Francesco Pazzi x Medici OC | Enemies to lovers | Romeo and Juliet Retelling | The Taming of the Shrew retelling | Arranged marriage/marriage of convenience | star-crossed lovers | Feminism during the Italian Renaissance |
I am kind of a hive with...
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Two days had crawled by since the attack on the Medici family during their journey to Florence, and the household had remained thick with tension ever since. Catalina paced her chambers restlessly, the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon her. Her once vibrant home felt more like a fortress now, crowded with General Sforza and his stern-faced men, their presence a constant reminder of the fragility of their security. Her mother seemed to have become even more consumed by the family's business affairs, her usually warm demeanour replaced by a steely resolve. And then there was her sister, slipping away under the cloak of night to meet her clandestine lover, adding another layer of frustration to Catalina's already fraught nerves.
The events of this afternoon were what finally promoted her to action though, when Lorenzo returned from the Pazzi's without any sign of Giuliano. The news that those who had orchestrated her brother's imprisonment might be the same ones responsible for the attack on their family was her breaking point. She could no longer bear the stifling confines of their home, the walls closing in around her like a vice.
As the evening sun painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, casting a warm glow over the sprawling Medici estate, Catalina finally allowed herself to sink into the plush cushions of her bed, as her lady's maid bustled about the room.
"Sit up, Madonna, your shoulder needs tending to," the dark-haired girl quipped as settled down beside her mistress.
Catalina sighed, "How many times have I told you not to call me that, Sofia."
"It would be improper, Madonna."
"But—"
"Don't argue, and let me just fix you up!"
The arrow wound on her shoulder throbbed dully and as Sofia carefully unwound the blood-stained bandages, Catalina winced against the sting of exposed flesh, her jaw clenched in a tight line as she fought to keep her composure. The maid's touch was gentle yet firm, her expression a mask of quiet concern as she worked to cleanse the wound with a mixture of herbal salves and warm water.
Next was the cut on her forehead, which was already beginning to heal. The surgeon's handiwork had been meticulous, the seven stitches holding together the jagged gash a testament to his skill, yet the scar would remain, Bianca and her mother's dismay.
Catalina didn't mind scars though, not really. They were a badge of honour, a symbol of survival in the face of overwhelming adversity. Like the callouses that lined her brother's palms from years of sparring, they spoke of resilience and strength.
Once the task was done, Sofia moved to help her dress for bed, her nimble fingers deftly fastening the laces of her nightgown, but as she smoothed the fabric over her shoulders, the young Medici's thoughts drifted to a rebellious request.
