Prince Josué of Castile and Aragon leaned forward, his eyes wide with anticipation. He had heard tales of Italy's beauty, but the reality surpassed every story. The villa appeared like a jewel against the twilight, its windows glowing with the warmth of lanterns.

Josué entered the hall, his gaze scanning the room until it landed on Isabella d’Este. She stood near a window, her gown shimmering in the candlelight, her laughter a melody that drew him closer. He felt a pull towards her, an inexplicable connection that seemed to transcend the bustling room.

"Buona sera, Lady Isabella," he greeted, his Italian flawless and confident. Isabella turned to him, her blue eyes bright with curiosity. "You speak Italian?" Josué nodded. "Italian, and German as well. I’ve heard you wish to learn it." Her interest piqued, she asked, "You speak German?"

Josué and Isabella walked side by side, their words weaving a tapestry of shared interests and dreams. He marveled at her intellect and passion, and she found herself captivated by his charm and insight. "Perhaps I could teach you," he suggested, "if you would allow me the pleasure of your company again."

Isabella caught his hand, her touch sending warmth through him. "Meet me here tomorrow night," she whispered, her eyes holding his. Josué nodded, his heart full of promise. "I will," he vowed, turning reluctantly toward the path leading back to his inn.

His thoughts were consumed by Isabella, her laughter, her intellect, her undeniable presence. He lay awake, the memory of her touch lingering, knowing that tomorrow could not come soon enough. As dawn approached, he finally drifted into a restless sleep, his dreams filled with visions of her.