Author's Notes: So it's been a while, huh? Just been busy with life and all that... But I recently began reading a biography on Lucrezia Borgia, and it's inspired me to do a bit of writing. I want to get a multi-chaptered Borgias fic going on here sometime, but until then, here's a tiny bit of Cesare/Lucrezia love. C; Hope you enjoy!
Cesare knew that every single thing they put Lucrezia through - they being he and his father - was meant for the ultimate good of the family. The marriages, the abuse, the pain; everything that she suffered was a blinding testament to her love for their family. He was certain even he could not have stood for being married twice already, and the suffering his sister had gone through with those mere two marriages; and here she was, preparing for yet another - her third and what he hoped would be her final marriage, though he knew bitterly that if it was needed they would marry her off again.
"Do you think the Duke will find me to his liking?" Lucrezia asked, breaking Cesare out of his reverie. She spun once across the room in her night gown, arms up and delicately placed, like a princess. Cesare lifted his eyes and watched from the bed. He refused to answer. Was it even a question she was asking him? Alfonso d'Este would have no trouble finding a girl – a woman - like Lucrezia to his liking.
When he didn't answer, and instead retreated back into his own brooding thoughts, Lucrezia stopped her spinning and leaned around one of the columns on her four-poster bed. "Dear brother, you shall get wrinkles on your face far too early if you furrow your brow as such," she chastised him, slipping onto the bed and kneeling beside him where he lay. She ran fingertips, light as butterflies, across his forehead; he smoothed out his expression and gave a sigh.
"You would love me all the same, if I had premature wrinkles?" he asked her with a lighter tone in his voice than the emotions sitting heavy in his stomach. Lucrezia laughed gaily.
"But of course!" she answered him, her radiant smile burning bright as a star in the dim light of their room. Cesare slipped an arm around Lucrezia's waist and ran his fingertips up and over the bumps of her spine. He did so thoughtfully. Each ridge was familiar territory to him - but he should like to sit and memorize it all over again, if he could.
Lucrezia smiled wanly at him; she brushed her fingers through his hair and shifted against his fingers.
"Are you jealous of our Illustrious Duke?" the blonde cooed, leaning down and bumping their noses together. "You always did get very broody when father announced a marriage-"
"Does it not bother you?" Cesare interrupted. His brow was furrowed once more. "All of these marriages, I mean. You have to sleep with these men, you know, no matter how many times His Holiness can wave away whether or not your husband was potent or not..."
Her expression clouded; no longer making light of the situation, she pulled away and hopped to her feet, moving as if made of air.
"Our father does what he must to keep us safe and keep him in power," she said, tone clipped and short. "Whether you agree with it or not is beside the point."
He sighed and rested back against the pillows. "I've upset you."
"Have you?" Lucrezia did not look at him as she sat down at the vanity, though Cesare's gaze sought hers through the mirror. She brought her hair to one side, ran her fingers through the heavy gold ringlets. Though her tone was deceptively light, there was a dry air to it, and her shell-pink lips were pressed thin with annoyance. "Well, I suppose any woman would be a little displeased to find her brother complaining of the men she sleeps with. Especially when he opts to indulge himself so freely."
"Lucrezia," Cesare said, disapproval clear in his voice. "That's not what I meant. You know that."
"Do I?" She was playing that mean game again, where all she did was answer in questions and then make a cruel jab at his heart. "As I recall, you seemed quite ready to jump at the chance to pick this fight - again."
"I'm sorry," he said. "Please come lay back down with me. It's cold, without you."
He sought her eyes once more. Begrudgingly, though she did not move from the vanity immediately, she met his gaze; and after a few moments she stood and floated back over to him, silent as a wraith and radiant as an angel.
"Please," he insisted gently once more, when she hesitated at the edge of the bed. Reluctantly she crawled in beside him, snuggling into his side.
"It hurts me when you say things like that," she murmured against the crook of his neck. He thought perhaps he felt tiny, warm tears pooling there from her eyes. "About our father. About me."
Cesare reached up and stroked her hair, her cheek; he kissed her forehead and murmured gentle apologies. "You can't expect me to be completely carefree, sis," he said. "Not when you're to share a bed with Alfonso d'Este and I love you so."
"I'm sorry," Lucrezia answered. "All while I am with him, I will be thinking of you."
It gave Cesare some comfort to know this. When she leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth, and then his welcoming lips cordially, he knew he'd been forgiven and vice versa. For now, they had each other - and until she was wed, Cesare was going to keep her all to himself.