His voice was soft but carried weight she felt in her bones.
"My life is unsettled. My duties constant. I have no talent for offering peace to a woman. You'd grow unhappy with me."
Marie scoffed, too quickly. "Nonsense."
His eyes narrowed slightly, amused. "Is it?"
"Yes." She lifted her chin firmly. "You're calm. Patient. You listen. You don't boast, prance, or stare at women like they're meat."Her cheeks warmed but she pushed through. "Most men look at me like 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, "don't 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. She forgot every rule of propriety drilled into her.
She swallowed. "And still you claim you're not marriage material?"
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Especially because of that."
Before she could press further, before she could even breathe properly,
"Your Highness."
One of Lorenzo's guards stood at the path's edge. Helm tucked under his arm. Posture stiff with urgency.
Lorenzo's expression hardened instantly. The softness folded away with military precision.
He inclined his head toward the guard. "I'm needed?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Very well."
He turned back to Marie but the controlled prince had returned. Only his eyes gave him away, lingering longer than protocol allowed.
"Forgive me, Lady Marie. Duty is rarely courteous."
Marie forced a small smile. "I imagine duty listens to no one."
"That's the truest and cruelest thing you've said to me today."
Marie bowed, not a courtly flourish, but a quiet, sincere gesture of submission meant only for him.
Lorenzo walked in silence to the stone corridor leading to his temporary council chambers. His two guards followed, exchanging looks.
Finally, the younger spoke.
"Your Highness... forgive us. We didn't wish to interrupt."Careful pause. "The English girl, Lady Marie, she seems fond of you."
Lorenzo's jaw locked.
"That's none of your concern. I've known you since childhood. Press me again and I'll hang you myself."
He didn't raise his voice.
Both guards scratched their heads, sheepish.
"You need a drink, boss,"one muttered.
They reached the yard where Lorenzo's guards trained. The moment they saw him, they snapped to attention. One cocky rookie grinned, tried to challenge him.
Lorenzo pinned him to the ground with a swift, effortless throw.
Laughter erupted. The rookie lay stunned, having clearly messed around and found out.
They loved him. Respected him.
They reached his temporary office door. One guard opened it. Lorenzo stepped inside.
His adviser, old Marcello, was already there. Hands tucked in sleeves. Eyes sharp despite his years.
"You met the Boleyn girl again."No preamble. "Beautiful. Gentle. Unscarred by court venom. A good match, Highness. Perhaps the best you could hope for."
Lorenzo stopped mid-stride. Turned slowly. Eyes narrowing.
"A match?"
Marcello approached. "Yes. You're of age. England seeks alliances. A wife of good reputation and soft temperament would benefit your claim immensely."
Lorenzo's jaw clenched until it ached.
"Marcello. Enough."
"It's natural you should consider her."
"There's nothing natural about it."Snapped but edged with pain only those closest heard. "Marie Boleyn is innocent. Sweet. She deserves marriage that gives her joy."
"It would give you standing."
Lorenzo shook his head. Let out a tired, humorless laugh. "You know what kind of husband I'd be."
His voice softened, trembling with truth rather than weakness.
"I'm not made for the kind of love she dreams of. I can't give it. Not to her. Not to any woman."
For the first time, Marcello's expression shifted. Understanding. Reluctant respect.
"A wife would expect... duties."
" I'd deliver her. But never will she bear a child."
Silence thickened. Heavy with everything unsaid.
"A prince can offer her everything. Status. Wealth. Protection."
"You know what I am."Lorenzo's voice dropped. "What I must pretend to be to protect our empire."
She swallowed.
"I am a woman," she whispered. "And no title, no crown, will ever change that."
"You're our rightful leader."Marcello snapped, frustrated. "You gave up the throne so your cousin could rule and avoid further bloodshed."
Lorenzo grabbed his collar.
"That's treason. Stop talking."
Marcello sighed, years pressing through his breath. Ran a hand through Lorenzo's thick black hair with rare tenderness.
Marcello sighed, the weight of years pressing through his breath, and ran a hand through Lorenzo's thick black hair with a tenderness he rarely allowed himself.
"It is all right, kiddo," he murmured. "I am sorry." His voice faltered, then steadied. "From the moment you were born, this life was pressed onto you. You never chose it. You grew up with blood on your hands and a crown hanging just out of reach. If your grandfather had not exchanged the babies, had not stolen your birthright and forced you into a man's skin to shield your cousin, you might have been our queen." A sad smile flickered. "A fair one. A brave one."
He searched Lorenzo's face, as if committing it to memory. "And there is more. The curse, when it takes hold, we cannot say. But the signs are there. Your strength has doubled. It will not stop."
Marcello swallowed. "Hang me if you must. I will stand by every word. You never complained. You endured. But you deserve something that is yours." His gaze softened. "Marie does not leave you indifferent. Do not deny it. Think of it, just once. It may be a blessing disguised as danger." He hesitated, then added quietly, "And you know the truth of your heart. You do not love men. All your lovers have been women."
Lorenzo's grip loosened. She turned away, shoulders rigid, breath measured as if holding herself together by force alone.
"Leave me,"she said, barely above a whisper.
Marcello bowed his head and obeyed.
Lorenzo's grip loosened. She turned away, shoulders rigid, breath measured like she was holding herself together by force alone.
"Leave me,"she said. Barely above a whisper.
Marcello bowed his head. Before he left, he said:
"Enjoy your life. Fall in love. Live fully before the Sforza curse robs you of it. She might be able to carry that burden with you."