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The daughter problem was one as old as time itself. Every family with a substantial amount of wealth was met with it, at some point in their lineage, which they all hoped came after an array of healthy sons had already been born. Bad word through Florentine streets liked to insinuate that, after the scare of two eldest daughters, Lorenzo and Clarice had gone on a childbearing spree that would forever placate the inheritance question - eleven children, none the less - which filled the Palazzo Medici Riccardi with noise and bustle throughout the entirety of your childhood.
It wasn’t to say, however, that your parents had never loved you. If anything, being the first born into a new generation of Medicis had granted you an affection that just grew as you developed into an astute little girl. You’d soon realised that you held a power unlike any other kid in Firenze, and you’d learnt to grasp it equally as fast: being the apple of your father’s eye meant he never, under any circumstances, was able to say no to you.
As merely a baby, the thought of seeing you cry when trying to wean you made your mother insist that the wet nurse breastfed you for one more year. You hated horse riding, yet you asked for a new purebred horse as a gift every single birthday - always delivered - which ended up overcrowding the Palazzo’s stables. Raised a lover of the arts, just like your father, you insisted he read Dante and Petrarch to you every single night until late into your teenagehood, something he did with gusto. From clothes, to jewelry, to whatever whims you may possibly come up with: it was always said and done.
Coming of age shouldn’t have meant for that to stop, especially because your father continued to be proud of the woman you’d become. Well read, wonderfully educated, and with an interest in the finer side of things - for a few years now, the talk of the city had been how Lorenzo de’ Medici’s eldest daughter possibly was the most gorgeous woman in the whole Republic. Your hand was a sought-after commodity, it was no lie - you were well aware of the power you held, both to the outside world as well as within the confines of your family home.
One unassuming afternoon, however, your father would approach you in your chambers and change your whole perception of things, bringing with himself a request you never thought would come.
Lorenzo was a busy man, so when you saw him stroll through the open door to your room with practiced subtlety, you rose to your feet.
“Padre, che bella sorpresa,” Smiling brightly, you put away the handkerchiefs you’d been embroidering and straightened your skirts. “I assumed you were out on business.”
“Thankfully, I have some free time today,” His lips thinned into somewhat of an affable grin, standing so the ray of sunlight peeking from your balcony framed him in gold. “But I did go see Giovanni this morning, to discuss something of great importance.”
The story of Giovanni Auditore was one which you’d heard upwards of a million times. He’d been there to save your father on the day a younger him fell into the Arno river, not knowing how to swim: Lorenzo liked to joke that, had it not been for the Auditores, the Medicis would have ceased to exist on that fateful day. It was a debt to Giovanni which he’d carried throughout his life, whom he was good friends with as a result.
“May I ask, what was it you had to discuss?”
Your father’s usually quick wit seems halted for a second, as he struggles to find the words with which to continue his speech. It makes you slightly worried - was there truly something major going on in Firenze? And, if that was the case, why were you being informed about it?
Soft footsteps approach the door to your chambers, revealing the eternally composed image of Clarice. Your mother watches the exchange with a slight twinge to her brow, hands clasped before herself, remaining in complete silence.
If anything, that only served to worsen your worries.
“Father?” Your tone now carries that fright, tilting your head in slight question. “What’s going on?”
Lorenzo lets out a deep sigh - he knew his daughter had always been the most perceptive of the bunch, but he’d hoped to keep her calm and ease into the news without causing a scene.
“Some time ago, I made up my mind about an arrangement with the Auditores. And with your recent coming of age, that arrangement is due to be fulfilled,” His hand lands on your shoulder, a futile attempt at comforting you. “Your hand was promised to one of his sons.”
The revelation doesn’t even sink in for a few seconds, pulling a sharp shriek from the confines of your throat when you realise that your father’s expression denoted nothing but seriousness. Hand clasped over your mouth, you take a step back to rid yourself of his hold.
“Padre, no! Say you do not mean it!” You shake your head in desperation, utterly horrified. “What Auditore?!”
“Ezio Auditore, the second eldest.”
There was no need to introduce Ezio Auditore: every girl in Firenze knew of him and his brother, their teenage feuds with the Pazzis and their infamous womanizer habits. Either of them would have been a terrible choice, yet Ezio just seems like the worst out of both options. A troublemaker, full of himself, and always in need of showing that he had the upper hand. Unlike his brother, who was known to have started to earn his spot in the family business, Ezio had no apparent prospects other than lady-killing and doing whatever it was he did, roaming the streets of your family’s city.
“Ezio Auditore!” You feel lightheaded, dramatically dropping to sit on the bed while glancing at your father in shock. “Don’t you know of his reputation?”
At the sight of your theatre, your mother hurries to tend to you, feeling your forehead with tense hands. “Dai, Lorenzo, see? I told you, this was not a good idea!”
“He is a good kid,” Firm on his stance, Lorenzo does not react like Clarice, brows sinking deeper into a frown. “And he comes from a good family. I owed the Auditores a favour, this is me repaying it.”
His words turn your sadness into momentary rage, in utter disbelief. “For how long will Giovanni’s act of heroism hang over your head, padre? Is it worth handing your daughter over?”
Lorenzo’s jaw tightens. “Giovanni saved my life. And even then, this isn’t about that.”
What kind of debt could your father possibly have to the Auditores, that it could not be repaid with a deposit from your family’s bottomless funds? A tear slips down your cheek, which soon turns into desperate sobbing, along with your mother’s quelling murmurs.
It wasn’t as if you were naïve. You understood how things worked for girls like you, and this was nothing but procedure. You’d always known love was a thing for peasants - your parents had only met once before they got married by proxy, while your mother was still in Rome. It was always a given that your father would have the last word in deciding who your hand would go to, but having in mind your situation, the arrangement he’d made seemed nonsensical.
“But father, you cannot do this to me. I am a Medici,” You shake your head and try your hardest to get some pity from him. “What about Charles?”
Some years ago, when you were freshly fifteen, your brother Piero fell gravely sick, and could not accompany your father on his diplomatic visit to France. Instead, you’d swooped in and begged to take his place as a companion, which he’d begrudgingly accepted - for a few weeks, you mingled with the noblest of members of the French royal family, amongst which a young Charles d’Orléans caught your eye. Count of Angoulême since he was eight years old, Charles was charming and unlike any of the sons of Florentine noblemen: highly educated, interesting, and a legitimate prince du sang, which meant he was a direct successor in line for the French throne.
Luckily for you, you’d also captured his attention, and since that visit you’d spent three years exchanging passionate letters that travelled through frontiers for your love. It was not a public affair, but keeping anything secret in the Medici house was almost impossible: your siblings knew of it, which meant your parents did too, and never mentioned it much. You’d always taken it as a silent approval that, come your eighteenth birthday, Charles’ formal proposal would come in a letter that wasn’t handed to you by a hooded messenger. That your father would read it, smile proudly, and send you off to France without question - you knew he was keen on establishing some bonds with European houses such as the Valois-Orléans, which meant that this relationship was akin to a gift fallen right from the sky.
And yet, when you utter the name of the French nobleman, Lorenzo de’ Medici’s face is drained of any color.
“You will cease to exchange letters with that man,” His words are cold, calculated, and utterly devastating. “Forget about him, completely. You are going to marry Ezio Auditore and that is final.”
“Padre, what do the Auditores have?” Your voice comes out strained from crying. “Charles is a count, and a prince du sang! Ezio Auditore is a nobody compared to him!”
Lorenzo opens his mouth to respond, but your mother intervenes before he can, rubbing your back in circular patterns. “She’s right, Lorenzo. Are you sure you have thought this through?”
But he remains rigid, firm in his decision. Lorenzo just takes a breath before looking at you in a way you’d never seen him do: with genuine anger in his eyes, one that lets you onto the first ever denial you’d receive from your father.
“There are reasons for this union far past your comprehension. The Auditores are a wealthy family, you’ll have a life as lavish as the one we’ve given you for the past eighteen years. There is no France in the picture, and no reconsidering. The wedding arrangements start from this point onwards.”
You and your mother stare at Lorenzo in shock: he barely ever lost his temper, but he is close to doing so debating such a trivial matter as his daughter’s wedding. “Ascolta, figlia mia. I have no need to even warn you about this beforehand, much less to tolerate a tantrum over it. You’ve always been a bright girl. I’m sure that, with time, you’ll understand my reasons.”
Pouting, your head rolls onto your mother’s shoulder, and you cry even louder while you hear your father’s defeated sigh, followed by his footsteps leaving the room. For some reason, despite knowing how life worked for noblemen’s daughters, you’d never thought this day would come for you too.
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That same night, in a different corner of Firenze, Giovanni Auditore’s troubles haunted his time in his studio. The spread of parchments before him just seems like a mangle of hieroglyphs he isn’t fit to decipher, despite being nothing more than the normal accounts from his business: there was too much in his mind for numbers to make any sense.
Lorenzo de’ Medici had visited him earlier. It had been a while since he hadn’t stopped by their Palazzo, so he was received with open arms and engaged in long and fruitful conversation, just as they usually did when they met. But at some point of the discussion, his face had turned pale, his expression darkened, and he’d told Giovanni something that made his blood run cold. Something Lorenzo shouldn’t have been the one to discover.
He’d followed the reveal with a plea for help, a request: that Giovanni took the offer for his daughter’s hand, and married her to none other than Ezio. That Federico, despite being the eldest and still uncoupled, was not who he wanted his daughter to be with. And, of course, being that Lorenzo was his good friend - and a powerful man, who’d just given him some crucial information - Giovanni had almost blindly accepted the deal.
He’d done so without even thinking of the fallout, the fact that now, he had to tell Ezio about the deal. And he loved his son, but he knew of his temper - his second born could be a bit difficult, at times, and entirely more toughheaded than his brother.
Giovanni had seen a brightness in his boy throughout his childhood, which was often overlooked due to his love for troublemaking. Despite giving him more headaches than his brother ever had, Giovanni knew that Ezio would one day grow to outlive both his and Federico’s legacy in the Creed, which was why he’d decided to introduce him to the family’s secrets at just eighteen years of age. Since then, he’d seen a noticeable shift in his attitude - he carried himself as less of a teenager, and took his responsibilities even more seriously - but the fact of his enormous ego still remained attached to his young age. Ezio understood the sacrifices he had to make for the Creed, but Giovanni doubted that he’d ever take the news he had to deliver with a smile on his face.
A firm knock on the door prompts Giovanni to beckon his son inside. Ezio steps into the studio oozing his usual aura of confidence, which made him stand out wherever he went. Both his sons had turned out unusually tall, but only Ezio could capture the attention of a whole room when he walked into one.
“You wanted to see me, padre?” Evidently, after accompanying Lorenzo to the door, he’d told Claudia to alert Ezio when she saw him and locked himself in the studio. It had probably been a few hours since then, as his son enjoyed the city streets deep into the night, but it had been a worthwhile wait.
“Sit down, Ezio,” He says firmly, signalling to the cushioned chairs that faced his desk. “You’re going to need it.”
Immediately, a worried expression settles into his son’s features, who takes the seat without asking questions.
“I had a meeting today. With Lorenzo de’ Medici,” Giovanni doesn’t look at his son while he thinks over how to approach the topic, joining his hands together by just his fingertips. “And he revealed some worrying information that, if true, will need to be handled with care by the Creed.”
Ezio immediately leans forwards at this, his attention fully captured. “What did he tell you?”
“It is too early for me to reveal that, Ezio,” The patriarch shakes his head firmly, and Ezio slumps back into his seat. “Mario and I will have to investigate and contact other members before we can verify the veracity of Lorenzo’s claims. But even though I cannot reveal much, I do have to entrust you with a vital part of the operation.”
His son’s eyes widen, as does his smirk. “Does Federico know about this?”
“No, he doesn’t.”
His sons had developed a sane rivalry ever since they’d both began assassin training, all over which one of them was trusted with the biggest of tasks. Ezio knew Federico had him beat with his extra years of experience, but even then, he strived to be more skilled and show his father that he could do his job much better than his brother ever could. It looked like, for the first time in the past two years and having in mind his experience with the Medicis, Giovanni had finally realized this.
“I’ll be happy to help,” Rubbing his hands together, Ezio slips into co-conspirator mode, ready to be let into his father’s secrets. “What do I have to do?”
There is no true way to soften the blow, Giovanni realises, so he just decides to send it in at full force.
“You’ll have to marry Lorenzo de’ Medici’s eldest daughter.”
It’s almost like, in less than a split second, Giovanni can see his son’s confidence completely dissipate into thin air, and be immediately replaced by anger.
“No.”
“Ezio, this is not up for discussion…”
“No, I will not do it,” Enraged, Ezio pushes back his chair and stands to pace the room. “Father, do you know how insufferable that Medici girl is?”
Ezio knew very well of the family’s eldest, because she had been a major pain in his rear ever since Claudia had decided to become her best friend. She walked through the streets of Firenze with her head held impossibly high: the lady was as egotistical and spoiled as they came, relishing in the fact that she’d been born a Medici, which she used to see herself above everyone else. Ezio had always despised this altive attitude and, despite her undeniable appeal, he’d always kept a considerable distance from her. It also helped that she seemed to hate his guts in return.
All of which made him question the fact of this union even harder.
“Why not Federico?” He whines, arms crossed over his chest. “Lei mi odia. At least, Federico would be a better option.”
Giovanni raises a questioning brow, unimpressed. “I thought you didn’t want your brother in on this?”
“I didn’t know this was the task at hand,” He huffs, falling back into his seat without much decorum.
Giovanni rolls his eyes. “Lorenzo requested you specifically. He trusts you, after what you did for him.”
It’s slightly revitalizing for Ezio to be reminded of the trust he’d earned from the Medicis, but he cannot hold the thought when the reality of his situation loomed so close over him. If Lorenzo really did like him, why would he place the burden of marrying his spoiled daughter on his shoulders?
“I hope you understand that this is for the good of our organisation, figlio mio,” Calm and collected, Ezio watches his father place a palm on the dark grain of his desk. “With time, all will be revealed, and you’ll be glad you listened to me. Besides, how bad can marrying a Medici be?”
“I’ll have to come back to you about that, father.”
A huffed laugh escapes Giovanni, and he dismisses his discouraged son out of his studio. Hopefully, he’d soon find out Lorenzo’s claims were far from right - but even then, he was not sure if that could ever get his son out of this arrangement.
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