Marie woke sore and aching. Her body bore the marks of the night before—bruises on her hips where Lorenzo had gripped her, faint scratches on her back from the rough sheets, marks on her neck, tenderness between her thighs.
The English maids came to prepare her bath, and their eyes widened when they saw the marks as Marie changed behind the screen.
"Sweet Mary," one of them whispered, not quite quietly enough. "Look at her hips—those bruises—"
"I heard the screaming last night," another maid murmured, her voice a mixture of horror and fascination. "It went on for ages. The poor thing."
"How big do you think he is?" a younger maid asked, her eyes wide with morbid curiosity. "To make her scream like that?"
"Must be enormous,"the first maid replied. "Italian men, you know. They say they are built differently."
"But what does he do to her?" the younger one pressed. "I mean, to leave marks like that? Is he... is he cruel in bed?"
"Men of power often are," another said with false sympathy. "They take what they want, how they want it. The poor lady probably has no say in the matter."
"Do you think he forces her?" one whispered. "I mean, she must hate it, to be used so roughly—"
"I would die if my husband treated me that way,"another declared, though her voice carried more curiosity than concern. "What kind of awful things must he do—"
Marie stood perfectly still behind the screen, her hands clenched into fists, listening to them dissect her private life with their feigned concern and prurient interest.
"Enough!" Bess's voice cut through the whispers like a whip. "All of you English girls, out! Now!"
The English maids startled, looking guilty, but they scurried from the room, still whispering to each other.
Bess turned to the Italian maids who had remained silent throughout. "You, please stay.*
The Italian maids nodded and continued preparing the bath with quiet efficiency.
Marie emerged from behind the screen, and the Italian maids' eyes took in the marks with professional calm—no judgment, no shock, just gentle understanding.
As they helped Marie into the water, one of them disappeared for a moment and returned with small pots of balm. "Per i lividi, Madonna," she said softly, showing Marie the ointment. *(For the bruises, my lady.)*
They applied the balm with gentle hands to Marie's hips, her thighs, anywhere the marks showed.
"Il padrone vi ama molto," one of the older maids said quietly in Italian as she worked. *(The master loves you very much.)*
Marie's throat tightened.
Another maid added, "Gli uomini italiani possono essere rudi, Madonna. Ma significa amore. Passione." *(Italian men can be rough, my lady. But it means love. Passion.)*
Marie closed her eyes, tears threatening. These women, who barely knew her, who had no reason to defend Lorenzo, were trying to comfort her. Trying to make her see it differently.
She did not know if they were right. But their kindness was more than she had received from anyone else in this house.
"Grazie,"she whispered.
***
Breakfast
Marie was dressed in a high-necked gown of deep green, her hair arranged perfectly, every mark hidden. She looked composed, regal, untouchable.
As she approached the dining hall, Lorenzo was waiting at the doors, dressed formally in a deep blue coat with gold embroidery.
Without a word, Lorenzo extended her hand.
Marie leaned in close, her voice low and venomous. "I am going to make your life a living hell. You have ruined mine. I will return the favor every single day for the rest of our lives."
Lorenzo's jaw tightened. She sighed—a sound of acceptance. "I know. And I will love you still."
Marie's eyes flashed with fury, but she placed her hand in Lorenzo's.
Together, they walked into the dining hall.
Every head turned. Thomas sat at the head of the table. Philip beside him. Ann in her finery, looking like a queen. Matthew watching with calculating eyes.
Lorenzo pulled out Marie's chair. Marie sat. Lorenzo took the seat beside her.
Servants brought food, and for a moment, there was only the sound of silverware on china.
Then Ann's voice, sweet as poison: "You look well this morning, sister. Though you must be exhausted. We heard you had quite an... energetic evening."
Philip choked on his wine. Thomas looked uncomfortable but said nothing.
Marie's expression did not change. She simply took a sip of her tea.
Matthew leaned back in his chair with a smirk. "Indeed. Your lover laboured you quite thoroughly, from what we all heard. Tell me, sister, does the Italian live up to his reputation? They say Mediterranean men are rather... gifted in certain departments."
Ann tittered behind her hand. "Matthew, really—"
"I am merely concerned for my cousin's wellbeing," Matthew continued, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "After all, those sounds—one might have thought you were being tortured. Or perhaps—" His smile widened. "—very thoroughly pleasured. It is so hard to tell the difference sometimes, is it not?"
"That is enough," Philip said weakly, but Matthew ignored him.
"I wonder,"Matthew mused, "does he take you in the Italian fashion? I have heard they prefer—"
Lorenzo's hand came down on the table—not a slam, but a single, deliberate motion that made every glass rattle and cut Matthew off mid-sentence.
The room fell into absolute silence.
"Enough,"Lorenzo said, her voice quiet but carrying the weight of command that had led armies. "Lady Marie is not your kin anymore. She is mine. My wife. She has risen in stature far above this table, and you will show her the respect she is due."
Matthew opened his mouth to retort, but the look in Lorenzo's eyes made him close it again.
Thomas cleared his throat. "Your Highness, Forgive him. He meant no offense, he has always been vulgar—"
"Did he not?" Lorenzo's eyes were cold. She turned to Thomas. "From this moment forward, I will be limiting access to my wife. No more random visitors.
Your Highness, surely that is excessive. It is good for our family if people can bring her gifts, can seek her favor—"
"I will not have my wife paraded like a prize," Lorenzo said flatly.
Marie's voice cut in, lazy and bored. "Dear husband, I agree with my father. It is the least I can do to honor your name and my family's reputation."
She leaned closer to Lorenzo, her voice dropping to a whisper only Lorenzo could hear: "What is the point of having a trophy whore if you hide her?"
Lorenzo's jaw clenched, but her voice remained steady and loud enough for all to hear. "I will not allow it. And that is final."
Matthew stood abruptly. "You do not get to decide for the Boleyns. You are a guest in this house—a foreign interloper who has defiled one of our own."
Lorenzo turned to look at him, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop.
"Am I?" Lorenzo said quietly. "A guest?" She stood slowly, her full height and presence suddenly filling the space. "I am not the one trapped here with you. You are trapped here with me."
The threat in her words was unmistakable.
"My soldiers hold the garrison on your property. My men patrol your grounds. I am not some visiting nobleman you can dismiss when convenient."Lorenzo's voice was soft, deadly. "I am who has conquered cities, who has led armies, who does not fear to kill when necessary. Wherever my banners fly is my kingdom."
She placed both hands on the table, leaning forward toward Matthew specifically. "So when I say you will watch your filthy tongue when speaking of my wife, I mean it. The next crude comment from your mouth will be your last."
Matthew went pale, sinking back into his seat.
Lorenzo straightened. "And when I say my wife will not be paraded before every ambitious fool seeking favor, I mean it. Only those of appropriate rank will have access. That is final."
The room was dead silent.
Thomas looked pale. Philip would not meet Lorenzo's eyes. Matthew stared at his plate, his earlier bravado completely evaporated.
Even Ann looked unsettled, though she tried to hide it behind her tea cup.
Lorenzo turned to Marie and extended her hand once more.
Marie took it, and they walked toward the door together, every eye following them.
Once they were in the corridor, out of sight, Marie pulled her hand away.
"This is not forgiveness," she whispered. "This is survival. Do not mistake one for the other."
"I would never be so foolish," Lorenzo replied quietly.
Marie walked away toward the gardens, Bess and Pierro falling into step behind her.
Lorenzo stood alone in the corridor, watching her go.
***
Lorenzo made her way toward the space designated for her private meetings, her mind still on Marie's cold words, when she saw him.
William Stamford. Strolling through the castle corridors as though he owned them, as though he had every right to be here.
Lorenzo's hand went instinctively to her sword.
Marcello appeared at her elbow immediately, his voice low and urgent. "Do not do anything that will get us in trouble, Your Highness."
Lorenzo's eyes never left William. "Give me one reason."
"His presence here is sanctioned by the king," Marcello whispered quickly. "I asked around. He is part of Mathew and Lady Ann's entourage now. The king has appointed him as her permanent advisor, now that she has become a duchess."
Lorenzo's jaw clenched. "I do not give a damn. Even if he was appointed by the Pope himself, I will not let him get a step closer to Marie."
William had noticed them now. He stopped, smirked arrogantly, and bowed. "Your Highness. I must apologize for yesterday. I forgot myself and dwelt in melancholy." His smile widened. "The heart-to-heart conversation I had with your wife made me lighter."
Lorenzo's voice was dangerously calm. "I am happy she clarified everything and you could get closure."
William slowly licked his lower lip, his eyes challenging. "After tasting wine, it is hard for a young man to desire water."
The meaning was clear. Marie was the wine. Everything else—everyone else—was water.
Lorenzo took a step forward, her eyes beginning to shift—the edges tinged with red.
William bowed again and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Lorenzo's eyes were fully red now, the bloodlust rising with her fury. "Make sure every step he takes is monitored," she said through gritted teeth.
"Already done,"Marcello said quietly. "I have someone on him."
Lorenzo closed her eyes, breathing deeply, forcing the red to recede. When she opened them again, they were blue once more, but the rage still simmered beneath.
***
Marie sat in the gardens, a book in her lap, but her mind kept drifting to what had happened at breakfast. The fury in Lorenzo's eyes when Matthew spoke. The way Lorenzo had defended her, threatened her own family for Marie's honor.
It had touched something in her. Made her feel... protected.
She quickly pushed those sympathetic thoughts away. She could not afford to soften toward Lorenzo. Not now.
"You look,"said Ann's voice from somewhere behind her, "like a woman trying very hard not to think about something she is absolutely thinking about."
Marie startled.
Ann appeared around the hedge, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, carrying two cups of something steaming.
She held one out with the air of someone offering a peace treaty.
"Spiced wine," Ann said, settling herself beside Marie without invitation. "I had the kitchen make it at seven in the morning. Don't judge me."
Marie took the cup.
Ann studied her profile with the focused attention of someone cataloguing damage. "You threw him out," Ann said.
"Yes."
"In the middle of the night."
"Yes."
"You have won yourself quite a husband," Anne's voice said amused
"That man will never be my husband," Marie said flatly. "He is my captor."
"I am simply noting," Ann said with tremendous dignity, her eyes bright with laughter she was visibly suppressing, "that for a woman who claims to hate the man, you have developed a remarkably sophisticated method of expressing it."
Marie turned to glare at her
"It is not funny," Marie said.
"It is a little funny."
Anne looked at her sister, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Come now. I heard it all last night. It was all theatrics, certainly, but there were times I swore you seemed to enjoy whatever was being done to you."
Marie frowned and stood up, ready to leave.
Ann grabbed her hand. "Come on, baby sister. Tell me the truth or not. Just talk to me."
"He remained afterward," Marie said quietly. "He always—after—he does not leave immediately. He stays."She shifted slightly on the bench. "Last night he had his face in my neck and I could feel him breathing and I thought no one has ever—"She stopped.
"Wanted you that much," Ann finished, gentle now.
Marie said nothing.
Ann looked at her for a long moment. Then she reached over and topped up Marie's cup.
"Right," she said. "So what you are telling me is that your terrible, lying, honour-stealing husband " She paused. "Is also catastrophically devoted to you in a way that is actively inconvenient for you. And why"
"When you say it like that"
"How would you prefer I say it?"
Marie then said anxiously "I promise you, I will make his life a living hell. Every day. Every moment we share."
"I guess that complicates your mastermind plan. The problem," Ann said, swirling her wine with the gravity of a philosopher, "is not that he doesn't love you. Even I can see that, and I am not especially fond of him. The problem is that you know he loves you, and you love him, and none of that changes the fact that he has genuinely wronged you." She looked at her sister steadily. "Both things are true, Marie. He has behaved abominably and he adores you past reason. You are allowed to be furious and still feel what you feel."
Then she looked at her sister seriously. "Does he often finish inside you?"
Marie flinched. "Why is everyone so interested in whether he is satisfied or not? Yes, he gets his fill."
Ann frowned. "You should worry about that. Given the frequency of your... intercourse, he might get you pregnant."
Marie blushed, her mind suddenly racing.
"I know,"Marie said finally. Very quietly.
"And?"
"And..." Marie looked down at her hands. "I have always loved children." The words came out slowly, like she was confessing something. "I would love any child so completely that I think I would—" She stopped. Started again. "I think I would forget to stay angry."
Ann said nothing. Just watched.
"He would be a good father,"Marie said, almost inaudibly. Then, with sudden force, as if correcting herself: "Probably. I don't know. It doesn't matter. The point is—" She straightened. "The point is I cannot be pregnant. I need to not be pregnant. What do I do?"
Ann noticed the look on Marie's face. "At least he is clearly not bad at giving you pleasure, hmm?"She studied Marie's expression. "By your face... is he that good of a lover? Perhaps you were not exaggerating those sounds. How big is he?"
Marie frowned. "He is not cruel in bed. He is very careful with me. Even when he is not being gentle, if that makes sense. He is always paying attention"
Then she bit her lip." Ann... please...Help me, do you know ways to avoid pregnancies?"
Ann smiled and leaned closer, speaking in low tones. She explained various methods—herbs, timing, withdrawal, pessaries made of wool soaked in vinegar, silphium if one could find it.
Marie listened carefully, her face growing more troubled with each suggestion.
When Ann was done, Marie made a face. "Abortion is clearly not an option."
Ann raised an eyebrow. "Then find a way to get him off of you fast. Keep your encounters sloppy and rare."
Marie bit her lip, blushing deeply. "He gets aroused easily. It is almost like he is hard all the time"
Ann laughed. " The fearsome Italian prince who threatens grown men at breakfast is easily aroused"
Ann went very still. That was not the behaviour of a man simply satisfying lust. That was kind of an obsession.
"Wow," she said softly. "I never thought such a rough character capable of tenderness."
"It is not tenderness,"Marie said sharply, perhaps too sharply. "It is control."
"Is it?"Ann studied her sister's face. "Or are you afraid it might be something more?"
Marie stood abruptly. "Whatever else it is... I do not want it"
Ann leaned back, genuinely surprised. Her sweet, obedient little sister—speaking with such venom, such determination. "My, my. Look at you. All grown up and vindictive." She tilted her head. "Let me guess—you have absolutely no idea how to accomplish this revenge?"
Marie sat back down slowly, her shoulders sagging. She began fidgeting with the embroidery on her dress.
Ann's smile turned calculating. "Coincidentally, William is still here. He attends to me now, as you know." She paused, letting the words sink in. "A man who was once promised to you. A man who still looks at you as though you hung the moon. It would be so easy to use him. Make Lorenzo watch. And Go... Insane with Jealousy.
"No!" The word burst from Marie before she could stop it. Then, quieter, " I tried that. Lorenzo just—" She stopped, biting her lip.
"He what?" Ann pressed, leaning forward.
Marie's voice was barely audible. "Took it out on me. In bed. And I..." She swallowed hard. "I do not wish to become too accustomed to him."
"Accustomed to rough treatment?"Ann asked carefully.
"Accustomed to the way he makes me feel," Marie corrected, and there was something raw in her voice. "It becomes easy to lose oneself under him. To forget who you are. What he has done. To just..."She trailed off, her hands trembling slightly. "To just want more."
Ann looked at her sister with something between sympathy and fascination. This was not the Marie she knew. This was a woman at war with herself—caught between righteous fury and treacherous desire.
"You are in love with him," Ann said. Not a question. An observation.
"I hate him," Marie insisted, but the words lacked conviction.
"You can do both, you know." Ann reached out and took Marie's hand. "I do. With Henry. Every day I hate him a little more even as I..." She did not finish the sentence.
They sat in silence for a moment, two sisters trapped in different cages.
Marie broke down in tears, sinking back onto the bench and into her sister's arms. "I am sorry I ever believed what he said. I almost fell for his lies and started hating my own family."
Ann looked guilty—she knew exactly what Marie was talking about—but she simply said, "What lie has he fabricated to justify this impunity?"
Marie told Ann everything she knew. About the king's plan to make Marie his mistress by marrying her off to William
Ann felt even more guilty listening to this truth—because it was the truth. She had indeed become a duchess because of that scheme. But she had to play along. "What a disgusting lie,"she said.
"Well then," Ann said finally, forcing brightness into her voice. "Since neither of us can escape our prisons, we might as well make the best of it. Let us celebrate while we are all together. Have some fun. Drink too much wine. Pretend we are still just the Boleyn girls, before kings and princes came to complicate everything."
Ann patted her knee. "For what it is worth...never, not once, Henry has ever made love to me like that." A beat. "Frankly. He is extraordinarily bad at it for a man of such... enthusiasm."
Marie laughed despite herself—a short, surprised sound—and immediately tried to stop. "There she is," Ann said softly.
Marie nodded, grateful for the moment, the laughter, though her mind was already elsewhere. Back in that room. Back in Lorenzo's arms. The way Lorenzo's breath had felt against her neck when "he" whispered "mine." The way Lorenzo had looked at her during breakfast—possessive, protective, desperate.
Her hand moved unconsciously to the ring on her finger, turning it slowly.
Ann noticed. She noticed everything. But she simply squeezed Marie's hand and said nothing.
Some truths were too dangerous to speak aloud.