Outside the room stood Pierro.
Unlike Roberto's rigid military posture, Pierro always seemed easier somehow.
Less formal.
Less intimidating.
The moment he saw her, his face brightened.
"My Lady."
Marie smiled back before she realised she was doing it.
"Good morning, Pierro."
He bowed.
"I hope Your Ladyship rested well."
"I did."
"And yourself?"
Pierro shrugged.
"I am a soldier."
"I have slept in mud, snow and once inside an abandoned stable."
He smiled.
"The royal castle is considerably more comfortable."
Marie laughed softly.
"I imagine it is."
They made their way together toward the Queen's quarters, and Marie found herself relaxing in Pierro's presence in a way she could not relax with Lorenzo.
She did not understand why.
And she was determined not to think about it.
They crossed the palace galleries together.
Heads turned immediately.
Whispers followed.
"So that is Lady Boleyn..."
"She is not nearly as beautiful as they say. A ginger? How common. I do not see what all the fuss is about."
"Too curvy.
"Too many freckles."
Another voice answered almost immediately.
"Are you blind?"
"She is stunning despite what they say. What a treasure to claim."
"Look at her."
"Now I understand why Prince Lorenzo crossed the sea."
"She looks like something from a painting."
A few younger noblemen stared openly.
Marie pretended not to hear.
Pierro heard every word.
His expression hardened.
His hand drifted unconsciously toward the sword at his hip intimidating them.
"My Lady?"
Marie looked up.
"They are only talking."
Pierro nodded once.
"They would do well to remember whom they are discussing."
Together they reached the Queen's apartments.
The chamberlain announced them.
Marie entered.
When they reached the Queen's quarters, Marie sank into a deep curtsy—deeper than necessary, because she understood the politics of her position. She was Lorenzo's wife, yes, but she had been introduced to court by her maiden name, stripped of the title that should have been hers.
She was, in the court's eyes, nothing more than a provincial noblewoman who had been forced into marriage.
The Queen rose gracefully, studying Marie with an expression that was difficult to read.
"Rise,"the Queen said in Italian, her accent perfectly refined. Her voice was warm, almost kind. "Sei a tuo agio? Il castello può essere abbastanza freddo." (Are you comfortable? The castle can be quite cold.)
Marie obeyed. She had remembered her Italian at last.
The Queen smiled kindly.
Marie straightened, a slight blush coloring her cheeks.
"Sto bene, Vostra Maestà. Mio marito si assicura che non mi manchi nulla." (I am well, Your Majesty. My husband makes certain I lack for nothing.)
A knowing smile crossed the Queen's face.
"Con un uomo affascinante come il Principe Lorenzo, nemmeno io sentirei freddo."(With a man as charming as Prince Lorenzo caring for me, I do not think I would feel cold either.)
Marie smiled politely.
The undertone was unmistakable. The longing. The familiarity. The suggestion of something more than a queen's polite interest in a prince.
Marie felt heat rise in her chest, Absolute Irritation.
Anne entered.
She looked paler than usual, her beauty somehow diminished by her pallor. She moved with the confidence of someone accustomed to power, flanked by her own ladies-in-waiting, barely acknowledging the Queen's presence with a perfunctory bow.
The Queen's expression hardened fractionally.
Anne's eyes found Marie's, and the two sisters exchanged a look that was decidedly cold. There was no warmth there, no sisterly affection. Only the weight of betrayal, of conspiracy, of words spoken in darkness about using Marie as a pawn.
Anne approached and kissed Marie's cheek in greeting, but it was a gesture devoid of genuine affection.
"Welcome, sister," Anne said softly, but her voice carried an edge. "I trust your journey was not too arduous?"
"It was adequate," Marie replied coolly, pulling back slightly. "I am sure you know all about it"
Anne's expression flickered—a moment of discomfort quickly masked.
The Queen watched this exchange with obvious interest, clearly noting the tension between the sisters.
The Queen rose with effortless grace, the heavy skirts of her crimson gown whispering over polished stone.
"Come," she said warmly. "Walk with me."
Immediately the ladies fell into place.
Anne moved to the Queen's right.
Marie naturally took the left, though she remained half a pace behind, uncertain of her place.
The remaining ladies followed in pairs, careful not to interrupt unless spoken to.
The Queen noticed.
"You needn't look so frightened, Lady Marie."
Marie smiled apologetically.
"I fear I still do not know the customs of Your Majesty's household."
"You will."
The Queen's voice carried neither impatience nor superiority.
"Every court has its own dance."
"We simply learn the steps."
They crossed into a long gallery lined with Flemish tapestries depicting battles and saints.
Sunlight spilled through stained-glass windows, casting pools of ruby and sapphire across the floor.
The Queen slowed before one depicting Saint George.
"I often come here."
She smiled faintly.
"It reminds me that enemies rarely appear as they are."
Marie followed her gaze.
"They usually wear gowns."
The Queen looked sideways at Anne.
There was the faintest hint of amusement.
"You learn quickly."
Anne said nothing.
Her expression remained perfectly composed.
One would never have guessed the two women walking beside one another were sisters.
The distance between them was colder than winter.
Eventually they entered the Queen's private solar.
It was larger than the great audience chambers.
The Queen then said, breaking the moment. "Let us take tea together. I find that the afternoon light in my solar is particularly lovely."
The Queen motioned for everyone to sit.
Anne lowered herself elegantly into her accustomed chair.
Marie hesitated until one of the older ladies quietly indicated the seat beside Her Majesty.
The Queen noticed everything.
"You may sit here."
Marie inclined her head.
"Thank you, Your Majesty."
Porcelain cups were distributed.
Silver spoons chimed softly.
For several minutes conversation revolved around harmless matters.
Marie spoke only when addressed.
She listened far more than she contributed.
The Queen seemed pleased by that.
Anne, however, watched everything.
Every word exchanged between Marie and the Queen.
Finally the Queen set her cup down.
"Lady Marie."
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"I have heard you enjoy reading."
Marie's face brightened almost imperceptibly.
"I do."
"So do I."
The Queen gestured toward a cabinet.
"I have several manuscripts recently translated from Italian."
"I should like your opinion."
Marie blinked.
"My opinion?"
"I value honest conversation."
A tiny smile touched the Queen's lips.
"It is in rather short supply here."
A ripple of restrained laughter moved through the ladies.
Even Marie smiled.
Anne did not.
Anne lifted her cup with elegance as she said.
"Your Majesty has always appreciated scholars. Some of them are nothing but Utopian dreamers."
"I prefer them for their pure, uncorrupted intelligent company," the Queen replied evenly.
The words were gentle.
The meaning was unmistakable.
Anne's smile tightened.
The atmosphere cooled by several degrees.
Nothing spoken in this room was ever merely conversation.
The Queen turned back toward Marie as though nothing had happened.
"I understand Prince Lorenzo ensured you continued your education after your marriage."
Marie nodded.
"He has always encouraged me to read and I do have tutors."
The Queen smiled.
"He has excellent judgment."
Anne finally spoke.
"His Highness appears remarkably devoted."
The words sounded complimentary.
They were not.
Marie looked toward her sister.
"He has shown me every kindness."
The Queen smiled, a real smile this time.
She agreed. "Tell me, do you miss your husband? I imagine it must be difficult to be separated from him for the morning and afternoon."
Marie felt her cheeks warm at the question.
"I..." she began, then paused, choosing her words carefully. "We are still learning each other. The separation is perhaps not unwelcome at times."
Anne made a soft sound that might have been amusement, clearly enjoying Marie's obvious discomfort.
But the Queen simply nodded with understanding.
"That is wise," the Queen said, and there was something knowing in her expression. "A marriage requires balance. Distance and closeness both have their place."
Anne studied her carefully.
"I'm pleased to hear that given the way he claimed you."
Marie almost dropped her cup.
"Lorenzo is fortunate to have found you," the Queen said, and there was something almost wistful in her tone. "He carries so much weight, so many responsibilities. A good wife can ease that burden considerably."
The Queen allowed precisely three seconds of silence before changing the subject.
She was skilled.
Far more skilled than Marie had imagined.
The Queen was positioning herself as Marie's ally, clearly to irritate Anne. But there was also more than genuine interest there.
Far across the palace...
Lorenzo was not listening.
She should have been.
The Privy Council chamber echoed with discussions of tariffs, shipping routes and border disputes.
Maps covered the great oak table.
Ambassadors debated.
Secretaries scratched hurried notes with quills.
Yet Lorenzo's eyes remained fixed upon nothing.
Had Marie eaten?
Had Anne already spoken to her?
Was she frightened?
Would she ask for her?
Marcello noticed her distraction immediately. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow—a silent question.
Lorenzo made a subtle gesture with her head, then looked meaningfully toward the door.
Marcello understood. He excused himself quietly and left the room, heading toward the Queen's quarters to check on Marie.
Lorenzo hated every second she was separated from her.
"...Your Grace?"
The King's voice cut through her thoughts.
Lorenzo looked up immediately.
"My King."
Henry smiled pleasantly.
"How is your promise doing?"
The emphasis on Promise instead of wife was deliberate and an insult.
"My dear, Lady Marie," he continued almost casually. "Is she comfortable within my castle?"
Lorenzo answered without hesitation.
"She is adjusting well, Your Majesty."
She laid back her chair pushing it back a little facing the king directly and relaxing. Showing power and no fear. almost breaking protocol in presence of the king.
"My wife is of noble birth. She has lived among courts her entire life. Though the journey here was exhausting, she possesses enough grace and education to adapt wherever duty requires."
Henry nodded thoughtfully noticing how the table had turned.
"I see."
His eyes lingered on Lorenzo.
"So the two of you are... enjoying marital happiness."
There was warmth in his smile.
None whatsoever in his eyes.
"I should hope," Henry continued, swirling the wine inside his goblet, "that such happiness lasts."
Silence settled over the chamber.
Neither of them looked away. The psychological arm wrestling still going strong.
Every councillor suddenly found enormous interest in the maps before them.
No one was foolish enough to interrupt.
Moments later, the door opened again.
William Stamford entered, and the King's entire demeanor shifted. He brightened, his attention snapping away from the documents and toward this new arrival.
A herald struck the floor with his staff.
"Lord William Stamford."
Henry's face brightened.
"William!"
The nobleman strode confidently into the chamber before dropping to one knee.
"My King."
He then inclined his head respectfully toward Lorenzo.
"Your Highness."
"You have returned sooner than expected," Henry observed.
"My journey became... eventful."
A shadow crossed William's features.
"Matthew Boleyn is dead."
Silence settled over the council.
Henry slowly rose as if he did not already know.
"What happened?"
William kept his eyes lowered.
"Our company was attacked in the forest."
"There were signs of extraordinary violence."
He pretended to hesitate, his eyes fixed on Lorenzo, barely concealing hatred.
"We believe some savage beast descended upon them."
"Matthew never had the opportunity to defend himself."
Henry's jaw tightened.
his eyes shifted toward Lorenzo.
"What a tragedy."
His voice remained perfectly calm.
"A dangerous beast roaming my kingdom."
"It slaughtered one of my finest commanders."
"It would seem such a creature cannot be allowed to live."
The room fell unnaturally quiet.
There it was. The threat. The accusation disguised as concern for his realm.
They knew. Or at least, they suspected.
Every councillor sensed the current flowing beneath the King's words.
Lorenzo met Henry's gaze without flinching. She had enough of this comedy but was willing to play along.
"I quite agree, Your Majesty."
Henry smiled.
Barely.
"It should be hunted."
"It should."
Lorenzo folded her hands calmly before her.
"If it assists Your Majesty, I am prepared to lend several companies of my own men."
"They camped not far from the site."
"They may have observed tracks or signs overlooked in the confusion."
Henry watched her for several seconds.
Searching for the smallest crack.
He found none.
"Most generous."
Henry finally turned back toward William.
"You must inform Lady Anne of her cousin's death."
He paused.
"And Lady Marie as well."
Lorenzo rose immediately.
"If Your Majesty permits..."
Henry looked toward her.
"My wife has endured considerable hardship these past weeks."
"I believe the news would be easier borne if delivered by me."
Henry regarded her thoughtfully.
For one heartbeat...
Two...
Then he smiled again.
"A devoted husband."
"Commendable."
He gestured toward the empty chair.
"But unnecessary."
His tone remained pleasant.
"We have affairs of kingdoms before us."
"Surely Prince Lorenzo understands that duty sometimes requires us to place our personal concerns aside."
A pause.
William was already turning toward the doors.
Henry added without looking away from Lorenzo,
"Lord Stamford will attend to the ladies."
Lorenzo's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against the carved arm of her chair.
"...Of course, Your Majesty."
She resumed her seat.
Outwardly composed.
Inwardly...
every instinct told her to leave the chamber.
Instead she remained exactly where protocol demanded.
Watching William disappear through the doors.
Knowing that this was just another trick up the king's sleeve.