Marie emerged from the library as the sun was setting, drawn by singing and laughter from the training grounds, male voices raised in what sounded like a very improper drinking song.
She found a passing maid. "What's happening?"
The maid smiled knowingly. "The master went hunting, my lady. He brought back game, and now they're roasting it and celebrating. It happens sometimes after a successful hunt."
Marie bit her lower lip, indecision warring across her face.
The maid leaned closer, switching to Italian with a conspiratorial air. "*Gli innamorati non ne hanno mai abbastanza l'uno dell'altra.*" *(Lovers can never get enough of each other.)*She gave Marie an encouraging look. "You should join them, my lady. It would be a kind gesture. And a chance to see the master in his element."
"I don't think—"
"He's been watching for you all evening,"the maid added with a smile. "Every time someone approaches, he looks up hoping it's you."
Heat flooded Marie's cheeks.
Bess, who had been following Marie like a disapproving shadow, immediately objected. "My lady, it is absolutely not proper for you to attend a gathering of soldiers—"
"Bess." Marie's voice was firm. "Please have a suitable outfit prepared for me. Something appropriate for an outdoor gathering but not too formal."
Bess opened her mouth to protest again.
"*Now*, Bess."
Bess closed her mouth, curtsied stiffly, and left.
Marie took a breath, ignoring the flutter of nerves or was it anticipation? in her stomach.
---
Within half an hour, Marie was dressed in a simpler gown, still fine quality, but less formal than her usual attire. The neckline was lower than proper, the fabric clinging to her curves in ways her day dresses didn't. Her hair was arranged more casually, with loose curls framing her face and tumbling down her back.
She looked beautiful. And she knew it.
She walked toward the training grounds, Bess trailing behind with obvious reluctance and muttered prayers.
As Marie entered the firelit circle, all conversation stopped.
The soldiers fell silent as one. They stood and saluted, fists over hearts, the gesture sharp and synchronized.
Lorenzo, who had been drinking deeply from her cup, coughed and nearly choked. Wine dribbled down her chin.
Their eyes met across the fire.
For a moment, neither moved. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension.
Lorenzo stood quickly, wiping her mouth, and bowed.
"My lady." Her voice came out rougher than intended. "Welcome to the training grounds. I hope our merrymaking isn't disturbing you."
Marie stepped closer, into the firelight, and replied in fluent Italian. "*Assolutamente no. In realtà, è così allegro che ho deciso di unirmi.*" *(Absolutely not. In fact, it's so merry that I decided to join.)*
Marcello, who had been lounging near the fire, sat up straight and smirked. "She could speak Italian all along," he murmured to Lorenzo. "How cunning of her."
"Shut up," Lorenzo muttered back.
She quickly ordered an additional chair and glass to be brought. Marie was seated beside Lorenzo, close enough that their knees almost touched and wine was poured.
The silence that followed was thick with awkwardness. The men didn't know whether to resume their revelry or maintain formal decorum in the presence of their lady.
Lorenzo cleared her throat. "You didn't have to do this."
Marie arched an eyebrow, taking a sip of wine. "Do you want me to leave?"
"*No!*" Lorenzo said too quickly, almost desperately. She waved her hand in a placating gesture. "I'm glad you're here. Truly. It's just... these gatherings can get rowdy sometimes. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."
Marie's lips curved into a small smile. "Nothing compares to the parties my brother Philip used to have. I've seen rowdy, Your Highness. This is positively civilized."
Lorenzo chuckled, relaxing slightly. "I was caught up in one of those once. I regretted it immediately. But it was part of my plan at the time."
Marie turned to her, genuinely curious. "What plan?"
Lorenzo met her gaze directly. "A plan to see you. To get to know you better." A pause. "To make you notice me."
Marie felt heat rise in her cheeks. She took a hasty sip of wine. "That's... in the past."
"Is it?"Lorenzo's voice was soft but intense.
Marie didn't answer. Couldn't.
The soldiers, sensing the mood had lightened, gradually resumed their singing and drinking. The meat was carved and distributed. Someone told a filthy joke, and raucous laughter followed.
Marie found herself relaxing, the wine warming her from within, the easy camaraderie of the men infectious.
She even laughed when Marcello told an outrageous story about Lorenzo getting lost during her first military campaign and ending up in a brothel by accident.
"It was an honest mistake!" Lorenzo protested, face flushed with wine and embarrassment.
"You stayed for three hours!" Marcello shot back.
"I was being polite!"
The men roared with laughter.
Then, when there was a lull in the conversation, Marie turned to Lorenzo and asked abruptly, "Why didn't you take me last night?"
Lorenzo nearly dropped her wine cup.
Marcello, who was close enough to hear, suddenly found something very interesting to look at on the other side of the fire.
Marie continued, voice low but intense, leaning closer so only Lorenzo could hear. "I threw myself at you. You would have been justified,...expected, even. So why didn't you... finish?"
Lorenzo set down her cup very carefully. She stood and offered Marie her hand. "Walk with me."
It wasn't a request.
Marie hesitated for only a heartbeat, then placed her hand in Lorenzo's.
The contact sent electricity up her arm.
---
**THE GARDEN CONFRONTATION**
They walked in silence through the moonlit garden paths. The sounds of the party faded behind them.
Lorenzo spoke first, voice deliberately casual. "I'm pleased with what you've done with the gardens. The roses will be beautiful in spring."
Marie stopped abruptly. "*Stop.*"
Lorenzo turned.
"Stop beating around the bush and answer my question." Marie's voice shook with emotion she couldn't name. "Yesterday you could have done everything. Anything. And it would have been... accepted. Expected. So why did you only—"She couldn't finish, face burning.
"Why did I pleasure you without taking my own?" Lorenzo asked softly.
Marie nodded. And to her horror, tears began spilling down her cheeks. "I don't understand you. I don't understand any of this! You ravaged me! You took everything from me! And then you—you—"
She began hitting Lorenzo's chest, not hard, but with the desperation of someone who needed an outlet for overwhelming emotion.
Lorenzo caught Marie's wrists gently but firmly and pulled her deeper into the garden, away from any possibility of being overheard. When they reached a secluded alcove surrounded by tall hedges, Lorenzo pinned Marie against the stone wall.
And kissed her.
Hard. Claiming. Desperate.
It was meant to calm her, to quiet her sobs.
But Marie bit Lorenzo's lip, hard enough to draw blood.
Lorenzo winced, then slowly licked the blood from her own lip. From Marie's. The taste was intoxicating, Marie's sweetness mixed with copper.
Marie looked away, voice breaking. "I guess now you want to collect what you're owed. Fine. Do as you please. I consent to it."
"*No.*" Lorenzo's voice was fierce.
She cupped Marie's face with both hands, forcing her to meet her eyes. "I could have taken you last night. I could have put you through the same hell as our first night—pinned you down, spread your legs, and claimed what I wanted. But you would have hated me even more. You would have cursed me with every breath."
Lorenzo kissed Marie's cheeks, tasting the salt of her tears. When she spoke again, her voice was raw with honesty.
"I want you to fall in love with me again. I want you to want me as much as I want you, and God, Marie, I want us to work so badly it's killing me." Lorenzo's hands slid to Marie's hips, pressing where she had scratched Marie the night before.
A wave of heat shot straight to Marie's core. She gasped.
"Yesterday I was weak,"Lorenzo continued, voice dropping lower. "I should have left the room. I *tried* to. But my legs wouldn't move. And all I could think about was tasting you."
Lorenzo leaned closer, breathing in Marie's scent, jasmine and rose and something uniquely, maddeningly *her*.
"I was starving, Marie. And you smelled so sweet. So I told myself I'd just taste you once. Just once. To satisfy the craving."
Marie shivered, pushing weakly at Lorenzo's chest. "That's... that's so filthy."
Lorenzo's lips brushed Marie's ear as she switched to Italian. "*La tua fica aveva un sapore più dolce di tutto il vino che abbia mai bevuto.*" *(Your pussy tasted sweeter than all the wine I've ever tasted.)*
Marie's breath caught.
"*E quando sei venuta sulla mia lingua,*" Lorenzo continued, voice like sin, "*ho pensato che sarei morta felice se quello fosse l'ultimo sapore che avessi mai conosciuto.*" *(And when you came on my tongue, I thought I would die happy if that was the last taste I ever knew.)*
Marie shoved Lorenzo back, face scarlet. "We should—we need to go back!"
Lorenzo caught her wrist, pulling her back against him. She could feel Marie's racing pulse beneath her fingers. "Did you enjoy yourself last night? Tell me the truth."
Marie could feel the hard bulge pressing against her belly through their clothes. Could feel Lorenzo's heart hammering beneath her palms. She felt exposed, vulnerable, seen in ways that terrified her.
"We should go back," she whispered. "I don't want to become the talk of the castle."
But she didn't move. Didn't pull away.
Lorenzo's hand slid up to cup Marie's face, thumb brushing her lower lip. "One day," she said softly, "you'll stop running from this. From us."
"There is no 'us,'" Marie protested weakly.
She released Marie and stepped back, giving her space.
Marie pulled free and walked quickly back toward the firelight, heart pounding, body aching with needs she didn't want to acknowledge.
*Patience,* she told herself. *Give her time.*
But patience had never been her virtue.
-