Lorenzo giggled. "What? You are late already. Your menses have not appeared this month."
Marie freed herself with a hard shove. "What are you, a truffle pig? How would you know such things?"
Lorenzo laughed. It was true, she could smell when Marie had her menses, could hear her heartbeat from miles away, all because of the curse. But Marie need not know...yet.
"No, I am more like a bloodhound. Your maids report to me regularly. I have been roughing you up rather too much lately, so I fear I might have hurt you. I had them sharing details of your health with my physician."
Marie grimaced and climbed off Lorenzo's lap. Her mind raced with panic.
She still believed Lorenzo was a man—one who had lied to possess her, who had invented an elaborate story about the King trying to marry her to William, about the Boleyns conspiring against her. Marie believed none of it. But she loved him anyway, foolishly hoping time would bring repentance.
They had lain together frequently. Very frequently. She had already considered the possibility and had noticed when her menses failed to come this month.
What if she truly was with child?
The shame cut through her.
She would travel to Italy with her belly swollen. Even carrying Lorenzo's child—and it would be his—it would ruin her utterly. By the time they could wed, she would be visibly pregnant.
Lorenzo had four months of duty at the English court as ambassador. Four interminable months before they could even leave for Italy to marry properly. If pregnant now, she would be unmistakably showing by then. The scandal. The whispers. The obliteration of what little reputation remained to her.
Lorenzo saw the panic flooding Marie's face and moved toward her. Marie raised her hand sharply.
"Leave. Please. Just leave."
Lorenzo froze, hurt naked on her face. Then she grabbed her trousers, yanked on her shirt, and walked out. The door closed with terrible bang.
This constant push and pull from Marie was becoming unbearable.
---
Marie moved through her day like a ghost. She barely touched food. Spoke only when spoken to.
When she rode with Ann that afternoon, sweat soaked through her riding outfit despite the cool air. Her face was pale as death.
"Are you alright?" Ann asked, frowning. Marie nodded, but the lie was obvious.
They dismounted near a grove. Marie reached for the pommel to steady herself. Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled. She fainted.
Pierro lunged and caught her before she hit the ground, terror stark on his young face. "We need to Get her help NOW!" Ann screamed. "Let's go back! Hurry!"
They raced back to the castle, Marie unconscious in Pierro's arms. He carried her as if she might shatter. She was taken straight to her chambers. Pierro ran to find Lorenzo.
Lorenzo sat with Marcello in the study, bent over a chessboard. Pierro barged in looking pale.
"Pierro, my boy, come watch how easily I am beating your master," Marcello said with a grin, moving his bishop.
Lorenzo looked up as Pierro suddenly spoke rapidly, his face white as a sheet.
"*Padrone, Lady Marie è svenuta. Ho chiamato il dottore, è con lei adesso.*" *(Master, Lady Marie has fainted. I called the doctor, he is with her now.)*
Lorenzo's chair clattered backward as she stood. She ran. Impossibly fast, a blur that made Pierro's eyes widen. She covered the distance in under a minute.
Marcello followed at a sprint but could not match her inhuman speed. Outside the chamber, Thomas and the entire Boleyn family had gathered.
Ann was explaining in a trembling voice how Marie had looked deathly pale, drenched in sweat, clearly suffering. The physician emerged.
Lorenzo grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise. "*Che cosa sta succedendo a mia moglie?*" *(What is wrong with my wife?)*
The physician raised his hands. "Your Highness, please, let us not panic—"
Lorenzo was already pushing past him. The physician tried to block her but might as well have tried stopping a charging bull. He could barely budge her. The man was large and he was a member of the garrison, trained and strong, yet Lorenzo moved him aside effortlessly.
She had clearly been holding back her true strength in training.
Matthew stepped forward, voice dripping false concern. "She shall recover, Your Highness. But a husband has no place during examination and treatment. It brings bad luck."
English custom granted husbands little access when wives were sick. A man would not be allowed in until physicians knew whether the illness was contagious or life-threatening.
Matthew's voice turned nasty. "Besides, maybe she is suffering because of you. The way you labor her so roughly—"
The implication was clear and vulgar. They thought Lorenzo bedded Marie like she was some common whore.
Lorenzo turned on him. Her fist connected with his face before he could finish. She kept hitting him. Again. Again. Matthew went down. Lorenzo followed, her blows raining down with murderous intent.
The Boleyn family watched in horror.
They could see the desire to kill in every punch, Lorenzo was not just disciplining Matthew, she meant to end him. When Matthew tried to fight back, Lorenzo caught his fist mid-swing and wrenched his arm with such vicious force that his shoulder dislocated with an audible crack. Matthew's scream was cut short by another blow to his face.
Philip stood paralyzed with terror, unable to move or speak.
Thomas froze entirely, his face drained of all color.
Lady Boleyn looked appalled, one hand pressed to her mouth.
Ann, however, seemed almost... entertained. A small smile played at her lips. There was something appealing about Lorenzo in this state—all barely-restrained violence and protective fury.
Pierro tried to intervene but was thrown aside like he weighed nothing.
Marcello arrived and physically hauled Lorenzo backward, wrapping both arms around her. "Stop! Let the physician work! You cannot help her like this!"
The physician knelt beside Matthew immediately. The man was unconscious, his face a ruin of split skin and darkening bruises, his arm hanging at an unnatural angle. He looked like he had been trampled by a horse.
Hours later, when Matthew finally stirred, he was surrounded by the Boleyns. Thomas stared at him in shock—that he could wake after such a ferocious attack seemed impossible.
Matthew spat blood and broken teeth. His jaw hung at an odd angle.
Through grotesquely swollen eyes, he thought he had seen something impossible during the beating. Did his eyes turn red?
Must have been blood in his own vision. A trick of pain.
Lorenzo returned some time later, completely transformed. The blood-stained clothes had been replaced by her black coat and trousers, her sword secured at her hip. She looked composed, but the atmosphere was decidedly awkward.
Everyone bowed as she approached.
Lorenzo gestured for them to stop. "Please. Rise."
Ann stepped forward, her expression unusually honest. "That was long overdue. I am surprised you waited so long before your fist found his jaw."
Lorenzo looked at her silently.
"Marie is fierce. She shall be fine."Ann paused, choosing her words carefully. "I love the way you love her. Even if you think the worst of us—even if you believe we conspired against you—all we have ever done is try to protect our family."
Lorenzo held her gaze for a long moment, then bowed before withdrawing to sit alone, waiting for the physician to emerge.
After what felt like hours, the physician emerged.
"She is out of danger," he said carefully, reading the violence still simmering in Lorenzo's posture. "It appears to be stress."
He gestured for Lorenzo to follow to a private alcove.
Once alone, the physician bowed low. "Your Highness... I do not know how to say this."
Lorenzo waited, every muscle locked tight.
"At first, I thought poison."
Lorenzo's eyes flashed dangerously. Marcello, who had followed, placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"Continue," Marcello said quietly.
"But after examining her... she has been taking abortifacient herbs."
Marcello's eyes widened.
Lorenzo's voice came out deadly soft. "Explain."
The man swallowed hard. "Her menses were delayed. Given how often you... lie together, I was certain she might be with child. Someone—or Her Highness herself—has been consuming a potent abortifacient. Since she was not actually carrying a child, the herbs just poisoned her and stopped her menses entirely."
Silence fell like a hammer.
Marcello broke it gently. "Could she have taken it without knowing? Could someone have given it to her in secret?"
The physician shook his head. "Highly unlikely, my lord. The infusion has an extremely bitter, pungent taste. Nearly impossible to drink without knowing."
Something shattered in Lorenzo's chest.
The world tilted beneath her feet. She pressed her fist against the stone wall to stay upright.
When she spoke, her voice was hollow. "This goes no further. Understood?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
The physician paled and bowed deeply. "You have my oath, Your Highness."
Lorenzo turned and walked away.
Marcello watched her go, heart breaking for his prince.