Marie received the first letter two days later along with a small packet of flower seeds. She laughed softly as she held them, recalling how Lorenzo had remembered her love for flowers.
Her reply was equally playful: a letter adorned with dead roses petals, with a note that made him chuckle in ways his guards had never seen before.
Lorenzo's next gift was audacious: The Prince by Machiavelli, the original edition, leather-bound and formidable. Marie raised an eyebrow, smirking as she penned her response. She sent back the same book, adding little comments in the margins, mocking, and clever enough to make him grin at every page.
Whispers spread like wildfire through the city. Courtiers and merchants alike gossiped about the mysterious exchange between the foreign prince and the Boleyn girl.
Even the king found himself listening at court gossips, a vicious curiosity twinkling in the eyes. He wanted to put down this haughty prince that dares stand up to him in court.
Weeks later, Henry VIII announced he would stay on Boleyn land during his countryside tour. That would also coincide with Anne official entry in court as lady-in-waiting. Gossips had that the king wanted to accompany her himself. This was unofficial, scandalous business.
To humiliate further Lorenzo, a prince of the empire on an official mission, he ordered him to join his convoy. A prince or a political pawn. Lorenzo was at the king's mercy until his brother secured an alliance.
The carriage doors opened at the Boleyn estate. The king emerged first, radiant, his gaze immediately seeking Anne with a wolfish grin.
"Lady Anne," Henry said, voice dripping with delight, "the countryside grows lovelier each time I visit… fascinating, is it not?"
Anne curtsied with flawless grace. Then Henry's gaze slid to Marie, lingered on her cleavage.
"And here," he murmured, "is a blossom I had not appreciated fully at court."
Marie felt heat climb her neck. She disliked how his eyes roamed over her. She disliked the sense of being touched with eyes that way
Henry leaned slightly toward Anne, loud enough for Marie to hear. "If the little one grows as quickly as you did… I may have to visit more often."
Marie stiffened.
Anne's jaw tightened. Lorenzo dismounted his horse with effortless skill.
Before the silence could thicken.
He bowed smoothly to the king and then to Marie, placing himself between her and Henry's hungry gaze without seeming confrontational.
"Your Majesty," Lorenzo said softly, "the gardens here are famed across Europe. I was hoping Lady Marie might show them to me."
The king blinked, then chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. "Yes, yes, go admire the flowers. The adults will talk business."
Marie exhaled in relief. Lorenzo offered his arm, not in a way that trapped her. His posture asked permission. She accepted.
They moved beneath a shaded arch of climbing roses. Marie hesitated, then whispered, without looking at him: "I do not wish to marry. I feel unsafe around men. Their eyes… their hands… always greedy. Always wanting. Even the king looks at me as if I am something to take."
A tear slid down her cheek before she could hide it. Lorenzo did not move closer. He simply stood still, offering space, offering silence instead of pressure.
"Marie," he said finally, voice low and warm, "I would never want to be another pair of greedy hands in your life."
She looked up, surprised. He held her gaze, steady and sincere.
"You have my heart for your sorrows, and my sword to protect you," Lorenzo continued. "I hope to be a friend to you."
Her breath caught. No man had ever spoken to her like that.
"Lorenzo…" she whispered.
He smiled, small, calm, gentle. "You may trust me. But even if you cannot… I will wait."
"If I were ever forced to choose a husband, I would simply pick you, Signor Lorenzo. At least then I would know I would not be defiled, reduced to an object of pleasure."
Her tone teased, but the tightness beneath it betrayed the truth.
Lorenzo stopped. Slowly. As though the movement required thought. He turned toward her, expression unreadable beneath those dark, straight brows.
"Lady Marie," he said quietly, "I am not a man anyone should marry."
His voice was soft but carried a weight she felt in her bones.
" My life is… unsettled. My duties, constant. I have no talent for offering a woman peace. You would grow unhappy with me."
Marie scoffed too quickly. "Nonsense."
His eyes narrowed slightly, amused. "Is it?"
"Yes," she said firmly, lifting her chin. "You are calm. And patient. You listen. You do not boast, prance, or stare at a woman as if she were… meat."
Her cheeks warmed, but she pushed through.
"Most men look at me as though they've already undressed me in their thoughts." She glanced at him pointedly. "You never have."
A flicker crossed his face so brief she almost doubted she'd seen it.
"Marie," he murmured, stepping close enough for her to feel his warmth, "do not mistake restraint for lack of interest."
Her breath caught.
"I look at you exactly as you deserve to be looked at. With respect. With care." His gaze lowered for a heartbeat, her mouth, her throat, then returned to her eyes. "But never with greed. And never without permission."
Marie's pulse raced. For a moment she forgot every word she had memorized, every rule of propriety drilled into her. She swallowed. "And still you claim you are not marriage material?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Especially because of that."
Before she could press him further,
Before she could even breathe properly, a firm voice cut through the garden.
"Your Highness."
One of Lorenzo's guards stood at the edge of the path, helm tucked under his arm, posture stiff with urgency. Clearly summoned only when necessary.
Lorenzo's expression hardened. The softness he had allowed moments before folded away with military precision.
He inclined his head toward the guard.
"I am needed?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Very well."
He turned back to Marie but this time the controlled composure of a prince had returned.
Only his eyes gave him away, lingering on her longer than protocol allowed.
"Forgive me, Lady Marie. Duty is rarely courteous."
Marie forced a small smile. "Do not worry. I imagine duty listens to no one."
"That," he said gently, "is the truest and cruellest thing you've said to me today."
Marie bowed, not a courtly flourish, but a quiet, sincere gesture of submission meant only for him.