzo's hands clenched on her knees, hidden by her coat.
Henry saw it. His smile grew. They rode in tense silence after that, the air between them thick with unspoken threats and careful diplomacy.
Lorenzo tried not to think about what she was riding toward. *Marie in a wedding dress. Marie saying vows. Marie becoming someone else's wife.* Her fangs ached. The transformation pressed against her control, begging to be released. She breathed through it. Focused on staying human. Staying controlled.
*Just get there. See her. Tell her... what? That you were wrong? That you've come to ruin her wedding? That you love her and damn the consequences?* Lorenzo didn't have answers. She only knew she had to see Marie one more time. Even if it destroyed them both.
The royal convoy rolled through the countryside in a procession of wealth and power. King Henry rode in the lead carriage, Anne Boleyn seated beside him, a public declaration that made its own statement.
She looked radiant in deep crimson, laughing at something the king said, playing her role perfectly.
Lorenzo rode on horseback with the honor guard, maintaining the appearance of diplomatic escort. But her eyes scanned the approaching estate with military precision, cataloging exits, vulnerabilities, faces.
*She's here. Somewhere in that house, Marie is preparing to marry another man.*
The thought made her fangs ache beneath her gums. She breathed carefully, maintaining control.
As they approached the main gate, the Boleyn family assembled to greet their king, Thomas and Gilbert in their finest, Philip looking every inch the courtier, Matthew in his new captain's uniform standing rigid with barely concealed pride.
And there, slightly behind the others, stood William Stamford and Marie. Lorenzo's heart stopped.
Marie wore pale blue, her ginger curls partially pinned but escaping in soft tendrils around her face. She looked beautiful. Ethereal. And utterly miserable.
Their eyes met across the courtyard. For one breathless moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them. Lorenzo saw Marie's composure crack, shock flashing across her face, followed by something that looked like hope, then quickly shuttered behind a mask of careful neutrality.
Marie's lips parted as if to speak.
Then she looked away, deliberately, painfully.
The rejection hit Lorenzo like a physical blow.
The Boleyns bowed low as Henry descended from the carriage, Anne gracefully taking his offered arm. Lorenzo dismounted, and immediately the Boleyns, all except the king's party, bowed to her as protocol demanded.
She was a prince of the blood, second only to emperors and kings. All except Matthew. He stood straight, chin lifted, hand resting on his new sword. The insult was deliberate and public.
Marcello stiffened beside Lorenzo, hand moving toward his blade. The Italian guards noticed, their postures shifting subtly into readiness. Lorenzo raised one hand slightly, a command to stand down.
She walked directly to Matthew, each step measured, until she stood close enough that only he could hear her words.
"Captain," she said quietly, voice carrying the weight of something ancient and tired. "Do you truly believe a title makes us equals?"
Matthew's jaw clenched. "I am Captain of the King's Guard. You are a prince. By rank—" "I have seen horrors," Lorenzo interrupted, her voice dropping lower, "that I would not wish upon even someone as miserable as you."
She leaned in slightly, and Matthew made the mistake of meeting her eyes. What he saw there made his blood turn to ice.
For a moment, just a heartbeat, he didn't see a prince. He saw something else. Something that had walked through fields of death. Eyes that had watched men die by the hundreds. Hands that had ended lives without hesitation. And underneath it all, something darker. Something that whispered of screams he couldn't quite hear but somehow felt, the echoes of all those Lorenzo had killed, their final moments trapped in those winter-blue eyes.
Matthew stumbled back a step, face draining of color. Lorenzo's expression didn't change. She simply walked past him. Matthew bowed. Deeply. Instinctively. He couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.