I. He was still thinking about the campaign on Forlì when he came to the villa of the disgraced cardinal. He'd spent the day going over everything with Vitelli, Colonna and Batista, to make sure all the mistakes made in the past would be avoided. He was almost entirely certain that he would emerge from this siege victorious, because he did not have to win it by making diplomatic twists and turns the way he would have when he'd still been a cardinal, and he was confident that he was better than his brother had been. A better strategist, a better soldier, a better son.

So there was almost no chance that he would lose to Lady Caterina Sforza, and he knew that once he'd won, only Fortune would be able to stop him.

And yet, sure as he was about his impending success, he had felt compelled to come here, to be soothed, or tested; yet he could not leave it alone. That was something to wonder about, maybe.

The servant at the door was the only one who was startled, but all the others that were still awake and that he encountered in the hallways quietly stepped aside, their heads bent and "Lord Borgia" on their lips. He did not ask any of them what their lord and lady were up to, but resolutely made his way through the grand palazzo, keeping an eye out for a burning fireplace or a human murmur.

Everything was still, so he headed to the second floor. Her bedroom, first.

No one.

His bedroom, then, just to check?

But again, no one.

The main bedroom was the final and most depressing option.

He stood for a moment with his lips pressed together. His hands were clammy in his gloves and his shirt sat uncomfortably beneath his doublet, but he didn't move to fix any of that.

He sighed, and finally turned on his axis to head up the last set of stairs and inspect the last rooms. He sucked in his breath when he saw her standing at the top of those stairs, alone and looking… ethereal. Her hair lifted up from her shoulders and her earrings and rings glittering in the candlelight. No necklace, nothing to hug her neck. He wasn't sure what she was wearing, but it wasn't formal.

Had he awoken her, up there?

She said nothing, so he ascended the steps. He stopped when there were still several steps to go, and looked up at her. She was wearing a linen nightgown the color of sunflowers. It was loosely cinched above her navel, and much of the available fabric that could have been used to cover the bosom or make the gown a little less transparent, seemed to have been wasted on the overflowing sleeves. No robe to keep her warm, not even a robe.

But he had not awoken her: he'd know from her face if she'd been sleeping.

He could have asked her then why she was not dressed when she had clearly expected him, or asked her where her husband was; there were a million things he could and probably should ask, but all he did was ascend the three steps that separated him from her, put his gloved right hand on her upper arm and bend over to kiss her cheek.

'Good evening, sister,' he whispered when his lips brushed her cheekbone.

'Cesare,' she said, rather than "brother".

He stepped back so he could look at her.

She stretched out her hand to him. 'Come.'

'Come where?' He asked.

'Don't you trust me?'

He put his hand in hers. 'More than I trust myself.'

She used her other hand to lift her shift and led him further up the stairs. He noticed that she wore nothing on her feet, and listened to the sound of skin on polished stone.

She did not lead him to the master bedroom, but to the chamber before it, where a dining table had been set up. There was a decanter of wine, plates with fruits and all kinds of small portions he didn't recognize, as well as several heavy candles.

He had his eye on the table and didn't notice the admittedly tiny servant who stood to his immediate right. He almost scowled at the girl when she stepped forward and asked for his coat.

'It's alright, Ippolita,' his sister said, and Ippolita stepped back with a curtsey and a "yes, my Lady".

He looked from Ippolita to his sister, who nodded to the chair at one head of the table. He walked to the chair but didn't sit down; instead he peeled his gloves off and put them next to his plate, while waiting for her to do something. He thought she might come and undo his cloak, bother him with her nearness, but she calmly went to the far side of the table. She sat down at the opposite head of the table, without even looking at any of the chair that were in between.

He undid his cloak, hung it on the back of his chair and sat down, too.

The table seemed about a mile long, and the imperial candles set up in between them obscured a clear picture of her. All he could see was a haze of hair and the blue of her eyes, swimming in the flickering light.

'You're mocking me,' he said, while Ippolita came forward and filled their goblets with wine.

'Really? How?' she asked. He saw her hand reach for her goblet of wine the moment it was fille. He reached for his own simultaneously, keeping it up for Ippolita to fill, without taking his eyes off of his sister. Her eyes were diverted a moment as she put the cup to her lips.

'I gave you my heart the day you were born, and all you have done is toy with it since,' he said, though it was, by no means, an accusation.

She lifted her eyes again.

'You sound like my husband,' she said.

'I doubt that,' he replied.

'He comes home sometimes for the sole purpose of calling me a witch, and to kiss me when he has.'

He said nothing and watched her pick up a stuffed date and take a bite out of it. 'Will you not eat?' She asked him.

He obeyed and stuck his finger in some white, creamy dragged it through the bowl and then stuck his finger in his mouth. It tasted sweet and thick like the wine.

'Why do you come home, Cesare?'

'To you?' He asked, and glanced at Ippolita. Since his sister

did not see the need to send her out of the room, he focused on the table, drank from his wine and then answered the question honestly. 'Hubris,' he said.

Lucrezia hummed. 'So, the question is who will be the first to perish before me, you or my husband,' she said.

He jerked his head up. 'Is that what keeps you awake?'

'You keep me awake.'

He said nothing and drank from his wine.

She rose from her chair then and walked over to Ippolita. She took the decanter of wine from her servant and moved her chin to the door. Ippolita left but forgot to close the door.

Lucrezia turned with the decanter in her hands and walked it over to him.

'Where is your husband?' He asked, so he wouldn't have to pay too much attention to her bending over and filling up his goblet of wine.

'I don't know,' she said. She set the wine down but didn't leave his side of the table.

She looked sad, so he reached out and took one of her hands in his own.

'Are you unhappy, sis?' He asked.

Her eyes moved over his face.

'I have a lonely heart, brother.'

He let go of her hand and looked down at his lap.

'Your husband must do better,' he told her, though he did not have much faith in the boy.

'My husband is not the issue,' she said.

He was afraid she'd elaborate on that, or worse, touch him, and so he stood up and walked away from the table to the back of the room, where there was nothing but a tapestry of the Battle of the Nileand a small table with a handcrafted Roman warship.

'Don't,' he said, even though she hadn't moved.

'You wish you would have found me asleep,' she said in an accusing tone of voice.

'Yes, I do.'

From the corner of his eye, he saw her leave the table and come towards him.

She said to his back: 'Because it is easier to feast your eyes on me, rather than bother with words, bother with the company, with me. You, brother, take advantage of me and of my heart, so do not come to me and tell me that I am toying with yours.'

'Yes, I mistreat you, forgive me,' he said curtly.

'I don't want to forgive you, I want to look at you, and talk to you and touch you.'

His skin prickled but he didn't turn around.

'I can't,' he said.

'You can't love me?' She asked, her voice small.

'No,' he said, and he turned around to face her. 'Not the way you want to be loved.'

There, it was over, he saw it in her eyes. She blinked to keep from crying, and then rushed out of the room without another word. He quietly sat back down at the table and drank from his wine.