Here is Chapter 4 – The Masque
Chapter 4 – The Masquerade
Florence, 1533
The court was draped in gold and garnet, chandeliers flickering like captured stars. Laughter echoed from the frescoed ceilings as nobles spun across the polished marble floors, faces hidden behind velvet masks and painted silks. Musicians played a quick-tempoed sarabande, and wine poured like water from silver goblets.
Beatrice stood at the top of the grand staircase, her mask trimmed in crimson feathers, her gown the color of blood and fire. She hated every stitch of it. It was a costume for the part she was forced to play—daughter, prize, pawn. But beneath the stiff corset and lacquered grace, her heart thundered with defiance.
She was waiting for him.
And then—there.
Near the edge of the hall, leaning against a carved pillar as if he belonged to it, was Matteo.
He wore no mask, only a dark tunic and a hood drawn back to expose windswept curls. He did not belong here—everyone knew it. A stable hand. A whisper of revolution. A man who spoke of love like it was a sword and not a poem.
But tonight, no one would dare question her companion if she led him through the crowd like a dream.
She descended the stairs, passing nobles and foreign emissaries, perfumed ladies and brittle smiles. No one recognized Matteo, and no one would challenge Beatrice—not tonight, not in the frenzy of wine and flirtation.
She reached him.
"Milady," he murmured, his voice barely above the music.
"You're late," she said.
"You're breathtaking," he replied.
Her smile faltered. "Come."
She took his hand.
They slipped through the crowd like shadows between lanterns and laughter, down a lesser-known corridor lit only by moonlight, and out through the servants' exit to the garden beyond.
Once they were alone beneath the night sky, she exhaled fully for the first time in days.
"You shouldn't be here," she said.
"And yet here I am," he answered. "You asked me to come."
"I did. I shouldn't have." Her eyes gleamed behind the mask. "But I needed to see you. Just once. While the world looked away."
Matteo stepped closer, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. "I would've crossed the Arno blindfolded to see you."
"I believe you."
He traced the line of her jaw. "Beatrice... I can't keep meeting you in secret. I can't watch them parade you like a trophy and pretend I do not see."
"What would you have me do?" she asked, voice cracking. "Run into the night with no name? No coin? You would be hunted, and I would be ruined."
"I would rather be hunted than hollow."
Beatrice closed her eyes.
"I wear this dress for them," she whispered. "But I write letters for you. I smile for them, but I dream for us. If I could undo my name, I would."
"You don't have to undo anything," he said, voice fierce. "You only have to choose. Say the word, Beatrice, and we vanish before dawn."
A hawk called overhead in the darkness.
She looked up at the stars.
"I want to," she said. "But not yet. Give me time. I must find a way that doesn't end with you at the gallows."
"And if time runs out?"
She turned to him. "Then I will run out with it."
Their lips met in the shadow of the ivy wall, beneath centuries of stone and watching gods.
For a heartbeat, Florence ceased to exist.