Yet as she clutched her pillow and settled beneath the covers, her mind betrayed her. She remembered the sensation of Lorenzo's tongue in her mouth, the commanding pressure of that kiss.
And she felt it again, that strange warmth between her thighs, that inexplicable ache. She dismissed the thought violently and squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself toward sleep.
On the far side of the room, Lorenzo remained in the chair, the book abandoned in her lap, her jaw tight as she fought against every instinct screaming at her to cross that space and claim what was hers. It was going to be a very long night.
***
Morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, pale and gray. Marie stirred, consciousness returning slowly. For a moment, she forgot where she was and then memory crashed over her like a wave. She opened her eyes and looked around the chamber. Lorenzo was gone.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She was alone. For now, at least, she was alone.
***
A knock sounded at the door.
"My lady?" Bess's voice called softly.
"Enter,"Marie replied, sitting up and pushing her hair from her face. Bess entered, followed by several of the Italian maids. They all curtsied respectfully.
"Your bath is prepared, my lady,"Bess said gently. Marie nodded and allowed them to help her from the bed. The bath was already waiting, steaming and scented once more with lavender. Marie lowered herself into the water, wincing slightly at the soreness that still lingered between her thighs and at her shoulder.
Bess washed her hair with careful hands while the Italian maids prepared her clothing for the day. When the bath was finished, they assisted her in dressing, another fine gown, this one a deep emerald green with cream-colored lace at the sleeves and bodice. Her hair was arranged in the Italian style once more, swept up with pins and ribbons. When she was ready, they led her through the corridors to the dining chamber.
Lorenzo sat at the table, already partaking of breakfast. Marcello sat beside her, the two of them conversing in low voices. When Marie entered, both stood immediately out of courtesy.
Marie curtsied the barest inclination of her head and moved to seat herself at the far end of the long table, as far from Lorenzo as possible. Lorenzo glanced down the length of the table, then gestured to one of the maids. "Portale i suoi piatti laggiù, dove si è seduta," she said. *(Take her plates down there, where she has seated herself.)*
The maid curtsied and hurried to bring Marie's plate, cup, and utensils to where she sat.
Marcello leaned toward Lorenzo and commented in Italian, amusement clear in his voice, "È proprio una rossa con carattere. Hai trovato la tua pari." *(She is truly a redhead with temper. You have found your match.)*
Lorenzo kicked his leg sharply beneath the table. Marcello winced and laughed, rubbing his leg. He turned to Marie with a charming smile. "I am most happy to see you, my lady. Welcome to the family."
Marie smiled at him politely, though her eyes remained cold. "You are too kind, signore." An awkward silence descended upon the table. Servants moved about quietly, pouring tea and setting out bread, cheese, and preserved fruits.
Lorenzo cleared her throat. "Perhaps you would care to tour the estate today," she said carefully. "To oversee its restoration. You may direct the changes as you see fit, to make it more to your taste."
Marie's smile turned sharp and false. "Oh, how delightful. That was the dream of my life, truly. To decorate my prison."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened. "I am glad you are beginning to embrace your wifely duties." Marie set down her teacup with deliberate precision. "I shall be absolutely delighted to show you how happy I am about my duties later. Perhaps with a knife in hand."
Marcello's eyes went wide. "Madre mia!" he exclaimed, standing abruptly. "I must go! I must... yes, I must ensure the soldiers are prepared for the salute to honor the new princess!" He bowed quickly, placed a hand on Lorenzo's shoulder with a look that clearly said *show her who is boss*, and fled the room.
Lorenzo exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just try not to do that in front of my men."
Marie sipped her tea delicately and tilted her head. "Of course. Take me home, and I shall be the picture of docility."
"You know I cannot possibly do that," Lorenzo replied, her voice strained. Marie shrugged. "Well then, I suppose I cannot possibly behave."
Lorenzo's expression shifted, becoming darker, more serious. She leaned forward slightly. "Remember our agreement, Marie. All you do today will be repaid tonight. Keep this up, and I shall not hold back."
A strange thrill shot down Marie's spine. Her breath caught for just a moment. She felt heat bloom in her cheeks and between her thighs, and she hated herself for it. She offered no response. She simply kept silent, turning her attention to her plate. They resumed eating their breakfast in tense, heavy quiet.
***
After breakfast, Lorenzo rose. "Come," she said to Marie. "There is something you must witness."Marie followed reluctantly, Bess trailing behind them. They walked through the corridors until they reached the great hall, a vast stone chamber with high ceilings and banners bearing Lorenzo's coat of arms. Fifty soldiers stood assembled there, all dressed in matching uniforms, dark leather and steel, with a dragon emblem upon their chests. They stood at attention, backs straight, eyes forward. Lorenzo stepped forward and addressed them in Italian, her voice carrying authority through the hall. "Ecco Marie Boleyn," Lorenzo announced. "A partire da ieri, il suo destino e il mio sono legati. Lei è mia moglie. Oggi giurerete tutti fedeltà a lei. Uomini della guarnigione del drago, vi presento..." *(Here is Marie Boleyn . As of yesterday, her fate and mine are bound. She is my wife. You shall all pledge your loyalty to her this day. Men of the dragon garrison, I present to you...)*
Lorenzo extended her hand toward Marie. Marie hesitated, uncertain, then placed her hand in Lorenzo's. Lorenzo's grip was firm, almost possessive. She lifted Marie's hand slightly as she continued. "Lady Marie De Lorenzo Di Sforza, Principessa di Aragona, Padova e Napoli." *(Lady Marie De Lorenzo Di Sforza, Princess of Aragon, Padua, and Napoli.)*
One by one, the soldiers came forward. Each man approached, bowed deeply to Lorenzo first, then turned to Marie and bowed again. In Italian, they recited their vows—to follow Lorenzo's command unto death, and to protect and defend the lady with their lives. Marie stood frozen, overwhelmed by the formality of it all. These men were swearing their lives to her. To her protection. When the last soldier had pledged his oath, Lorenzo released Marie's hand. They walked from the hall in silence, Bess following at a respectful distance.
Finally, Marie spoke. "What did you say to them?" she asked, feigning ignorance of the language. "I did not understand."
Lorenzo glanced at her. "I introduced you as Madonna Maxima. You have become my shadow." She paused.
Marie stopped walking abruptly. "When will this masquerade end?"
Lorenzo turned to face her, her expression hardening. "It is not a masquerade. This is our real life now. The sooner you make peace with that, the better for us both." Marie's voice trembled. "Am I to forget the man I love?"
Lorenzo's jaw clenched. Her teeth ground together audibly. For a moment, she said nothing—her eyes flashing with something dangerous. Then she turned and walked away, her voice tight with barely restrained anger. "You had better forget that coward. And if you wish to hold onto that fantasy, by all means, you do so. But do not expect my sympathy."
Marie stood alone in the corridor, watching Lorenzo's retreating back. She had struck a nerve. She could see it in the rigid set of Lorenzo's shoulders, the stiffness of her gait. ***
Lorenzo strode through the corridors, her hands clenched into fists. She was furious. And worse, she was jealous. The thought of Marie loving William, pining for him, thinking of him, it made Lorenzo's blood boil. It made her want to drag Marie back to that bedchamber and claim her so thoroughly that she would forget any other man had ever existed.
But more than the anger, there was fear. *Does she truly love him?* Lorenzo wondered, the thought twisting like a knife in her chest. *Does she lie awake thinking of him?Wishing it was him beside her instead of me?* It bothered her to her very core.
Marie had struck her where it hurt most.
***
Meanwhile, at the Boleyn Estate Ann lay in the king's bed, her body slick with sweat, her hair disheveled. She straddled Henry, moving her hips in slow, deliberate circles that made him groan with pleasure. His large hands gripped her waist, fingers digging into her soft flesh as she rode him.
She arched her back, rolling her hips in that particular way she knew drove him mad. "God, Ann,"Henry groaned, his voice thick. "Like that—just like that—"She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, and whispered in his ear, "Does Your Majesty approve?"
Henry's answer was a guttural moan as his release took him. He threw his head back, his grip on her waist tightening almost painfully as he spent himself inside her. Ann continued moving through his climax, drawing it out, making it last.
When he finally stilled, breathing hard, he laughed—a deep, satisfied sound. "I cannot believe I spent my entire life without you, Ann Boleyn."
Ann climbed off him gracefully and retrieved a glass of wine from the bedside table.
She took a sip, then turned to face him, one eyebrow arched. "You say such pretty things, Your Majesty. Yet you seem far more interested in my sister than in me."
Henry smiled—that boyish, charming smile that had won him a kingdom. "It has nothing to do with Marie," he said, sitting up. "And everything to do with Lorenzo."
His expression darkened slightly. "Italy depends on him far more than you can imagine. I tried to control him, to bring him to heel. But nothing worked."
He shook his head. "Marie is simply caught in the crossfire."
Ann set down her wine glass and approached the bed. "I understand, Your Majesty. You are a strong and clever man. I do not doubt your wisdom."
She paused. "So what is your plan?"
Henry swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, naked and unashamed. "We shall return to court shortly. And I will determine my next move from there."
He crossed to Ann and, to her surprise, dropped to his knees before her. His hands encircled her waist as he looked up at her with surprising earnestness. "I am all yours, Ann Boleyn,"he said softly. "You have no reason to worry. No reason at all."
Ann smiled, threading her fingers through his hair. But behind her eyes, calculation gleamed. She had him exactly where she wanted him.