Her head felt heavy with its spiraling crown of braids, the ill-fitting gown bunching in uncomfortable places and too long to walk in without tripping over. Chiara twisted her fists in the skirt of the dress, trying to take up excess fabric so that she could at least walk, an angry flush on her cheeks as she inventoried the mistakes that had led her to this position. Not killing the man who had been trailing her. Allowing herself to be followed in the first place. Not enlisting help in finding out who her footpad was. Not telling the Master that she was being followed. Trying to catch the man by herself. She had been afraid that Ezio would find out and forbid her from leaving Tiber Island, but being captured by the Borgia and made a pet of was infinitely worse.
She chanced a glance up from the ground to the crowd, her eyes searching for the familiar white hood. Someone would be here, the Master always posted someone to gather what Cesare's latest campaign was. It was an easy, useful way to gather information. She dropped her eyes again, but then raised them and passed them over the crowd. She spotted the white hood at about the same time that Cesare gestured toward her.
"My ward's father, my own cousin, has fallen to the Assassins, leaving her an orphan!" he shouted, pretending passion over the situation. Chiara's eyes widened, and her gaze flew back to the white hood, trying to identify its owner. It was one of the boys, surely. Alfonso? Draco? Tullio? Vittorio? Ezio never came to these things if he had a choice. Chiara was surprised by the fierce desire to wish that the Assassin in the crowd was Ezio. She dropped her eyes back to the dragging hem of her gown and squeezed them shut, scolding herself for such an idle, dangerous wish. When she had composed herself and shoved the wish into the far reaches of her mind, she opened her eyes again to find the white hood already gone. Her eyes burned with tears, but she checked them as she followed Cesare back.
"I had no idea that you were so committed to our cause against the Assassins," he said drily, waving away a maid and shutting the door so that they were alone. Chiara ignored him, pulling jeweled pins from her hair and dropping them onto the floor before combing her fingers through the braids to release them. Cesare took one long stride and seized a handful of hair, pulling hard enough to tip her face towards his.
"Do not ignore me," he growled. Chiara pried at his fingers instead of trying to hit one of his vital points, forcibly suppressing her carefully cultivated Assassin instincts. Still, it hurt and her face twisted with renewed anger as she applied her nails to his knuckles.
"Your life hangs by the merest thread," he threatened, shaking her slightly.
"So you like to remind me," Chiara snarled back, "You speak much, but seem to do little." He grabbed her chin with his free hand, turning her head from side to side and examining her face.
"It would be a shame to ruin such a pretty face," Cesare said after a pause, his black eyes unnerving her, "I would loathe having to be the one to destroy it."
"Lucky I don't depend on my face for my livelihood," Chiara retorted, careful to uphold her lie that she was really nothing more than a common theif.
"How old are you?" he asked, letting her go. Chiara stepped away from him immediately, needing the distance to rein in her temper before resuming pulling out the braids in her hair.
"What do you care?" she asked, deliberately sounding unconcerned, "I can't see how that would help you."
"Oh, but it can," he said, seating himself in a chair covered in tapestry, "Parents. Siblings. Friends. Lovers. I can eliminate a few of these if I know how old you are." He looked very calculating as he considered her.
"I'm an orphan, no parents, no siblings, few friends, and no lover. What friends I have will probably be gone after you've publically displayed and claimed responsibility for me," Chiara said, watching his face as she shook out her hair, finally free from the elaborate style the maid had insisted on. Had he considered the consequences of publically acknowledging her as his ward? He would be the one expected to get her a husband and provide her with a dowry along with a wardrobe. Yet, much of that was contingent on how much he allowed her out and about in the court, and as of now, he still suspected her of being an Assassin though she lied and protested the accusation vehemently. One of her few blessings was that she had been aware of her tracker from the first time he had followed her and she had immediately stopped wearing the clothing that marked her out as an Assassin.
"There may be someone who will want you when I am through with you," Cesare mused, his eyes raking her up and down so that she flushed with rage and gathered her dress tighter around herself with trembling fingers. The lavender color was especially becoming on her, trimmed with black as it was, but it was a dress that had belonged to Lucrezia first. It was created with a taller, better-endowed woman in mind so that not only did it bunch uncomfortably, but sagged scandalously at the bust and shoulder and the sleeves dangled past Chiara's hands when fully extended. What Chiara wanted at this point was to get the cursed thing off, but she refused to have Cesare in the room while she wore only a shift that was similarly ill fit. Not for the first time, Chiara wondered whether the fact that it was Lucrezia's gown made all the indecency of it still attractive in Cesare's eyes. It was no secret, especially here, that they frequently kept company together. And while Cesare hadn't touched Chiara yet, Chiara was afraid that it was only a matter of time. Instead of betraying her increasing discomfort, Chiara narrowed her eyes and regarded him suspiciously.
"You are young yet," Cesare said, shrugging, "You cannot be more than fourteen. You have several marriageable years left."
"I am one and twenty," Chiara corrected. For once, the man looked surprised, and now he appraised her more calculatingly than he had before.
"You must be joking," he said, and then recovering a little, "I will punish you if you are lying to me." He rose from his chair to stalk toward her with a dark look. Chiara stood her ground, glaring at him, her jaw set with determination and refused to be intimidated.
"I do not lie," she said archly, baring her teeth in a smile that was not really a smile but a show of defiance. She released the fabric in her hands, subtly readying herself for battle, and instinctively straightened her spine to make the most of what height she had. Cesare loomed over her in the same way that Ezio would have, though where Ezio would have been playful, Cesare was overtly threatening.
"You are very small for a woman of one and twenty years," Cesare observed insultingly, bending over a little to look down on her.
"I have always been short," was Chiara's crisp response, her eyes darkening to the color of thunderclouds. Cesare was impressed by the sheer amount of spirit in them and promised himself to keep a closer eye on her expressions.
"No woman I have met looks as fragile as you do." Always stung by such comments, Chiara pressed her lips together and turned away from her captor, stooping to pick the jeweled pins off the floor and examine them. They were more than sharp enough to pierce an eye, but gold was a soft metal and Chiara was not sure that they would pierce flesh, even given enough force. She missed the iron hairpins that the female Assassins were so fond of, sharpened to wicked points so that they were never without a weapon. Few men thought to take a woman's hairpins.
"I am thirsty," Chiara announced, dropping the pins on the dressing table and turning to face Cesare again.
"Are you?" was his unconcerned response. He had gone back to his chair and was sitting in it as if it were a throne, watching her.
"The servants won't respond to any of my requests. They're too afraid of the guards outside the door," Chiara said accusingly, hands on her hips, glaring at him.
"I am charged with your safety, treasure," Cesare said mockingly, rising and going to the door, "I would be remiss if I did not provide you a guard or two." He opened the door and spoke to someone outside before coming back inside to sit in his chair. Chiara seated herself on the stool before the dressing table, her back to the mirror so that she could watch Cesare. This seeming stalemate colored the air with their unspoken battle for dominance. Each waited for the other to speak, waiting to find a weak point to attack. Chiara was aware that this probably was more suspicious than turning limp and hysterical, but her pride wouldn't allow her to let Cesare master her verbally. She glared at him and he watched her impassively as the sun set and the light in the room turned from golden to vermillion, and then to red.
"You sit very far away," Cesare said at length as they waited for drink.
"I do not trust you as far as I could throw you," Chiara retorted tartly, her courage coming back at the extended period of distance between them. Cesare frequently invaded her immediate space purely because it made her uncomfortable and that amused him and served his purposes. At last the maid came in, bearing a candle to stave off the gathering darkness and another followed her with a tray bearing a pitcher and two goblets. The tray and goblets went to Cesare who took them, setting them on the little table next to his chair before pouring the libation. The other maid lighted several lamps around the room before both women bowed out, leaving Chiara and Cesare alone again, without distraction.
"You thirsted, my lady, and I called for drink," Cesare said, his black eyes sparking as he smiled a cunning smile at her, "Come and receive your portion." He held one of the goblets out to Chiara. His strange smile worried her, made her wonder if there was something in the wine. Did he think he could give her some slow-acting poison and make her beg for the antidote, trade confession for her life? She would rather die first.
'Perhaps,' Chiara thought as she rose gracefully, despite the gown, and crossed the room without tripping to take the goblet from Cesare Borgia, 'Death would be kinder.' She sipped at the spiced mead and held Cesare's faintly amused gaze over the rim of the cup.
"What is going on here?" Ezio roared furiously. Alfonso and Vittorio separated, both young men still seething at each other. Alfonso spat a mouthful of blood and saliva at Vittorio who lunged at him, the image akin to a bear attacking a lion. Draco and Tullio both caught hold of Vittorio's arms and Ezio flew in and thrust Alfonso back.
"What is the meaning of this? We fight Templars, not each other," Ezio snarled, taking in the expressions of his novices. Draco and Tullio looked worried, Marisa and Serafina as if they were in shock, Vittorio was in a rage, and Alfonso's was twisted into an amalgamation of disgust and fury, all of that directed at Vittorio. Ezio had no patience for scuffling among his novices at the moment. Chiara had been missing for nearly a month and Ezio was being driven to exhaustion with fear for her on top of his many other concerns. The novices were supposed to be rotating through their normal retinue of missions and training and the search parties organized to find Chiara. But all of his novices were here at Tiber at the moment, and, worse yet, fighting amongst themselves to boot. Ezio was close to losing his temper.
"Have you all gone mad?" he demanded, "Or have you forgotten what the Brotherhood is about?"
"Apologies, master," Alfonso mumbled, wiping at the blood on his chin and merely smearing it.
"We meant no disrespect," Vittorio muttered, shaking off Draco and Tullio who reluctantly let go of their brother-in-arms and stepped back so that the two perpetrators were left standing immediately in front of Ezio.
"You all have duties to be attending to," Ezio snapped irritably, accepting the apologies, "Now quickly and briefly tell me why you are fighting amongst yourselves."
"There has been a traitor in our midst, master," Vittorio stated boldly.
"She is not a traitor!" Alfonso shouted at Vittorio, whose eyes flashed and the novices growled at each other.
"Whom are you referring to?" Ezio asked coldly, masking his growing dread.
"The bitch, Chiara," Vittorio spat her name out as if the taste of it was more than he could bear. Alfonso shifted restlessly, snarling like an animal, only restraining himself because the master was there. Vittorio pretended not to know this for the moment, but continued speaking.
"I went to hear Borgia's latest speech and there she was, the little bitch, standing behind him and he claimed her as his ward while simultaneously slandering the Brotherhood," Vittorio finished hotly.
"You saw this with your own eyes?" Ezio asked slowly, without faltering. A small part of him felt relief that Chiara was still alive, but the rest of him grew abruptly terrified that she was, apparently, in the hands of the Borgia.
"Yes, master," Vittorio said, staring first steadfastly, and then faltering as he watched the color drain from Ezio's face.
"You don't believe that Chiara would betray us, master?" Alfonso pressed, alarmed. Ezio thought absently that Alfonso looked much as he had when he was young, his hair a lighter shade of brown, but his eyes a lighter shade of gray than Chiara's.
"No, she wouldn't," Serafina said at last, recovered enough from her shock to speak, "I will vouch for her also."
"And I," Marisa said, prompted to speak to solidify her position with her friends.
"No, Chiara would not betray the Brotherhood," Ezio said after a moment of considering the faces of his novices, rubbing his face with one hand. Love for Ezio alone would have caused Chiara to keep faith with the Brotherhood, but that she had lived in Rome all her life and had seen how the city had changed under the Borgia meant that the Assassins had her loyalty twice over. Vittorio, who knew nothing of that, still looked suspicious, but also relieved that he wasn't going to be punished for anything.
"Alfonso, I have something to speak with you about. The rest of you," Ezio turned piercing eyes on the rest of his novices, "Divvy up Alfonso's missions as suit yourselves." Ezio turned and walked quickly out of the room trailed by Alfonso and the novices left behind began talking amongst themselves immediately. Ezio said not a word until he and Alfonso were secured in his office.
"Alfonso, I have a special assignment for you," Ezio said, settling heavily in his chair, "I suspect you already know what it is." The young man nodded.
"You want me to see if I can get into the Vatican court, find Chiara, and make contact with her," Alfonso said.
"The search parties will no longer be needed at least, those have taxed our strength to its utmost," Ezio murmured, then looked at Alfonso sharply with a question.
"Do you know anything about how this came about?"
"I do not know the specifics, but Fina told me that Chiara asked for her advice concerning a footpad before she disappeared," Alfonso said, "Fina didn't tell me until a few days ago because Chiara asked her not to tell anyone, especially you, master. Chiara didn't want to be forbidden to leave the island."
"She was foolish," Ezio said quietly, "Did she know anything about the person tracking her?"
"Fina said that Chiara told her that it was a man, but nothing else," Alfonso admitted, "Not even Risa knew that Chiara was being followed." Neither man spoke for a moment.
"I will expect you to make regular reports as you gain information," Ezio commanded, "This will be your sole responsibility for the time being. I will join you at times if other matters of greater import do not require me."
"Yes, master," Alfonso acknowledged, bowing his head.
"See yourself to bed for rest, then to a doctor first thing in the morning before you begin," Ezio said. Alfonso bowed and left through the door. Ezio rested his head in his hands and allowed himself to feel the fear he had refused to show any of his recruits. Chiara was not only captured, but in Cesare Borgia's hands. That she was alive and able to be shown to the public meant that Cesare didn't know she was an Assassin, could only suspect. Ezio could only hope that this uncertainty would persist, or that Chiara was clever enough to convince the suspicious Templar that she was not, in fact, an Assassin.
Whatever had been in the wine was driving Chiara to madness. Over the course of the past hour, she had grown increasingly irritable as she sat there with Cesare Borgia in silence, his black eyes never leaving her. The itchiness of the fabric of her gown against her skin and growing heat could have been chalked up to having been still for far too long had she not also felt a dampening of her loins. To add insult to injury, she had been feeling increasingly lethargic for the past quarter hour. She glared at Cesare, gritting her teeth and refusing to drink any more of the mead with a curt, "No, thank you."
"Oh come, you must be thirsty again, you are flushed," Cesare said, his smug smile growing infinitesimally wider. He sauntered toward her with the pitcher to refill her empty goblet. Chiara glared at him, her spine stiffening and this caused the fabric of her gown to move against her skin and left her with a strange rippling fire in her stomach.
"Please, I insist," he fairly purred as he lifted her goblet to her lips. Chiara lashed out at the goblet, but Cesare had put down the pitcher and caught her wrist with a wolfish smile that chilled her blood for a heartbeat before the heat surged back with a vengeance. She was moving slower than she had thought, and her body wanted him. She loathed him, but the thought of him naked– Chiara cut that thought off and shuddered as the warmth of his hand on her wrist seared her and she gasped at the intensity of the sensation.
"What– " Chiara breathed.
"An aphrodisiac," Cesare said, sipping from the goblet himself, but only once before he put it down. Whatever was left of it after she had drained the goblet was probably only a very small amount of the dose he had given her, and diluted so in a second cup of mead would mean it was that much weaker. He would remain unaffected while she suffered, but it was a kind of suffering that had never crossed her mind. Torture, rape, death, all these things she had been prepared for, but this… she was already disturbed by the juxtaposition of how much she feared and hated Cesare Borgia and how much she wanted him to rip away her gown and take her.
"And it makes it that much easier for you to rape me then?" Chiara asked, forcibly steadying her breathing, "I wouldn't have thought that Cesare Borgia needed the help of anything in order to rape a female he thought was only fourteen." She was attempting to needle him, but he simply stared into her uncertain eyes, watching her alarmed expression, his self-satisfaction palpable.
"It's not rape if you're begging to have me between your thighs, is it?" he murmured, stroking her wrist with his thumb so that she quivered, "But be patient a little longer." Despite his own words, he lifted her and went to the bed, dropping her on top of the coverlet. The series of movements had Chiara's skin burning so that she hissed and tried to escape his grasp. Cesare left her and went to the door, opening it and looking out, beckoning to someone.
"You want help with this pitiful little creature?" Michelotto asked with a snort as he entered the room, "This is hardly worth my time or skills." Chiara started and stared at him, terrified and suddenly shaking uncontrollably. Her revulsion warred with the blatant arousal of her body and she became confused, unable to understand why she was responding so favorably to the men she feared.
"I don't need help, I called for you so that we could share," Cesare soothed his executioner, shutting the door.
"Well, that is quite a different story," Michelotto said, looking at Chiara with new, hideously hungry eyes. "But we are none of us prepared for the situation at hand yet." Chiara shrank back and moved to get off the bed as Cesare and Michelotto began stripping their doublets, boots, shirts, and hose off, but the aphrodisiac's effects were becoming stronger with every passing minute so that now every movement was an agony of heat, desire, loathing and confusion. She stilled herself to control the discomfort, finding that she could just tolerate her own condition if she wasn't moving. Motion made her feel like she wanted to crawl out of her skin.
"Come here, pretty," Michelotto coaxed gloatingly, approaching her slowly, naked, "I imagine that gown must be feeling most uncomfortable." Chiara's opposite desires to move away from him and not move at all only added to the confusion of her thoughts and left her in a stupor so that she let him get close enough to unknot and pull out the lacing on one of her sleeves. Michelotto dropped it to the floor and reached for the lacing at her bust when she looked over and Cesare had her other arm and was pulling away the lacing there. Together, the men shifted her so that her unlaced gown could be pulled over her head and discarded with its lacings.
"She really isn't quite to my taste," Michelotto muttered, "But it wouldn't do to be picky about such a gift. She is a pretty little thing. Hardly more than a child, but lovely still." Chiara, able to grasp some of what was going on, crossed her arms over her chest and pulled her legs into her body and pressed them together, closing her eyes and praying that it was all simply a nightmare and that she would awaken momentarily in Ezio's bed, if not his arms.
"Believe it or not, she claims to be one and twenty," Cesare responded, pulling Chiara's arms away so that Michelotto could unlace the front of the Chiara's shift. His fingers skimmed the skin of her chest as he did so, purposely, so that she squirmed and whined softly.
"She's shaking," Cesare observed, "Though I cannot tell if it is from lust or fear." Both men laughed as Chiara's shift was lifted away and her wrists were handed to Michelotto. He dragged her across the bed and turned her so that she was facing Cesare, her back to him as he knelt behind her
"It's likely both at the moment," Michelotto said, and Cesare forcibly parted her thighs and knelt between them.
"Stop it," Chiara gasped, having finally found her voice, "Stop it, leave me alone, and go away, please!" She was breathless from the sheer force of the aphrodisiac, but both men only chuckled again. Cesare pinched one nipple and she arched into the touch with a whimper of pain. Chiara squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to watch.
"There's no stopping now, my lady," Cesare explained with a cruel smile, "And while you may claim that you'd like us to, your body tells us how much of a lie that is." He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her lips, slipping his tongue between them and she shuddered violently. Michelotto caught her hands up behind her back and wrapped one large hand around her slender wrists and slid his hand around to the front of Chiara's body, pausing to grope one tiny breast, and then dipping lower to cup the mound of her sex. She couldn't stop the moan that came with his hand covering her genitals entirely, seemingly wrapping them in heat so that her hips pressed forward into his hand, to her humiliation. Chiara, lost in sensual touch, had an overwhelming sense of wrongness and helplessness, but was unable to suppress her responses. Cesare stopped kissing her for a moment and she tried to press her hips into Michelotto's hand again, but he kept his touch light so that she had no more pleasure than she had had before. Cesare handed one of the lacings of the gown he had picked up to Michelotto.
"Bind her wrists." Chiara bit back a whimper as the hand left her, the coolness of the air unbearable after the confinement. Michelotto bound her wrists as ordered, but used either end of the lacing so that she could bring her hands as far forward as her hips, the length between her wrists taut across the tops of her buttocks. Cesare probed between her thighs with his fingers.
"She is more than ready for us," Cesare said, "She fairly drips."
"I would like to taste her before then," Michelotto suggested. The men maneuvered Chiara so that her back was pressed to the bed while Cesare's lap supported her head. Since her hands were fastened, Cesare merely took hold of her legs behind the knee, pulling them up and back and exposing her to Michelotto's hungry gaze. The heady, musky scent of female arousal began to leak into the air and Chiara struggled half-heartedly to close her legs, an attempt easily thwarted by Cesare. Michelotto bent, resting his weight on the backs of her thighs, and dragged his tongue between the folds. The feeling was exquisite, and Chiara's back arched as she cried out. The tongue flicked over the sensitive nub of flesh before delving into the soft opening below it.
"No," Chiara groaned, trying to fight Cesare's hands, but subconsciously spreading her legs wider and allowing Michelotto's mouth even greater access. He took it greedily, sucking on what he could pull into his mouth and lapping at what he could not. Chiara closed her eyes, pulling against the lacing around her wrists so that it dug into them, unconscious of the pain and the likelihood of bruises there later. Pinned and folded double, she was helpless to either hinder or help, only to squirm while Cesare smirked masterfully as he looked down on her.
"She tastes divine," Michelotto said at long last, lifting his head. His mouth was smeared with traces of fluid. He licked his lips and Cesare lifted an elegant eyebrow.
"Perhaps I should have a turn," he said, "But I wish to take her immediately after."
"That can certainly be arranged," Michelotto responded. Shivering with need and wound too tight, Chiara pressed her hips upward as much as she could. Michelotto looked down at her and smiled darkly.
"It seems our friend here would be perfectly willing to oblige you," he added. The men stood, dragging Chiara off of the bed and carrying her to an open area of the room. Michelotto caught her under the knees with his elbows so that she dangled, thighs apart and vulnerable. Chiara wriggled, too aware of how achingly empty she felt.
"Can you hold her?" Cesare asked, watching her struggle.
"Not forever, but she is very light," Michelotto responded. Cesare knelt in front of Chiara, cupping her buttocks in his hands and pressing his face forward into her center. He licked her long and slow, taking a moment to savor her flavor.
"Bastard," Chiara managed weakly. Micholotto chuckled, his chest rumbling with it, but the torment was Cesare's laughter against her sensitive parts, the vibration making her that much slicker, pushing her further yet toward an unmistakable orgasm.
"You have no conviction, my lady," Cesare said with satisfaction, laving the bud of her clitoris so that she threw her head back against Michelotto's shoulder and moaned, "You can no longer deny that you want this." Cesare sucked the tender flesh into his mouth and lashed it with his tongue, sliding three fingers into her, stretching her open. This was too much for Chiara and she climaxed with a shriek between clenched teeth. Impossibly, Michelotto was able to pinch a nipple harshly whilst still holding her, and she thrashed so much that he nearly dropped her on Cesare. Chiara panted, going limp as Cesare lapped at her. But the drug was still at work in her body and her increasing sensitivity had her building to another orgasm that Cesare monitored carefully. He stopped stimulating her just before she reached satisfaction. Chiara groaned at the disappointment. Michelotto let her down so that she was standing on her own feet. She tottered for a moment, but then Michelotto was lifting her by the waist and Cesare was wrapping her legs around himself, angling them both for penetration.
"Why?" Chiara breathed, her expression confused and vulnerable when Cesare put her back against the nearest wall and paused, looking into her face. The stone was cold against her back, a welcome relief, but it did nothing to assuage the yearning between her legs the way Cesare, poised there, would in a moment.
"You know why," he answered, voice sultry with wicked promise. It took Chiara a moment to think about that through the haze of an increased heartbeat and an intense focus on the imminent, intimate connection. She tried to impale herself on him, but he maneuvered so that she was completely unable to. She whined in frustration.
"No," she sighed pitifully, struggling to find the words, "I didn't want this. I don't want you." This was punctuated with a glazed, baleful glare that made Cesare smile.
"Then who do you want?" Cesare coaxed silkily, "Michelotto? You'll have him in good time."
"No, I want…" and she paused, staring into his black, pitiless eyes, master of the situation even in the heat of passion.
"I hate you," she bit out between her teeth as understanding dawned on her with a sudden burst of tears. Enough of the drug had burned off that full awareness had returned and knowing what she was about to do hurt. Cesare eyed her carefully, uncertain of how to take her changing mood.
"Fuck me, Cesare," Chiara whispered, "Please, fuck me."
"With pleasure, my lady," he responded, a smile spreading across his face and, for a moment, he was handsome enough to rival Ezio in Chiara's eyes. Something in her chest twisted painfully at the thought, but she had to push it away because in her current position, it would have been only too easy to betray the Brotherhood by saying his name. But the way Cesare claimed her body was as unlike Ezio as it could have been. He drove so deeply into her that she cried out in pain, but what was left of the aphrodisiac melded that with her arousal so that she responded with an intensity that surprised them both. Cesare wanted to hurt her, to punish her for stopping short of giving him a name, any name that he could investigate, and Chiara knew what his aim was, but instead she cried out for more, sobbing his name and clinging to him with all the strength of her slender fingers. Surprising as it was, the idea of it was too much for Cesare and he grunted as he spilled himself inside of her. She shivered when he withdrew himself.
"She is all yours, my friend," he said to Michelotto, who took hold of Chiara's arm with gleaming eyes.
"And I know exactly how I want her," he said, fairly throwing her at the bed. Chiara stumbled and half-fell, feeling the covers beneath her stomach before Michelotto was pinning her down, kicking her legs apart. She was standing on tiptoe, just able to reach the floor, when he invaded her roughly and set his pace hard and fast and brutal. Chiara bit her lip and whimpered, pressing back against him until, finally, Michelotto was done and withdrawing. Cesare had put his shirt, hose, and boots back on and stood by with a knife to cut Chiara free. Exhausted, she sank to the floor and leaned her head against the bedpost, dizzy and sick.
"Your gift is well-received," Michelotto said to Cesare, catching his breath, "She's a good fuck."
"Your gratitude is appreciated," Cesare said shortly, bending and cutting away the lacing around Chiara's wrists. She pressed herself against the bed, shying away from him, but had no energy to put into escaping from him. Having her hands back, she gripped the bedpost to help pull herself up, but her hands were numb and she fell with a soft sound of alarm.
"IF you ever have need of my assistance with her, please, let me know," Michelotto said with a leer in her direction.
"I will," Cesare said, "Now get out." MIchelotto bowed out, visibly irritated by Cesare's sharp command, but said nothing more. With Michelotto out of the room, he turned back to Chiara.
"I will send in the maids to attend you," Cesare said, "You would benefit from a bath."
"A bath won't wash away what you've done to me," Chiara responded, no spirit in her tone. She curled into herself, not looking at him, not thinking about what he had just done to her, what she had just done to herself.
"Did I break you so quickly?" Cesare questioned mockingly, having gone to pick his doublet off of the floor to put it on, "You've disappointed me, my lady. With all that spirit, I expected you to put up more of a fight."
"You don't even know my name," Chiara spat, fury lighting her eyes as she snapped her head up to glower at him, but her body was unable to do what she so dearly wanted to at the moment: to rise and fly at him, vault over his shoulder and catch his chin and wrench it back and to the side as she came down behind him, breaking his neck. Instead, she shook with rage on the floor at her own, temporary, impotence.
"You refused to tell me your name, so I gave you one," Cesare quipped cruelly from across the room, "Mea." With a scream of wrath, Chiara was on her feet and charging him, but Cesare, with a condescending smile, slipped out the door and shut it. Chiara threw herself against the door, pounding on it, howling every foul word that came to mind. It only took her a few minutes to realize that she simply could not keep up this level of energy and she sagged into the tapestry chair. A strange numbness set in, and Chiara lost all sense of time. At some point, a knock sounded on the door, and then a maid let herself in.
"My lady, it was brought to my attention that you might like a bath," the maid said, her nose wrinkling at the powerful aroma of sex that still lingered.
"Yes," Chiara said, voice low with weariness, "Quickly." The maid responded with alacrity before disappearing out the door. More time passed, but Chiara did not move from the tapestry chair and nearly fell asleep there when the knock sounded and the maids bustled in with a tub and plenty of hot water. Chiara dismissed them all for the time being and then gingerly eased her body into the tub, soreness having set in.
Chiara sat in the tub, the water up to her neck as she tried to sort out her emotions at last. On the one hand, she had been under the influence of the drug Cesare had used, so none of it was her fault. On the other, Cesare had been right: she had begged to have them both before it was over and she had gotten her wish. And somewhere, overarching all of that rationale was the fear that Ezio would hate her for what she had done, whether it was her fault or not. Even surrounded by the hot water, her hair trailing in damp tendrils around her, she shivered, chilled to the bone. She felt like a piece of cheesecloth: thin and permeable. She had been violated, and yet more disturbing, they had made her want it. She had been raped once before, long ago, before she was a novice, but all that man had been able to reach was her body. Cesare had taken her body, but somehow reached inside her and taken her soul too.
"Death would have been so much kinder," Chiara whispered to herself as the tears finally began to come, knowing that Cesare had judged her character well enough to know how much more she would suffer this way, under the weight of not just what he had done to her, but what she had done, and would do, to herself.