William made his way through the corridors of Henry's castle, his footsteps echoing against stone walls. But with each step, the whispers followed. It was a tide of gossip that seemed to swell and multiply as courtiers caught sight of him heading toward the Queen's solar.
"...Lord Stamford..."
"...Perhaps Prince Lorenzo cannot satisfy his English bride after all."
"...Or perhaps this was always the plan."
"...He finally found a way to reach her."
A lady covered her smile behind a painted fan.
Two young noblemen laughed openly.
"I told you the marriage would never hold."
"They say she cried the entire journey."
"Poor thing."
"I hear she never wanted the Italian prince in the first place."
Another voice joined.
"Why else would Stamford be wandering toward the Queen's solar?"
"Surely not to admire embroidery."
Soft laughter rippled through the corridor.
William kept walking.
His jaw remained composed.
His expression as cocky as ever
But every whispered word served exactly the purpose someone had intended.
Inside the Queen's solar, the atmosphere could not have contrasted more.
Sunlight poured through tall leaded windows, bathing the chamber in warm gold.
The room overlooked the royal gardens, where peacocks wandered freely among sculpted hedges.
Silken cushions surrounded carved walnut chairs.
Rare birds chirped inside gilded cages imported from Venice.
Small monkeys climbed polished perches while a magnificent white falcon rested calmly upon its stand near the window.
Queen Catherine moved gracefully among her ladies.
Every movement she made carried effortless dignity.
She paused occasionally to inspect a rare flower, ask after a lady's family, or compliment a piece of embroidery.
Unlike Henry's court, hers moved with quiet order.
Marie found herself relaxing.
Only a little.
The Queen had an extraordinary gift.
She made people feel seen.
Never overwhelmed.
Never judged.
"These birds were a gift from Venice,"Catherine explained, her Spanish accent soft and elegant. "Their colours remind me of home."
Marie smiled politely.
"They're beautiful, Your Majesty."
"I find England rather grey sometimes."
"It can be."Marie giggled innocently
Catherine smiled.
"Come."
"There are new citrus trees from Sicily I should like you to see."
Three women beautiful in entirely different ways.
Every courtier who saw them paused.
It looked almost like a painting.
Until—
The doors opened.
Every conversation stopped.
William Stamford entered.
Behind him followed the echoes of the gossip he'd carried through half the palace.
Even ladies inside the solar exchanged uncertain glances.
The Queen had seen the court's reaction, had heard the whispers that preceded William into this room, had understood immediately what this looked like, a betrothed couple reuniting, a threat to anybody associating themselves with Marie because of the potential scandal waiting to explode.
William approached with perfect etiquette.
He knelt first before Queen Catherine.
"Your Majesty."
He rose.
Turned.
Bowed respectfully to Anne.
"My Lady."
Finally...
He bowed to Marie, making sure his eyes lingered on her openly.
"My Lady...Marie."
Marie acknowledged him with only the smallest inclination of her head.
Nothing more.
She refused to feed the rumours.
William straightened.
His expression became solemn.
"Your Majesty,"William said formally, addressing the Queen. "I come to you with a heart heavy with sad news for the Boleyn sisters."
The Queen's expression remained composed, though something flickered in her eyes—irritation, perhaps, at the way this situation was unfolding.
"Lord William," the Queen replied, her tone now perfectly formal, stripped of the warmth she had shown Marie moments before. "Please do share the news."
"On our way to the castle,"William said, his voice carrying the weight of tragedy, "our convoy was attacked by what we believe to be a savage beast.
Matthew Boleyn—your cousin, Lady Marie—did not survive the encounter. His injuries were catastrophic."
He hesitated.
The physicians could do nothing."
"They believe the attack was carried out by some savage beast."
William continued
"It was...unlike anything any of us had ever witnessed."
Anne inhaled sharply, playing her role beautifully.
The moment the words left his mouth, Marie went very still.
Flashbacks crashed through her mind like a tidal wave.
Every face turned to her somehow.
Marie had gone completely white.
Not pale.
White.
Her breathing shortened.
She wasn't seeing the solar anymore.
She was back in the grove.
Bodies.
Entrails.
Blood.
Screams.
Matthew's eyes bleeding.
Lorenzo—
Her red eyes.
Those terrible fangs.
The sound of flesh tearing.
The smell.
God...
The smell.
William noticed her distress immediately. As Marie began to sway slightly, her balance compromised by shock, he moved forward and he caught her arm, drawing her close to steady her, his hand warm and supportive against her elbow.
"I have you," he murmured, fake concern etched across his features but doing exactly what it needed to do. "You should sit. This news is terrible, and you have had quite a shock."
But to everyone watching—and everyone was watching—it looked like something entirely different.
It looked like the original betrothed couple finding comfort in each other. It looked like proof of the gossip that had preceded William through the corridors. It looked like exactly what the court had been whispering about.
A murmur swept through the room.
"There..."
"I told you..."
"They still love each other..."
"So the rumours were true..."
Anne lowered her eyes.
Hiding a smile.
Exactly as intended.
Queen Catherine stiffened visibly.
Even she understood how disastrous this appeared.
Another voice.
"My Lady."
Marcello.
He arrived with astonishing speed.
He slipped between them with effortless precision, one arm gently supporting Marie while simultaneously creating respectful distance between her and William.
It was so smooth hardly anyone realised what he had done.
William instinctively stepped back.
Marcello bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty."
"I beg your forgiveness."
He looked toward Marie with genuine concern.
"My Lady has not yet recovered from the hardships of our journey."
"The shock appears to have overwhelmed her."
"I ask permission to escort her back to her apartments."
Queen Catherine answered immediately.
"Of course."
Her voice softened.
"The poor child has suffered enough for one morning."
She stepped closer herself, placing a comforting hand against Marie's shoulder.
"Riposate, mia cara."
(Rest, my dear.)
"I shall send one of my physicians later."
Marie swallowed hard.
Still trembling.
She forced herself into a proper curtsy.
"Thank you... Your Majesty."
She could barely speak.
Marcello guided her gently from the chamber.
The journey back through the ambassadorial wing passed in silence.
Marie walked mechanically beside Marcello.
Each breath felt difficult.
The memories refused to leave.
They reached the secure corridor assigned to the Italian delegation.
Two Sforza guards immediately straightened.
"Your Excellency."
Marcello merely nodded.
"No visitors."
"Until His Imperial Highness returns."
"Yes, sir."
Only then—
When the heavy doors closed behind them...
When no English eyes remained...
Marie's legs gave way.
Marcello reached instinctively.
She pushed him back.
"No..."
"Pierro,"she whispered, her voice broken. "I need Pierro. Please."
Marcello understood without explanation. He rose and called for the young soldier, who appeared almost immediately from the adjoining room where Lorenzo's men were gathered.
Pierro took in Marie's state in a single glance—the pale face, the trembling body, the desperate need for comfort and safety—and he moved to her without hesitation.
He sat beside her and drew her close, his strong arms creating a shelter around her fragile frame.
Marie leaned into him, allowing herself to be held
Several minutes passed.
Then hurried footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Lorenzo.
She appeared almost at a run.
Her council cloak hung open.
Several documents were still tucked beneath one arm, forgotten.
Her blue eyes searched frantically.
"Marie?"
The moment she saw her...
She stopped.
Marie sat on the floor.
Her shoulder resting lightly against Pierro's.
Pierro's hand hovered reassuringly near hers.
Marcello turned from where he had been standing guard, assessing the situation.
Something in Lorenzo's chest seemed to stop.
Her eyes flashed red for just a moment before she forced the color back to brown through sheer force of will.
Marcello said quickly, understanding the danger in this moment. "She is in shock. The news about her cousin...she needed a familiar presence. Someone she could trust."
Lorenzo's jaw clenched. She said nothing for a long moment, just stared at the two of them—at the way Pierro's hand was stroking Marie's hair, at the way Marie seemed to fit so perfectly against his chest, at the absolute trust and comfort evident in Marie's body language.
"It is alright,"Lorenzo finally said, her voice carefully controlled, though anyone who knew her could hear the undercurrent of pain beneath the words. "Make sure the other guards do not witness this. Maintain discretion."
She turned and walked out of the chamber without another word, without looking back.
Marcello followed her into the corridor.
"She needs time," he said empathetically. "And you need to remember that Pierro offers something you cannot right now. He offers peace. He offers safety. Do not punish Marie for needing that."