[The attention he gives her is the kind she thrives off of, knowing full well why, and being all the more flattered for it. The way he addresses her has her nose crinkling, giving her a look as if she is on the edge of laughing. Lucrezia's cheeks are naturally rosy as her attention stays equally focused on him. She feels a surge of pride when he confirms that he is from the north.]

Then you are a prince. You must forgive my rudeness then, [She dips low in a curtsy with her hand gentle on his.] Your Highness.

[When he asks, she straightens again and tucks back a lock of hair.] Rome, in the south. My father is the Holy Roman Pope of the Catholic Church.