such stuff as dreams are made on

What if Lucia and Piero died? Yes, she knew that fear all too well. Truthfully speaking, when it came to her younger siblings, she found it that she was the only one who could truly care for them. Alessandro was a bastard son of a powerful duke, but Ippolita was legitimate daughter - many would seek to corrupt them, to manipulate them and use them, if Bona was not there to protect them and shield them. “Not everyone, Lucia. I would not see them weak or manipulated, and neither would Ippolita, nor Alessandro. Should anything happen to both of you, you have to know that both Livia and Luca would be safe and well cared for in Milan. I would care for them as if they were my own.” She promised, but added with a reassuring smile. “It is the nerves talking. Nothing will happen to you or to Piero.” Her smile softened further as Lucia spoke; “Neither will I. I am most fortunate to have you in my life.” She meant it - she would never do anything to jeopardise her relationship with lady della Rovere.

The fire in her friend’s expression and her voice, set her own soul ablaze with determination. They goals had aligned to perfection, it seemed. Bona had not really thought about taking down the Church head on - she always did things more… subtly. She would simply do everything her own way, without asking for permission or guidance from the holy men. But, now, with Lucia’s words, nay her promise, came a flood of emotions - of resentment towards those who dictated others’ lives as they saw fit. Well… not on her watch. “I want in.” Bona whispered, her dark gaze fixing upon her friend. “You need not do it alone. I will stand by you. Together, we can bring it down to ruin.” There were very few things Lucia and Bona could not do, when paired together. Church was not one of those impossible things. At the mention of France, the lady Sforza snorted; “Oh, they can try. We have already beaten them so many times. It would be foolish of them, and quite frankly embarrassing, to ask for more of it. Our army might not be as enviable as France’s, but our generals are extremely capable and savvy. They would be marching straight into slaughter.” She replied, then arched her eyebrow in question. “You think the winning side might lay with the opposing front? Their armies are… formidable, but do they have the nous to use them properly?”

If anybody would raise her children in accordance with Lucia’s wishes, it was Bona. Anybody else would see them as tools for themselves, tools for the church, anything but what Lucia would raise them to be. “And you know that I would always welcome Ippolita and Alessandro into my home, if it was needed.” Lucia was exactly the sort who would seek to manipulate, to bring others to her way of thinking, or at the very least, to the conclusion she wanted them to get to. She was skilled with that, but she cared too deeply for the Sforza family to allow such things to happen to them, by anybody’s hands. She wasn’t sure if it was nerves, or the harsh reality of the life they had become accustomed to in Switzerland. “Perhaps your father said the same thing. I will not take my chances.” No. Lucia needed everything in perfect alignment, exactly the way she needed it to be to ensure the best for her little family. 

She couldn’t help but laugh, the sound at odds with the atmosphere. For so long, she had dreamed of this alone, kept her plans inside, barely spoke of them even with Piero. He cared for their future, not her mission to write the wrongs of her past. But here was Bona. She understood. She could help. “You know my past Bona. More so that anybody. You will understand why I cannot let sleeping dogs lie.” Everything Lucia was had been broken up and distributed to the highest bidder. “This talk can wait for another day,” she pursed her lips. “France and the Ottomans, winning sides, all of that. What they do will be determined here. We will be vigilant, and we will prevail. In the meantime...” she turned to her friend, a grim sort of glee dancing in her eyes. 

“Would you like to kill a pope?”

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 had been raised catholic as most people in french court were, so she found great comfort in the familiarity and warmth of a chapel despite being so far from home. It was nice to know that there was always somewhere to go, that the changing world left untouched. She smiled softly at the other woman and joined her pew, sitting with her hands on her lap as she looked up at the colorful reflections that the light cast through the stained windows into the empty room. “I suppose I am looking for a sense of familiarity… and connect to loved ones who are long gone,” she answered, not asking for answers per-say but wanting to feel in touch with a semblance of normalcy in Swiss Court. 

𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 at the other woman’s response, Christine shook her head and looked towards the front of the altar, “Perhaps the answers will reveal themselves to you in other ways outside of the chapel… it can’t hurt to ask the questions, right?” she asked, shifting her gaze back to the woman. “I spent so many years hounding the lord for answers that I’m still waiting for… but I’m determined to keep asking with every chance I get.. perhaps eventually he’ll tire of me asking repeatedly and will indulge me with an easier solution,” 

If the woman - French, unless Lucia was mistaken - had spoken of coming for faith, of paying reverence to The Lord, Lucia might have written her off totally. But as it stood, she did not. She spoke of comfort, Lucia supposed. Comfort and remembrance. She could relate to that, in a way that she would never voice out loud. The walls of Lucia Della Rovere were too high for just anybody to scale, and it was rare that she threw a rope down to their aid. No, she was happier this way. She rose to her feet, using bare hands to smooth imaginary wrinkles from her skirts. “Shall we light a candle for your loved ones, My Lady?” She would light none for her own. She didn’t believe in such things. 

“If I am to find answers, I don’t think it will be because the Lord provides them.” A heavy sigh escapes her lips, and she surveys the other with dark, distrusting eyes. “Perhaps you can shed light on the situation, though.” Lucia had judged there to be a certain amount of wisdom in the blonde’s words. “And so my question is this. Are my children safe here in Switzerland, with so much to fear in the unknown? Should I keep them with me, or do I ensure their survival by sending them back to Florence without their mother, when they so rarely leave my side?” She clasped her hands before her, and awaited her response, her expression a mask of patient serenity. 

Frown mars her features as the woman spoke. Helen did have a right to seek justice, but not for the late King, but rather for her mother - she had heard the tale of the late Queen, her brother’s wife, and how it was said that she had been removed from this world in her sleep. “Perhaps, but not my brother. I know for a fact that there was no foul play in his death - well, unless you count in God and nature as foul. But, her mother… yes, I have heard about that. I too would have sought justice for that, but it should not be at the expense of her uncle’s and cousins’ lives - or their futures.” Helen should not yearn for removing Sigismund from the throne, or to remove Wład from succeeding it. “Yes, I suppose you are right. She will fail - but, I hope will be smart and dignified enough to know when to quit - and not to take down the kingdom with her.” The Church will never allow for a woman to be queen in her own right - not with a male heir present and healthy.  “It would be great if it would also protect my nephew - lest she might get an idea to dispose of him, to rid herself of the competition. I would not put it past her.”

“Pah,” Lucia made a very Italian noise, accompanied by a very Italian gesture of her hands. “Forgive me. I am getting all these murders confused in my mind. There is much to keep track of here.” There’s something dry about the statement. Those that knew her best may pick up on a dark sort of humour, though she would never openly mock such matters. “In any case, you cannot blame the woman. And who knows? For some people, empathy can go a long way.” Not for Lucia, and she doubted for Helen, either, though she appreciated that for Poland, every avenue should be explored, any conflict avoided. “My future was stolen from me once,” she mused. She rarely spoke of such things, especially not with somebody she had just met. “But rather than seek to snatch it back, I contented myself with building a new one.” She gestured to her children then, one happy nestled close to her mother’s chest, the other contenting himself with collecting leaves from the garden. “There are plenty of options open to you, and little to fear, I believe. You have the might of Poland on your side, and she has nought but a bit of paper.” 

francesco has a hard time separating the woman he sees in front of him now and the woman he first met. back then, lucia was even more withdrawn than she is now, colder, less approachable, even to piero. franci disliked her marriage to his brother, for he thought piero deserved better than being wed to a woman who did not want to be married to him. but time flies, and francesco can see the glimmer in his brother’s eyes when he talks of lucia and their children. it’s what makes francesco like her. at the end of the day, despite anyone’s opinion, franci knows what he is - a medici, through and through. 

he has not thought of the church’s beliefs for ages. he does not have the time nor the patience to dwell on whether or not the catholic church thinks something to be worthy or not, and the same goes for any other faith. in all honesty, francesco can see hypocrisy in all the religious institutions. lucia calls the church theirs, even though francesco damn well knows neither of them have no time, patience or interest in engaging with this church, and at least in his case, any other church. he catches the tone in her voice, one he is used to. he might not have her entirely figured out, but he likes to believe some parts of lucia aren’t completely unknown to him. “i have, although i believe you will not just take my word for it. you will see, dear.” if he had no interest in representing his family properly, he wouldn’t have come to switzerland. he would’ve stayed behind, as he much prefers, and right in that moment he would have been in the middle of something way more interesting. 

There is a part of Lucia, however small, that envies Francesco. What a glorious life he must lead, to act and do as he pleases, to be the cause of rumour and never have to lift a finger to put an end to them. To never have faced hardship, not in the way that Lucia had. She had blamed Piero for her fate once, though over the years, she had learned to make the best of it. She had learned to love him, but she would never learn to love his family. She did not belong to them, after all. No matter how many children she birthed with the name, they would never see her as Medici. 

It is curious, she thinks, how one family can breed such different attitudes to The lord. Where Giovanna and Giulio were irritatingly pious, Francesco and Piero were far more apathetic. They came nowhere near to Lucia’s hatred of Catholicism, her burning desire to tear the Vatican apart brick by brick, but it was better than dealing with a simpering, holy sycophant. “There is only so long one can stare at a window. Shall we go?” She suggested, half-rising to her feet and awaiting his consent before moving further. “Will I?” She asks. “I am not certain if that is meant to be a reassurance or a threat, anymore. Tell me, do you share your sister’s nonsensical concerns for the future of Florence? Or would you put yourself in Piero’s place?” 

Giovanna watched her take the usual routine, poised in the background as her hands clutch her skirts to keep them clean. In truth, she could not wait to leave prying eyes - she’d rather find herself settled in the hunting lodge, with Matthias and stories of love, joy, hope. 

After all, she knew she was taking a leap with her brother’s wife - that a confession of her pregnancy may be turned upside down, sideways or perhaps would be an olive branch extended to the woman who would’ve been her sister, her friend, her ally. Walking by her side, Giovanna tried to find the words to seem diplomatic or well-versed… But nothing came, nothing came from anxious clouds and fringed worries. With hot palms and wriggling fingers, Giovanna leads her sister-in-law to a corner of the gardens, hidden from eyes or Diebold’s spies as she sat upon marble, patting the space beside her as he ducked her head - coyness painting her expression as she thought on Matthias’ heart, Francesco’s confidence and Giulio’s unmoving presence. 

“Lucia, I never came to you simply to attack. It came from a defensive position, a love for Firenze and family… I would never…-” her voice startled before her shoulders roll backwards, her heart all of a-flutter as it rose up to her throat. “I come to you… because… I…” she whispered, her voice quiet as her slim fingers twirl around a loose thread on her skirt, tugging it away with a silent snap as her lips pucker. What if Lucia only pushed her away? “I will not whisper names, I cannot but… Lucia, you must swear not to tell anyone. I have yet to tell Piero, for I fear his judgement and disappointment - but I am without a mother, a true sister… but you are a mother, and I have seen the love you hold for your children, my dear niece and nephew. I… I am with child, Lucia. And I ask you to forgive me for all I have said and done in the past… A new start.” 

Dark eyes snap to Giovanna’s face. For a moment, Lucia could have sworn that her heart ceased to beat. She expected many things from Giovanna. Betrayal at the top of that list, a rebellion orchestrated by the other woman. Like the church she revered had done to Lucia, she had expected Giovanna to take all from her son, whether for herself or one of her other brothers. None of which would be entirely unanticipated, not anymore, at the very least. But this was something else. Something that Lucia never thought she would have to comprehend, not from Giovanna at the least. 

And for a moment, Lucia just stared. The words stuck to her skin, and lingered there for a moment before they sunk in. “A new start?” she hissed, resisting the urge to laugh in her face. “You stupid, stupid girl.” Were she the more violent sort, Lucia perhaps would have slapped her, but that was not the Grand Duchess’ way. “Are you not content with simply undermining Piero’s name with your vicious tongue? Now you must shame the whole family with this bastardo?”

She so rarely showed such anger, and she undercut her outburst with a heavy, heavy sigh. “We must wed you quickly. I do not care who to. And you will tell your brother before I do.” Lucia would not keep secrets like this from her husband, not one that could shake his faith in her in any way. They had not kept secrets from him for a long time, and she would not do so for Giovanna. Not when she had made such a mess of things. 

She brought a hand to her forehead and rubbed it slightly. She could feel the beginnings of a migraine forming, one which had not been there before, and she breathed deeply, willing her composure to return to her. “All right,” she said, after moments of silence. “What would you have me do about this, Giovanna? And try to put yourself in my shoes, rather than thinking simply of yourself.  Tell me what you would have me do, and if it is possible, I will see it done.” 

Indeed, Lucia was right, as she often was when it came to the practice of calm endurance. Peace would not be; this Piero knew. Even under the guise of peace the warring would continue beneath the surface. After all, years of war could not be so easily undone. The roots ran deep. Peace or War, whatever this gathering in Switzerland chose to call it, Piero was and would be warring in his own way.

“Yes. Let us not make the mistakes others are often wont to do my dear,” his voice was deep and menacing, “self-destruction would be unforgivable.” He turned his eyes to hers and though his face was stern they revealed a trust. If there was one thing Piero had not needed to learn since his youth, it was to act in a manner that sought to please others. His father had shown him early on that money, reputation, and therefore power had no need to please socially so long as he delivered economically. The politics simply followed. Therefore, Piero could be of-putting, unapproachable even. So it was that Lucia completed him. She had abilities which he had not fostered nor cared to practice. Before marriage such sociable roles had fallen on his siblings, particularly Giovanna with her endeavors in charity. But where Lucia saw the important intricacies of such arts, Giovanna did not think them enough. Giovanna had greed for powers typically wielded by men in society. 

“Has she?” Piero sighed unsurprised. “The only clear intention evident to me for her claim to worry for the future of Italy, is to insult me,” the anger was there, the cold pride reverberating from every wall as it oppressed everything else within. “As if I have not spent my whole life doing nothing but worry for it and doing something about it,” he continued through clenched teeth. Piero could kick the heavy wooden desk before him but for the presence of his wife. That someone, his own sister who had known him for so long, would doubt him despite his evident success, “have I expected too much from her Lucia?” he asked. Perhaps he did, he wondered, if he had a folly he recognized, it was expecting others to see the world as he saw it.

She knew that he is angry. She can see it in those blue eyes of his, in every muscle of his body. They were alike in many ways, both with an almost inhumane amount of restraint, but there are moment when they can let go of holding back. With each other, their thoughts are safe, and this is what allowed him to speak as he did with her, to show her his true thoughts and allow her that glimpse of his mind. 

“I worry for our son’s future if she is allowed to continue asking such questions. I do not know if she has attempted to drum up support in Florence, but I have men with their ear on the ground.” She did not trust too many in her employ, but still recognised that she could not do this alone. Her spies were few in number, but well-selected. If there were rumblings of discontent in Tuscany, Lucia would know of it before Giovanna could lift a finger. “I have made it clear what I think of such talk, but I will not presume to speak for you when it comes to your sister.” She had long since grown used to the fact that Piero’s siblings were a part of her life, whether she liked it or not. 

In Lucia’s eyes, Giovanna was a fool. One with an inflated sense of who she was. It wasn’t that Piero expected too much from her, but rather, that she had been coddled into believing she was capable of more than what Lucia thought she could ever hope to achieve. “Giovanna has been spoiled.” She said, bluntly. “Sometimes I wonder if she thinks that it is she that is the grand duchess. She had been told nothing but good things about herself, and so believes her intellect surpasses what it truly does. If this is allowed to continue, she will ruin all we have built.” 

post count this week : n. of threads (8) + n. of tasks (0)

points gained : + 8 points for threads + 1 bonus points

Total: 9 Points

Updated Stats:

Total : 150/150

Francesco nods, as if he agrees. It isn’t that the reason he won’t yet admit his wrong doings to men (God already knows, of course). He is certain he would have no interest in taking back his confession, or pretending it never occurred. What he dreads is the thought of losing his brother. He can act as if he doesn’t matter all he wants, but he knows he does. It isn’t something, however, he’s willing to tell Lucia at the moment. He allows her to believe he’s ashamed of his sins. 

He sits, and scoots further on the bench, closer to his sister-in-law. For a second, he eyes the ring on her finger as she fidgets with it. Their wedding was an unforgettable event to all Florentines, and Franci was no different. He still remembers leaving the festivity accompanied, leading a set of three very distinct looking men into his chambers. He has never wondered if he’d been seen that evening. He has never cared. “It is humility they seek to show, I can only suppose,” he wonders, eyes shifting from the various decorations of the chapel. “Although I must say I would find mass rather dull if there was nothing to admire, visually, I mean. If it is humility they seek, they shall not be ostentatious, of course, but they need not be miserly with art. Do they not think their believers to be worthy of such beauty?” That must not be the intention behind the protestant church, that much Franci thinks its obvious. But if he were to convert, that would be one fight he’d be willing to fight. After all, they do not have to spend thousands to decorate walls and altars, but is it really necessary to keep the walls white and the altars purely wooden? 

Lucia breathes out in a sigh, her back straight, her chin help up as she gazed at him. Perhaps in a different life, a different Lucia could have befriended the Medici family. The younger, softer Lucia, who still had a family of her own could have been the type of woman they wanted to be wed to their brother, but that girl had long since died. Instead, they were forced to live in this tense sort of coexistence. It was no easy way to be. 

“Humility,” she repeated. She almost wants to scoff at the word, but instead, she tore her eyes from his face, and settled back to look at the window. “Yes. Our church has long ago forgotten what it is to be humble.” Though from what she knew of Lutherans, it was certainly not a trait they possessed, either. But that was the thing with religion, wasn’t it? They prayed to a God who, more than likely, did not exist, while men with inflated egos claimed their will was the same as said God. And what was worse was they all went along with it. “Perhaps they simply believe there is a time and a place for it,” she reasoned. “As there is a time and a place for everything. Is that a lesson you think you have learned, Francesco?” Her question was gentle, but the intent behind it was plentiful. Will you embarrass us here in Switzerland, Francesco? Do I need to keep you on a leash, Francesco? 

Adelaide understood the woman’s words - she sympathised, as well. Women had always seemed to lose more than they gained whenever they would be married. It was simply the way society worked ( but, that did not mean that the Polish princess was happy about it - she was not. she was not looking forward to having her name changed into Trástamara, when she was a Jagiellon by both nature and nurture ). She wondered, then, if she could do the same as lady della Rovere - keep the name, if not the title. She did not really care about being a princess - it brought her nothing good, not really; just endless worry about her family - but she does care about being a Jagiellon.

“Of course. I barely remember him, to be quite honest with you. It has been so long since he had died.” Adda replied with a soft nod. Memory - it was a wicked thing; sometimes, one could remember the slightest of details, the most insignificant ones, yet when it came to people, to important things… one could lose all remembrance of it. What lady della Rovere was saying had been true, but it was not quite relevant for Poland. “Yes, but the English church is different from the one our people worship. They do not need a pope of anoint their rulers, and since my niece Agnieszka, despite being older than her brother, had already been skipped in line of succession, I do not know why would Helen, yet another woman, hold any sway over little Wład. Even if she is my eldest brother’s daughter.” Perhaps she was a fool to worry about her, then. But, perhaps she was smarter than she gave herself credit for. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps we could just bury her under the mountain of paperwork and council meetings until she is old and grey, and barren.”

“It is funny how the mind forgets.” The words were idle, a courtesy and little more. Lucia forgot nothing of those she had lost. Their names and faces constantly lurked in the shadows of her mind, spurring her on when she needed it the most. Perhaps that was something Princess Helen felt too. “He was killed to place your brother on the throne. Even if you do not accept her claims, which you should not, one cannot deny she has a right to seek justice for the perpetrators.” Anybody could see Helen was acting out of a thirst for vengeance, but if Poland would do nothing to avenge their fallen heir, perhaps she had a right to it. “I confess, I know little about your ways. But if the circumstances are as you say, your brother has nothing to fear. Helen will fail on her own with time, maybe.” She smiled, though she personally would not have left it up to chance. “It is certainly one way to handle the situation. And it would avoid wasting the blood of Polish men.” 

Bona understood her friend - she knew exactly what she had meant. Yes, Ippolita and Alessandro are both grown and capable to take care of themselves, but that did not diminish her worry - in fact, it only furthered it. “They are your children, Lucia. They will never be weak or corrupted. But, you will worry even more about them once they are grown.” She knew from experience with her siblings. “Then do not trust anyone but yourself, not with them. They are most important to you - why should you trust others with what you hold most dear?” She retorted, nodding to her own words. She trusts no one around Sandro and Ippy - especially not after Ludovico’s death. Her nod deepened and she hummed in agreement. “I know. I wish for that day to never come, as well, but if it does, you know you can count on me. I will shield you from God himself if I have to, you know I will.”

Bona listened to her, attentively and with a knowing nod. “No, you are right. They want to keep us obedient and afraid, they want to hold power over our souls - but, the souls are our own; no one else has any power over it, but ourselves. Church and their men the least of all.” Lucia’s following words sparked a curiosity in Bona, a curiosity and agreement. To be fair, when it came to autonomy and this idiotic war between powerful empires, the eldest Sforza found herself not quite… caring about their conflict. The only thing she cared about, truly cared about, was Milan - Milan and her siblings. She would do just about anything to keep them all safe. “Since we are speaking honestly and plainly about this, there is something I must admit.” Bona started, briefly stretching over to refill their wine goblets, before setting back on her chair. “I am not awfully… invested in the conflict between the two empires. To be even more frank, I do not care about it. All I care about is Milan being safe and intact - and my siblings, as well.”

Bona voiced Lucia’s exact intentions. She held her children closer than most mothers would, scarcely trusting their nurses to be alone with them. But what if she and Piero were not around to make those choices for them? Whoever it befell to, it would surely serve their needs better to have the Medici children grow weaker they aged. “What if Piero and I died?” she voiced, quietly. “Whoever would raise them after that would weaken them. Would corrupt them. I do not know which of my husband’s kin would take up the responsibility, but none would see them become what they were born to be.” She loved Luca and Livia more than life, but she could not deny that her plans had to be shifted to accommodate their safety, including what may happen if she failed. “We are fortunate to be able to depend on one another, Bona. I will never again find a friend like you.” 

Something under Lucia’s skin hummed. She had kept this within her for so long, and now the realisation that perhaps Bona may be more aligned to those urges she hid within her left her crackling with a frantic energy, obvious despite the practised composure on her face. “I’m going to bring it to its knees, Bona. I don’t know when. It may not be until I am old and grey. But I swear to you now, I will do it.” They were fools to expect the silent obedience of Lucia Della Rovere. She had been wronged by them too many times, and was not a woman without resolve. Bona’s confession had her nodding her head. She could understand that, she supposed. Even though her own view was skewed, there was something in neutrality. “I suppose you must consider whether France would retake Milan,” she pointed out. “Though I must admit that I have been thinking that we have placed our bets in the wrong corner, so to speak.” 

Her tone was defiant, but it was how her chin raised that lead Giovanna with unease. She knew it’d take work to grapple for her trust again, something big and worthy of such significance - but she wouldn’t wish to save her niece and nephew again, she’d rather them safe than to have an opportunity. 

But she was no better than Lucia at that moment, as she felt the surge of sickness rise from her belly. Morning sickness had struck her with a harshness that almost left her bedridden, her skin was plump but her innards seemed shrivelled as she stood before her sister-in-law. Giovanna, unfortunately, had never been around a pregnant lady before - not to the extent of learning anything, anyway. So she prayed and hoped that Lucia would greet her with affection or perhaps simply the humility that she would wish from any person. 

“Will you follow me?” She asks, her hand gingerly reaching out to land upon Lucia’s arm, gesturing her to follow as she turned back towards the door - she did not think it fit to talk of an unwedded pregnancy beneath God’s roof. 

“I wish to ask you something private and personal, I do not wish for these men to hear,” her olive-green eyes stray only to nod towards the Swiss priests; if they may not unite as people of Italy, they may be free to unite as women - women outnumbered by the will of men. 

Lucia fought the urge to jerk her arm away from Giovanna’s touch, but remained utterly composed. This was how her life had been for far too long, and how it would likely remain until the day she died. The Medici would never appreciate that. They would not thank her for what she needed to do, not now or ever. They would not understand the thirst for justice, the desperate need to weaken the grasps on an institute which had worsened all of their lives. No, they would cast Lucia as the villain, and so she was content to play the part. 

She rose, and in the act of doing so, shrugged off the touch gracefully. She walked to the end of the pew and turned to face the altar, making sure she curtsied in reverence, making sure she crossed herself and bowed her head just so. Pretty gestures with hollow meaning, but necessary all the same. Lucia was many things, but she was not one to neglect appearances when keeping them up was so necessary. Finally, she rose to her feet once more, and turned to face Giovanna with the same suspicious, empty gaze. 

“It will depend where you lead me,” was her answer. She was utterly disinterested in whatever Giovanna had to say, whether it be another simpering speech to underline Piero, or a false apology to attempt to smooth it over. The lady had shown her hand, and Lucia’s paranoia had roared in triumphant justification. 

“I warn you now, Giovanna. If you seek to ask me more questions about my husband, I will not react so kindly as the last time.” 

there was no reason to dispute the truth of her words. louis could pinpoint neither distaste nor care in the depths of lucia’s voice and figured she was careful enough to mask them which could be for a variety of reasons. an enemy would always strike where it hurt the most and yet, the woman across from him held herself with admirable gaze and upright posture. nothing about her implied a wee woman, someone who could be easily silenced.

her husband must be a lucky man — and one who knew how to put his wife’s talents to use. louis could admire that even if italy and france did not share anything along the lines of a friendship. “well, i do suppose such differences are what keep us all on our toes. after all, how terribly boring would it be if we all were to be the same, d’accord?”

these thoughts were voiced with no merit. not all that which he said lined up with his personal beliefs but the prince had come here with duties to fulfill — however much he might wish to rescind. “at the very least, his colorful character suits his occupation. i trust family feasts are sure to leave quite a lasting impression in florence,” he chuckled, eyes lighting up with mirth before he returned his attention to present matters at hand.

lucia’s smile softened something about her appearance. it didn’t take away from the fact that she had borne children already or was wed to a man — it simply highlighted the contour of her cheekbones, lending her the appearance of a woman who had seen more than she wished to disclose. although the thought was obscure and vanished as quickly as it had come, he found himself quietly pondering the meaning of it regardless.

until her words cut through his thoughts again. forcing a smile, there was no denying how displeased she was at the sudden, unexpected question he had posed. “one could cut the tension with a knife, grand duchess. will you deign to tell me about them?“ the somewhat sarcastic remark hadn’t been deliberate but she made no secret out of her displease so louis figured he needn’t hide his own irritation either. at least a woman like lucia, he supposed, understood the nature of humans better than most.

He spoke of their difference, and she chuckled darkly. She wondered if he saw just how deep the differences between herself and those she must call kin ran. She would never be one of them, and she did not care to be. If it was just Piero, it would be another matter entirely. But that had never been the case. The shadow of Giulio, Giovanna and Francesco loomed over her. She had long since given up wondering if they would ever let her sleep easily. 

“I have always found myself more at ease with the like-minded.” Of course, there were only two who counted in that number - Bona of Milan, and Piero. Still, not all could be like them. If that were so, chaos would surely reign. People like them had to exist to keep others in check, but few could think and act as they did. Few understood. Did this Prince of France think of himself in such ways, or was he one of the many who needed a hand to guide him? 

“I suppose.” It was clear from her demeanour that Francesco Medici was not a welcome topic. Louis seemed to regard the discussion as a joke, and as long as the joke was at Francesco’s expense, that suited her well. Let the twins make fools of themselves here. Perhaps it would help to disguise her own plans until she was ready to see them enacted. 

Lucia stood thoughtful for a moment. The loss of her family was a gaping hole in her heart that she had never been able to fill. She had never spoken of that grief fully to anybody, but it wasn’t until that moment that she realised that few people had ever asked. It was her story to share, but she needed to weigh up the consequences of doing so first. Louis had done little to earn it from her. Still, she judged that there was no harm. It was no secret, after all, just a truth that was never spoken of, tidied away into the dark corners of history. 

“I will,” she confirmed. She did not look away from him. If she was going to tell her story, he would look her in the eye as she told it. “It has been twelve years since my father and brothers went to war. They went to fight the wars of other men, in the name of a God who did not listen to their prayers. My elder brother died on the battlefield. My father and remaining brother were taken prisoner. All I know of them is that they did not survive long. I cannot tell you what happened to them, or where they were buried. Only that I am the only Della Rovere that still lives.”