**WINTER'S DESCENT**
When the first snows began to fall, all the Boleyns returned to the castle for the winter season.
Without surprise, Matthew and William were often seen together on the grounds, their heads bent in conversation, their eyes following Marie whenever she passed.
Ann arrived a little later with her own entourage—a queen in her own respect, though she held no official title. Her clothing was rich, her bearing regal, her servants numerous and well-dressed.
When she met with Marie in the great hall, protocol demanded that Ann bow first. Marie was, after all, married to a prince. Her status was higher.
Ann's curtsy was shallow, barely meeting the requirements of courtesy. Her smile was cold.
Marie, true to her kind nature, immediately stepped forward and embraced her sister. "Ann! I have missed you!"
But Ann remained stiff in her arms, distant. When they pulled apart, Ann's eyes were calculating rather than warm.
"You look well," Ann said. "Italian life agrees with you."
There was something sharp beneath the words, but Marie chose to ignore it.
---
**THE FROZEN GARDEN**
Marie took to sneaking out to the gardens during the days that followed. She would wrap herself in a thick cloak and wander among the frozen roses, looking at the blooms that had been caught mid-flower by the sudden cold, their petals crystallized with ice.
Marcello had learned to let her go alone during these expeditions. Marie had quite the character—fierce, stubborn, independent. He often found himself both impressed and uneasy in the presence of this young woman who refused to be cowed by anyone.
But he made sure Pierro was always nearby, watching from a distance.
---
One afternoon, Marie was lost in thought, staring at a rose that had frozen perfectly—trapped in time, beautiful but dead. Like so many things in her life.
"They are beautiful, even in death."
She turned, startled. William stood there, wrapped in a heavy coat, his breath misting in the cold air. Snow dusted his shoulders.
"Lord Stamford," Marie said carefully, her heart constricting. "I did not hear you approach."
"I did not mean to startle you." He moved closer, and Marie noticed the shadows under his eyes. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping well. "I saw you from the window. I... I hoped we might talk. Alone. As we used to."
Marie glanced around, but Pierro was nowhere to be seen. She knew he was there, watching, but far enough to give her privacy.
"We should not be alone," Marie said softly. "It is not proper."
"Since when do you care about proper?" William's smile was sad. "The Marie I knew would have laughed at such concerns."
He was right. She had changed.
"What do you want, William?"
"I have missed our conversations,"he said, voice thick with emotion. "I have missed... you. The way you would laugh at my terrible jokes. The quiet afternoons and stolen kisses in the library."
Marie's throat tightened. "William—"
"Do you remember?" he continued, stepping closer. "How we would sit for hours, just reading together? How you'd fall asleep with your head on my shoulder and I'd be too afraid to move in case I woke you?"
She did remember. Those had been peaceful days. Safe days.
"That was before," Marie said quietly.
"Before he took you."William's voice cracked. "Before everything changed."
"I am a married woman now, William. Such talk is inappropriate."
"Married?" William's laugh was bitter, almost broken. "Are you? Truly? Or are you just... his? Everyone talks about it, Marie. The whole court. You are not his wife in the eyes of God or the Church. You are his mistress. His—"
"Stop," Marie said, voice shaking.
But William couldn't stop. The words poured out like he'd been holding them back for months. "Do you know what they say? That you are a plaything. Something to be used and discarded. They think you have no honor because he could not even give you the dignity of a proper marriage."
"It is the king's fault! Not his deed," Marie said, but even to her own ears it sounded weak.
"Was It?" William stepped closer, desperation in his eyes. "Or was it a way out his Majesty King Henry created for us?"
Marie wanted to argue. But some part of her—some small, traitorous part—wondered if William was right.
"This union can't be good for you. There are even rumors..." William lowered his voice, and she could hear the pain in it. The jealousy. "That he takes you mercilessly. Without tenderness. Ravaging you as he pleases, treating you like a—"
"Do not finish that sentence,"Marie said sharply. But her hands were shaking.
William grabbed her by the arms—not roughly, but firmly. Desperately. "Run away with me. Please. We could leave tonight. I have money now, land. We could go somewhere no one knows us. Start over."
"William, you are not thinking clearly—"
"I would marry you properly," he continued, words tumbling over each other. "In a church, before God, with all the dignity you deserve. I would give you the honor he denies you. I would treat you with respect, with gentleness. I would—"
"I don't love you,"Marie said, the words harsh but necessary.
William flinched as if she'd struck him. "But you could. In time. You cared for me once. I know you did. I saw it in your eyes, in your smile. We were happy together, Marie. We could be happy again."
"It is not the same—"
"Why? Because he's a prince? Because he's exotic and dangerous?"William's voice grew more desperate. "I can make you happy, Marie. I know I can. Just give me a chance. One chance to prove that I can love you better than he ever could."
Marie looked at him—really looked. She saw genuine pain there. Genuine love, or something close to it. William wasn't trying to manipulate her. He wasn't playing games. He was simply... broken. Grieving for something he'd lost before he ever truly had it.
"Oh, William," she whispered, and her heart ached for him.
"Please,"he said, and there were tears in his eyes now. "Just... consider it. Think about what kind of life you could have. A real marriage. Children who would bear your husband's name without shame. Respect. Honor. Peace."
Marie's own eyes filled with tears.
William stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he leaned forward.
Marie should have stepped back. Should have turned away.
But some part of her—the part that remembered kindness and gentleness and simpler times—froze.
William kissed her.
It was soft. Tender. Achingly familiar. Like coming home to a house you used to live in but no longer belongs to you.
For a moment, just a heartbeat, Marie allowed it. Allowed herself to remember what it felt like to be wanted without danger.
But it felt... empty.
Like kissing a memory. A ghost. Something that should have meant more but didn't.
There was no fire. No electricity. No hunger that made her forget herself.
It was just... a kiss.
Marie pulled back, her hand flying to her lips. Horror crashed over her—not at what had happened, but at how little she'd felt.
"No," she whispered. "William, I'm sorry. I should not have—"
"Did you feel it?" William asked desperately. "Did you feel anything?"
Marie looked at him with tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
The answer was clear in her silence.
William stepped back, his own tears falling now. "I would have given you everything. My name, my devotion, my life. Everything."
"I know," Marie said, voice breaking. "And you deserve someone who can give you the same. But it is not me. It can never be me. My heart belongs to him, William. Even if I wanted to take it back—I cannot."
William nodded slowly, looking utterly defeated.
Marie said sincerely. "You are a good man. You deserve someone who will love you the way you deserve to be loved."
"And what do you deserve, Marie?" William asked quietly. "A man who cannot even marry you? Who keeps you in this limbo between wife and mistress? Is that truly what you want?"
Marie touched the ring on her finger—Lorenzo's ring. Lorenzo's claim.
William looked at her for a long moment, then turned and walked away, his footsteps crunching in the snow.
Marie stood alone in the frozen garden, hand pressed to her lips, and realized with absolute clarity: the kiss had been empty because her heart was already full. There was no room for William, no matter how kind he was. No matter how much easier loving him would have been.
Lorenzo had ruined her for anyone else.
And terrifyingly, Marie didn't regret it.
---
**IN ITALY - LORENZO'S ANXIETY**
Lorenzo stood at the window of her chambers in the Italian palace, staring out at the snow-covered courtyard below. Two months had passed since she'd left Marie in England.
Two months of silence.
No letters. No messages. Nothing.
It had been her own order—communication was to go dark. It was safer that way. Coded messages could be intercepted, decoded. Better to maintain complete silence and trust Marcello to keep Marie safe.
But the silence was eating her alive.
Every day without word made the anxiety worse. Was Marie safe? Was she happy? Was she thinking of Lorenzo, or had distance made her forget?
Worse—was William Stanford making his move?
The thought made Lorenzo's fangs ache. Her hands clenched on the windowsill, nails digging into the stone.
"Your Highness, you will wear a groove in that stone," one of her officers said from the doorway.
Lorenzo didn't turn around. "Is there something you need, Captain?"
"The Emperor requests your presence. He wishes to review the garrison reports."
Lorenzo sighed. More bureaucracy. More delays keeping her from Marie.
But she went, because she had to. Because refusing Alfonso was not an option.
---
The meeting dragged on for hours. Lorenzo presented her work—garrisons reorganized, trade routes secured, checkpoints established. Everything Alfonso had demanded and more.
Alfonso leaned back in his throne, studying her with calculating eyes. "You have exceeded expectations, cousin. The Italian states are more secure than they have been in years."
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
"Which makes us curious..."Alfonso's smile was sharp. "Why do you look like a caged wolf? One might think you are eager to be elsewhere."
Lorenzo kept her expression neutral. "I am simply eager to continue serving the empire in whatever capacity you require...Cousin"
"Liar."Alfonso laughed. "You want to return to England. To your wife."
Lorenzo said nothing. Silence was safer than admitting the desperate need clawing at her insides.
"Very well," Alfonso said, waving his hand dismissively. "Your work here is done. You may return to England early. Consider it a reward for your exceptional service."
Lorenzo's heart leaped. "Your Majesty—"
"But know this," Alfonso interrupted, his voice hardening. "I will call upon you again. Your skills are too valuable to waste on domestic bliss. Do not get too comfortable in England."
"I understand, Cousin. Thank you."
Lorenzo bowed and left before Alfonso could change his mind.
---
**THE PREPARATION**
Lorenzo wasted no time. Within a day, she had assembled a small contingent of her most trusted guards, men who could ride hard and fast, who could fight if necessary, who would keep their mouths shut.
"We leave tonight," Lorenzo told them. "Dead of night. Small group. We ride fast and we ride silent."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Lorenzo returned to her chambers and began packing. Weapons. Clothing. The handkerchief Marie had given her—still carrying the faint scent of jasmine and rose, though it had faded over the months.
She pressed it to her face, breathing in what remained of Marie's scent, and felt the anxiety ease slightly.
*I am coming,*she thought. *Hold on. I am coming.*