The Moor

January 1493

Amara de' Medici was bored.

She stretched her left arm out to the side and ran her fingers over each strand of grass that was growing in the Borgia Villa that she had moved into all those months ago. Since her first meeting with Cesare Borgia she had only seen him in private once all to determine if she had settled into her new living arrangements with ease. Amara had assured him that she had although if she were entirely truthful she would have preferred to have been home, even with her spoilt older brother.

A childish laugh filled the air and Amara did not have to open her green eyes to know who it belong to.

"Joffre." Amara's muscles ached as she pulled herself into an upright position. "What are you doing?"

The young boy ran his fingers over the wooden dove coop. "My brother has ordered me to look after his birds. I must check them every morning." She smiled at the swelling pride in the boys tone.

"I mustn't keep you then." Amara leaned back on her flat palms.

"Cesare brought a new dove." He announced loudly.

"What did you call it?" She asked sweetly.

"Amara." Joffre was clearly proud of the name and of his new pet. Amara felt a rush of something overcome her at the sound of the name… annoyance perhaps? It wasn't that she didn't find Joffre's idea kind but it irritated her that the bird would now be locked away just as she was. Now Joffre owned an Amara just as his brother owned her and she wasn't inclined to being a possession.

"How lovely." Amara commented falling back into the meadow once more.

The sound of rustling reached her ears as the boy settled down cross legged studying her every movement. He watched her black hair as it was forced from its perfect position and flowed through the wind.

"Do you have a dowry?" The boy's voice was soft but Amara still had to force herself not to choke on the air in her lungs.

"A dowry?" She repeated his words to make full sense of them.

He nodded his light brown hair catching the sunlight. "Yes, I'm told girls have a dowry for their marriages."

"I don't think that I do." She didn't bother to add that she had not thoughts of being married in the near future. There was no need for Cesare to marry her off when she was such a suitable hostage in the Vatican.

"Does that mean you are not to be wedded?" Amara didn't catch the hope in his tone as he spoke the words.

"Yes."

The poor boy couldn't hear the edge to his new love's tone. He was used to doves not Ladies.

"Do you think that if I asked Cesare he would let us wed?" If the talk of marriage had caught Amara off guard this statement sent her spiralling.

"I do not think that would be possible." Amara's lips formed the words but apart from that there were no other signs that she was not asleep at that moment. To the outside world she was a picture of calm. After all, they couldn't see her heart beating erratically.

"You do not wish to marry me?" Sweet Joffre couldn't comprehend Amara's distaste to him. He was a Borgia and had been told since birth that his birth right was whatever he desired it to be.

Amara drove her mass up from its natural place so she could see Joffre herself. He looked like a puppy which had been struck for the first time. "I would marry to tomorrow if it were permitted to me." She answered his question honestly. She would marry Joffre. Since her birth all she had expected was to marry but she never had and although being only fourteen she was starting to wonder if she ever would in that hell called Rome. "However, I don't think your family would crave the idea." Rome is already aligned to Florence through her being there, there was no reason for her to wed Joffre. "Do you know why people marry, Joffre?"

"To create a union." It was a reaction that one would read from a book.

Once again, she let nature's pull force her back down as she relaxed her muscles. The rabble voices outside the walls rose and fell like a cascading river. She could block them out easily. Amara almost found them therapeutic as their voices carried on the breeze.

"Little brother." Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Juan Borgia. "Lady Medici." He added with a smirk which she took a distaste to as she turned her head.

"My Lord." She greeted with the familiar saying out of politeness not because it was true. It wasn't. Juan was a bastard at best and without title. As she twisted her head she was reminded that he was, of course, in charge of the papal army. He stood proudly in his armour as though it were a uniform that elevated him to a God like status.

"Would you like to attend training with me brother?" The invitation thrilled Joffre who jumped to his feet with ecstatic practice. Amara did not move, in any case, the invitation did not extend to her and the thought of sword fighting was more thrilling than spending any more time with her.

"Please." He begged although Amara did believe that she already knew he would let him. Juan was like her eldest brother in that sense, pawning one sibling against the other for his undying love and attention.

Amara was wearing a dress of simple green silk with a lack of beaded embroidery. She felt stupid for it now Juan was looking at her probably assessing her family's wealth as he draped an arm around Joffre's small shoulders.

"Is Cesare coming?" The sound of his name set Amara's teeth on edge.

"No." Juan snapped before letting a low chuckle erupt from his parted lips. "He is at a fitting for his new skirt."

Without another word Amara was left to her own devises again as she slumped into the soft floor again her lungs emptying of their contents. Juan's jest towards Cesare had wounded her slightly although she could not tell why. Amara rolled her eyes and forced the ideal thought from her mind concentrating on the bright sunlight instead.

A cruel and twisted smile played on Juan's lips as he stood proudly in his cloak. Amara stood next to him wearing a dress of blue silk, this time coated in jewels, she did not want to stand out in the crowd of finely dressed roman women. The women had taken a scornful approach to Amara over the past few months causing her to become somewhat of a recluse. They were perfectly friendly to her face with smiles and pleasant exchanges but there was something hidden behind their eyes which caused Amara to feel cold.

Still, regardless of the glances she was gaining she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief lifted from her heart which contrasted to the feelings of Cesare Borgia who was full of: despair. Amara had no idea of his thoughts though, as she watched the semi – circle of red enfold.

Cesare Borgia was becoming a cardinal and Amara had no need to be fearful of him any longer. He was a man of God, one below the Pope – his father.

She swayed slightly to the choral music that floated through the air high above. Everything told her that today was the perfect day. She was well rested and that morning she had woken without the rush of panic that normally invaded her disorientated drowsy morning state. Amara had her bearings after so long of them vanishing from her heart.

Joffre stood on her other side with an innocent, joyful smile as he watched his brother present himself to his father by kissing first his shoe and then the papal ring. He nudged her side playfully and Amara couldn't stop herself from turning to face him with a small smile. The corners of her mouth faltered ever so slightly when she noticed Juan glaring at them.

Then, Cesare Borgia turned towards them and something caught her eye that caused her marrow to run like ice through her.

He wasn't happy.

He wasn't happy in the slightest.

His facial muscles were tense. His fists were clenched into tight balls. His eyes were glossed over and dark. It was as though he were being forced into a world and life that he did not want, much as Amara was being forced into Rome.

A deep chuckle escaped Juan's lips, his sword jingling with movement as the cardinals sprawled themselves out the cream tiled stone floor. All happiness that Amara had felt that day was slowly being drained from her system and the cold temperatures inside the stone church were beginning to cause her skin to prickle with tiny bumps.

"He is in a fitting for his new skirt."

The words that Juan had spoken to her just days before echoed in her mind before Pope Alexander VI's firm and resounding voice commanded her attention:

"It is red, as a sign of the dignity of the order of cardinals, signifying that you are ready to act with fortitude." The pope drew himself up from his golden throne and walked slowly to the left side of the semi – circle. Next, he picked up a small long spoon from a pot being carried by a man in black cloths. "Red," He repeated more strongly this time while flicking the spoon like item at the soon to be cardinals. "As a sign," He started his pace dipping and flicking on a loop. "That you are willing to spill your blood for the increase of the Christian faith into which you have all been baptised." The smell of incense burned Amara's nostrils as it wafted behind the Pope. "Arise our brother cardinals."

As they rose the room was becoming more and more like a sauna for poor Amara. She tried to control her breathing as the sticky bodies around her stepped from left to right on their tired feet. The pope read his departing message for peace while she moved her eyes to the top of the high ceiling.

Amara believed that the words were meant to be inspiring but instead the prayer – to her – sounded like a curse.

"Have you heard my news?" Lucrezia Borgia tried to sound blasé with her words as she perched on her own plush bedding.

"No." Amara answered honestly. "What news do you have?"

Amara was excited at the prospect of new information. Lucrezia and herself had appeared to build a relationship entirely based on the act. Lucrezia was often a better source of knowledge than Amara, although the rarity of her tales from Florence seemed to make up for that fact.

"I'm to be married."

Amara De' Medici had only been truly jealous on a few occasions – this was one of those infrequencies. It wasn't the only feeling that was pulsing through her though, the other was pity, pity for herself. She hadn't thought to expand her friendships further than Lucrezia since she was younger than her and never far away. Nevertheless, at any moment Lucrezia was to be married and swept away from her.

Finally, Amara managed to splutter out a single word. "When?"

"I don't know."

"To whom then?"

"I don't know."

A silence settled between the two girls. It seeped into the room quietly and then all at once until the sound of flapping curtains broke their attention.

"Are you not pleased for me?" Lucrezia's voice nearly crumbled at the mere thought of her friend being upset. After all, she had already had to watch Cesare's sadness.

"Of course I am." Amara recovered from her previous shock with a sincere expression. "I swear, of course I am."

Lucrezia beamed. "Good."

Amara watched her rise to her feet and float across the room on the balls of them. She had crossed to the large window and pushed it wide. Lucrezia leaned forwards and hastily sucked the air into the lungs. Amara noticed, she held her breath often like that, normally in the company of her family.

"My love." Amara's throat began to scratch at the sound of the Pope's mistress entering the bedroom. She paused for a moment as her eyes caught the young Florentine girl before effortlessly moving forwards once more. "Amara."

Amara smiled at the greeting but was started by the use of her first name. She had believed until that moment that her name was in her possession and she was in control of who used it but even that was a lie.

"I have the sweetest news, my love." Giulia embraced the blissful Lucrezia's hands in her own.

"What is it?"

She hushed her secret as though it were how the world was to end. "The name of your husband."

Lucrezia's heart was ready to burst. Since she was a child she had practiced the vows of matrimony – often with one of her brothers – however she was never able to fill the name suitably. Now, she would be able to lie awake in her soft bed letting the name practice on her lip.

"It is Giovanni Sforza."

Amara's throat hitched abruptly. Sforza? The Medici's and the Sforza's were incompatible. She could not think of a time when someone in her family had sad one kind word towards them. She despised them and the whole of Milan as a result.

"Is he very old?" Lucrezia gazed up at her mentor for all the answers.

"Does love relate to age?" She demanded to know although the words were somehow soothing they sounded suspiciously like a warning.

"I am worried that my husband will not love me?" Lucrezia's new nature worried Amara. A sweet soul should never worry about not being loved.

"Does the Pope not love you?" Giulia called upon Lucrezia's love for her father taking tender strokes through her hair. "Then why would he marry you to someone who would not. Now, come, my love. Let us see you in your new gown."

La Bella's dress makers worked carefully to build up Lucrezia's gown. It was made of pure blue satin which Giulia had chosen. Grey lace, which Giulia had chosen. The creation of the dress was entirely in her father's mistress' hands and Amara disliked the factor.

"White is so dull." Giulia sighed feeling the fabric which Amara had seen as beautiful between her judgemental fingers and tossed it to the side.

"But surely a wedding dress should be white?" Lucrezia protested in her own sweet nature. She did not continue for too long before breaking out into a smile as Giulia began to circle her.

The mistress tapped the tips of Lucrezia's fingers and in the daintiest of movements she flicked it up in a dancing movement. Amara sat on the velvet sofa watching the couple slightly as they continued their ritual. "This dress is for your betrothal, my love." She inspected the slaves work indifferently before meeting eyes with Lucrezia with a grin. "And given the size of your dowry it should be made of solid gold."

"Open."

Amara De' Medici was so transfixed by the sight in front of her she barely noticed Lucrezia's giggling girlish gasp.

Not that she could blame her, Amara was holding in pure joyful shock that was bubbling inside of her stomach. The scene reminded her of home. It didn't look like her home, it was foreign to her in all respects but still it was exciting and artistic. She wished that she could paint the sight and keep it with her forever.

The red and gold velvet tent stretched across half of the Vatican gardens and was covered with cushions of similar fabrics and golden colours. Birds which Amara had never seen before made squawking noises over the noise of strumming strings. The scene was uprooted from a book and something Amara craved to witness in real life.

Lucrezia's childish giggle echoed as Djem began to speak:

"I wanted, my dear Lucrezia," He began to run forwards with outstretched arms to show off his little household. Meanwhile, Lucrezia caressed the hanging golden tassels with awe. "To give you a taste of my homeland, before the Lord Sforza plucks you from my view."

"Please, brother, sit." He gestured. Amara supposed that must have been her as well but was not certain until Cesare swooped his arms out after Juan allowing her to take the lead.

Djem clicked his fingers grandly and spoke: "Food."

"It's beautiful, Djem." Lucrezia said wistfully into Djem's chocolate coloured eyes. Finally, the servers returned with a tray of something that Amara did not recognise. Clearly worrying the same as Amara, Lucrezia inquired tentatively: "How do I eat it?"

"With your fingers," He laughed taking the sticky brown roll between his fingers and showing her, "Like this."

Djem managed to tear his eyes from Lucrezia's innocent frame to her brothers and Amara, his cheerful tone altered to a sincere nature. "I also wanted to thank the four of you for your kindness towards me."

Although Amara smiled she knew that the compliment was not really meant for her. She had only been alone with Djem once during his stay in the Vatican and that was to compare notes on being a guest to the Borgia household. Nevertheless, Amara found a way to graciously accept the commendation since she discovered herself liking Djem – a rarity in Rome.

"Are you leaving us soon?" Cesare's voice almost sounded hopeful.

"Oh, by the heavens, no!" Djem was horrified by such an idea as that along with the sweet girl to his right. "I dread the day I have to leave the bosom of your kindness. Our ways in the Courts of the Sultan can be cruel beyond your imaginations."

"I have a good imagination."

"My brother's predecessor had the eyes of all his male relatives plucked out and brought to him on a silver platter – all twenty two of them." Amara felt the urge to cover her mouth in shock in spite of this she repressed the impulse with curling her toes. She imagined the eyes of different shapes and colours all laying together in a pyramid construction in front of a greedy king with selfish power.

"That's forty four eyes." Lucrezia's perfect face fell in confusion. "But why on earth?"

"Because one who is blind could never take his place."

"Clever." Juan smirked.

Amara found herself unable to hold the swelling imaginings in her mind and spurted, "Cruel."

"So," Djem nodded at both parties before continuing. "To be among Christian souls, among the bosom of a family such as yours, that is fortune indeed."

"I'll drink to that."

"Wine?" The whispering voice started Amara as Cesare leaned into her ear.

"Or perhaps some of my spiced tea?" Djem's warm face inclined Amara to almost nod in acceptance before she was interrupted.

"Wine," Juan interrupted hastily before regaining himself with a grin. "I think."

Amara glanced from left to right at the two men surrounding her. Cesare Borgia didn't wait for an answer but surprisingly agreed with his brother pouring sloshing wine into her glass cup.

"It's a new blend." Cesare remarked. Amara brought the liquid to her lips and tested it. The wine didn't taste any different to anything she had drunk before at the Vatican but maybe her palate had become less susceptible to distinguish tastes in the past few months.

"It's wonderful." Amara complimented pressing her lips together and rubbing away the excess.

"And also," Djem announced suddenly and loudly. "To your future happiness, my dear Lucrezia."

"And I'll drink to that." Amara lifted the glass into the air towards her new friend before they all lifted the liquid to their lips and drank.

It was a little later on into the evening when Cesare and Djem had decided to play bowels that Amara was left alone with Lucrezia and Juan Borgia.

"Do you like the sound of your betrothed, sister?" Juan asked Lucrezia leaning against a flag pole with a sneer playing upon his face.

"Very much so." Lucrezia was pleased in even the deepest part of her heart. If Juan was discussing her marriage then it must have been one of great pride for the Borgia family and Giovanni Sforza must have been a grand man.

"And you," He turned his eye on Amara. "How do you feel about this blessed union?"

"I pray that God blesses it with his whole heart." She replied smoothly. God was often fallen back on in situations that she did not want to answer herself. After all, even a Borgia could not deny the work of God.

"You do?" He questioned.

"Yes," Amara blinked. "I do."

Juan's face turned an alarming shade of white in that moment. Amara wondered if she had crossed an invisible line and her heart began to pound in staccato beats from her chest. It wasn't until Lucrezia twisted her neck with more courage in front of her brother than Amara that she realised something had happened in the gardens.

"Djem?" Lucrezia's perplexed cry fell through the air.

Amara was transfixed as Djem fell down onto his knees in front of her guardian. She couldn't see from her angle fixed behind the fountain the boy choking on his own stomach lining as it travelling from his mouth in persistent splashes.

Lucrezia's feet dashed just in time to see her beloved Djem though. In Florence, Amara would have never been allowed to see a sight such as the one which unfolded before her. In Rome, nobody cared enough to stop her delicate feminine eyes from witnessing the horror as she followed Lucrezia's actions.

"Forgive me, Cardinal." Djem's breathing was staggered, his voice slow. "I have ruined your attire."

It was true. The Cardinal's clothes were coved in a new shade of red much like the one that he was supposed to spill for Christ. It gave Amara a terrifying thought that the colour was superficial and no brother of the Collage was willing to spill their blood for a God they supposedly loved.

'He's dying.' Amara thought. 'He was under the Vatican's care and he's dying.'

Amara had been unable to sleep that night. Djem's agony could be felt to her through the halls of the Vatican and had found their way into Lucrezia's rooms. Eventually, Amara couldn't stand the sinking feeling of her heart anymore. With one glance back at the sleeping girl she left the room.

Amara De' Medici made it through empty corridors until she finally turned and found a face that she hadn't anticipated.

"My Lady." Cesare greeted her with grey looking skin and tried eyes.

"My Lord." Amara did not stop walking assuming that – with everything settling on his mind – he would not wish to talk. Yet, he continued speaking forcing her slipper covered feet to a halt.

"How is my sister?" There was softness in his sincere tone which sparked something exotic inside of Amara. "You must be honest with me."

"She is asleep, Your Grace." It was the only truth she had which she could come to speak of.

"And you are not?"

Amara glanced at the marble floor before pinching her lips and finding a deep courage to speak. "May I be bold, your grace?"

"You must be to survive." He chuckled in his own amusement.

She inhaled a large block of air and spoke with the exhale. "It's the matter of Lucrezia's dowry."

"Yes." The subject was becoming an issue to Cesare but Amara had to know.

"Forgive me," She started being foolishly unaware of the fact she was in a very empty corridor with a man – a man of God – yet still a man. "But the money has not come from Florence."

"You are correct, Lady Medici." Cesare almost sounded impressed.

"Did my brother refuse?" She carried on, braver now.

"No," He paused thinking carefully about his next words. "We never inquired to take it."

Dong!

"It appears that God is calling." Cesare commented on the deafening chimes which interrupted them.

"Yes."

"What do you pray for?"

"For God to stop the spread of Marsh fever," She replied simply. It was after all the most reasonable thing to ask for, the last thing that Rome needed was an outbreak of a fatal disease. Amara noted Cesare's stern appearance and quickly added. "And also to pray for Djem's full recovery."

"Good night, Your Grace." Amara finally said after a few moments of silence.

"Good night, Lady Medici."

"Amara," She froze and turned gracefully. She was overly aware that it was the first time Cesare had used her Christian name and that she had never called him by his own. "Marsh fever: it is nothing for you to worry about." Cesare's smile was so clear and bright that Amara was almost inclined to believe him.

Alas, as Amara watched him stride away her head was full of nothing but worries.

A/N: Hello, thank you for reading and hopefully reviewing. Please please review because it honestly does help me write. I tend to write straight after getting a review just because I get this surge of energy. To be honest, this chapter is pretty boring because it's really just placing Amara in the centre of Rome's web but it's going to get more exciting as it goes on.

Please ask me questions, tell me how you think Amara is going to develop. What you want to happen? Quick question - are we all Cesare Lucrezia shippers or not? I am :)