#juan borgia x reader

[neonlight2]

Chapter 11: A Game of Temptation

Masterlist

...

Rome was a city of power, intrigue, and whispered sins.

But for Maria, it had become a gilded cage.

She was not a woman content to sit idly in Vatican halls, listening to the endless plots of cardinals and noblemen. She had come to Rome to see, to learn, to conquer– not to play the role of an obedient betrothed, waiting for a wedding that had yet to be arranged.

And so, she turned her attention to the only entertainment worth her time.

Cesare.

***

It started in the morning.

Maria joined Cesare for a ride through the Vatican gardens, draped in fine Spanish silks, her hair pinned up with golden combs. She knew the way his eyes flickered over her as she mounted her horse, the way his fingers twitched when she leaned a little too close to adjust her stirrups.

"You stare, amado mío," she murmured, adjusting the reins with a smirk.

Cesare exhaled a quiet chuckle. "You dress for staring."

Maria merely smiled, nudging her horse forward.

At midday, during a formal audience with cardinals, she let her fingers brush against his arm in passing, lingering just long enough for him to notice. She met his gaze beneath her lashes, her lips curving ever so slightly.

Cesare said nothing, but the look he gave her was a silent promise.

By evening, she sat beside him at a banquet, her laughter soft, her hand resting lightly on his thigh beneath the table—a fleeting touch, as innocent as it was wicked.

Cesare did not react. Not yet.

But Maria saw the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tightened around his goblet.

She was winning.

Or so she thought.

The Night of Retribution

By the time the palace halls had emptied and the Vatican had fallen into quiet, Maria retired to her chambers, stretching lazily as her maids unpinned her hair.

She expected sleep.

She did not expect Cesare.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Maria turned, arching a brow. "A late visit, mi amor?"

Cesare’s lips curved, but his gaze was dark, knowing. "You spent all day playing with fire, princesa." He stepped forward, slow, measured. "Did you think I would not notice?"

Maria smirked. "I thought you enjoyed the game."

Cesare exhaled a quiet laugh, reaching for her wrist. His fingers brushed against her pulse, slow and deliberate. "Oh, I do."

And then, he leaned in—close enough.

Maria felt the warmth of Cesare’s breath against her skin, his lips just barely grazing the shell of her ear.

"But you forget, mi princesa," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, "I always play to win."

A shiver ran down her spine, but Maria lifted her chin, her smirk unfaltering. "Do you?"

Cesare's grip on her wrist tightened—not rough, not forceful, but firm enough to remind her of the balance shifting between them. His thumb traced lazy circles over her pulse, as if feeling the rhythm of her own anticipation.

"You spent all day teasing me," he continued, his lips just barely brushing against her cheek before pulling away. "Now it is my turn."

Maria held her ground, watching him with sharp amusement. "And how do you plan to torment me, mi amor?"

Cesare smirked, reaching for the silk ribbon at the neckline of her gown. He toyed with it, rolling it between his fingers, but did not pull.

"I could take my time," he mused, his voice deep, deliberate. "Make you wait as you made me wait."

Maria’s breath hitched, but she only arched a brow. "Patience has never been one of your virtues."

Cesare chuckled, his fingers trailing down her arm—light, barely a touch. A teasing echo of all the ways she had tormented him throughout the day.

"Then I shall prove you wrong," he murmured.

And he did.

For the first time that day, he controlled the pace.

When she expected a kiss, he pulled away. When she reached for him, he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips instead—pressing an infuriatingly slow kiss to her knuckles before stepping back.

Maria narrowed her eyes. "You are insufferable."

Cesare grinned. "Am I?"

She exhaled sharply, folding her arms. "And what if I simply retire to bed? Put an end to this little game of yours?"

Cesare tilted his head, his gaze dark, knowing. "You won't."

Maria hated that he was right.

She was no more immune to him than he was to her.

And he knew it.

Maria exhaled, stepping closer. "You are far too pleased with yourself."

Cesare smirked. "And you are far too used to winning."

Maria studied him for a long moment, then smirked. "Then tell me, mi amor—is this your victory?"

Cesare exhaled a quiet laugh. "Not yet."

And before she could retort, he finally—finally—closed the space between them.

The teasing was over.

And the real game had just begun.

[gulnarsultan]

Yandere the borgias family with innocent reader

Yandere Borgia family and innocent reader.

The reader's financial situation and status do not matter to the Borgia family. It doesn't matter how you met them. What matters is that you are now a part of their family. So there is no way back now.

》 Protective/ possessive/ jealous/ manipulative/ violent/ 《

◇Pope Alexander vi /Rodrigo Borgia.

Head of the Borgia family. He is ruthless, ambitious and extremely devoted to his family. Bringing power, influence and wealth to the Borgia family are the most important principles for Rodrigo. Shortly after meeting you, Rodrigo sees you as his second daughter. So now for Rodrigo you are his sweet and innocent Princess. Rodrigo has a say in all decisions about your life. He wants the best for you. He is protective of you because of your innocent nature. He believes that an innocent like you cannot survive in such a world. Rodrigo will ensure that you live a life worthy of a Princess.

◇Vanozza dei Catannei.

For Vanozza, you are now her child and second daughter. She is very determined to be your confidant and advisor. She tries to help you in everything. She is protective and possessive about your innocence. She will not allow anyone to defile you. It will allow you to have the most expensive jewelry and dresses. Mother and daughter moments with you are very precious to Vanozza.

◇Cesare Borgia.

To Cesare, you are his innocent little sister. There is no limit to the abominations and cruelties he will do to you. It is very severe against the smallest mistakes made against you. Cesare will do anything for his family. So there is nothing that you cannot do. Even if he is a brash and arrogant man, this changes when he is with you. He maintains his image as the perfect man and the great older brother when he is with you.

◇ Lucrezia Borgia.

Lucrezia has always dreamed of having a sister. You are now her little sister. She is possessive and protective of your innocent nature. To Lucrezia, you are pure sunshine. Chatting with you, trying on new dresses and jewelry, and walking around together are her favorite activities. Lucrezia supports you in everything. She shares all her secrets and fears with you.

◇Juan Borgia.

Juan is not exactly close with his other siblings. But the only exception is you. Juan is improving his skills in combat so he can protect you better. He rarely visits taverns and brothels anymore. He doesn't want to spoil his image and innocence in your eyes. He fights a lot about you, especially with his brother. There will be a great rivalry between him and his brother.

◇ Giulia Farnese.

Giulia sees you as the daughter she never had. She's always fighting with Vanozza to mother you. In Giulia's eyes, you are an innocent girl. That's why the instinct to protect you is so strong. She never gets tired of buying you lots of gifts. The competitive battle with Vanozza never ends. However, both of them do not hesitate to work together for your good.

[cinmngirlnfr]

Juan Borgia

Fluff: 🥐

Angst: ❤️‍🩹

Smut: 🥀

Platonic: 💕

Headcanons: 🦢

Enemies to Lovers Arranged marriage Headcanons 🦢

[cherienymphe]

Tbh I’d read a whole Borgia family x reader fic cause Cesare, Lucrezia, Juan, Rodrigo, throw in Vanozza and Giulia too, are fucking hot. Idk how it’d work, maybe they’re just all having one big orgy?? Idk 😭

They all have a favorite at the brothel and it's not until it comes up in conversation that they realize they all favor the same girl 🙂‍↕️

[tlatollotl]

@askhistorians

From /u/400-rabbits

This is a whole pack of questions so I'm going to break them up into 4 part, starting with the question of indigenous sources, then moving onto the questions of technology and warfare before looping back around to discuss how the Aztecs portrayed themselves in indigenous sources.

Indigenous Sources

There are a number of pictorial codices which compile various aspects of Aztec culture, with the Borgia group codices thought to represent either a pre- or peri-Hispanic corpus. These pictorial documents are heavy on religious/calendric imagery though, and often bereft of written glosses, which makes them a difficulty entry into Aztec history.

More accessible are alphabetic histories written in the early Colonial period by indigenous and mestizo authors, as well as Spanish friars. The General History of the Things of New Spain, for instance, is a 12 volume encyclopedic collection of topics ranging from the creation of the world to which plant has berries good for treating dandruff. More commonly known as the Florentine Codex, after the most complete copy of the manuscript, the work was compiled in starting the late 1540s by a Spanish friar, Bernardino de Sahagún, utilizing Nahuatl scribes educated at the Colegio de Santa Cruz de Tlatelolco. The resulting work is composed in Nahuatl with Spanish translations (though sometimes just summaries). The entirety of the work was translated into English in the mid-20th century by Anderson and Dibble.

Diego Durán was Dominican Friar who wrote a history of the indigenous people he lived and preached among. In the 1570s he wrote The Book of Gods and Rites and The Ancient Calendar, both of which have been translated into English by Heyden and Horcasitas. His magnum opus, however, is his Historia de las Indias de Nueva España y Islas de Tierra Firme which is significant not only as an early European-style narrative history of the Mexica people, but also as a text based upon a proposed earlier source known as Crónica X (though arguments exist as to whether this was a single source or a diverse corpus of earlier works).

Other Crónica X sources include the work of another friar, this time a Jesuit named Juan de Tovar, who was a contemporary and cousin of Durán. Indeed, he probably even used Durán's work in his own writings, which survive as the Tovar Manuscript and Ramirez Codex (though the latter is a copy not directly attributed to Tovar). As with Sahagún and Durán, Tovar's writings were suppressed and almost lost until rediscovery in the 19th Century, although his fellow Jesuit, José de Acosta, relied heavily on Tovar's work in the chapters covering Mexico in his Natural and Moral History of the Indies.

The other Crónica X work comes from Fernando Alvarado Tezozomoc, who was a descendant of the ruling dynasty of Tenochtitlan born shortly after the Conquest. Also writing in the latter part of the 16th Century, his significant work is the Spanish language history of the Mexica, the Crónica Mexicana. Certain scholars, notably Galvaro Romero, have gone further and proposed Tezozomoc was the actual author of the Crónica X, though this is a minority view. A later work in Nahuatl, the Cronica Mexicayotl, covers almost the exactly same material, but was physically written by another indigenous author, Don Domingo Chimalpahin. There are various takes on the authorship of the Cronica Mexicayotl, but the synthesis approach it is an adaptation of Tezozmoc's earlier work by Chimalpahin. (See Battock 2018 “La Crónica X: sus interpretaciones y propuestas” for a summary of the historiography of Crónica X). No English translation of the Cronica Mexicana (to my knowledge) exists, but Schroeder and Anderson have published a translation of Chimalpahin's writings in their (1997) Codex Chimalpahin.

Of note, the Monarquia Indiana written by Franciscan friar Juan de Torquemada can also be seen as part of the Crónica X tradition, though this early 17th Century work actually drew upon a number of sources. Torquemada's work would subsequently inform the work of the Jesuit Francisco Clavijero, who wrote his La Historia Antigua de México in the 18th Century. In a pattern you might be starting to notice, there is no full English translation of Torquemada's work (though all 6 volumes are available online via INAH).

Outside of the Crónica X tradition there are various other works, the most important to understanding the Aztecs coming from the Texcoco tradition. Fernando de Alva Cortés Ixtlilxochitl, a descendant of the ruling dynasty of that altepetl, wrote various works in the early 17th Century by drawing upon then extant pictorial works (such as the Mapa Quinatzin). Perhaps his most relevant work to this discussion is his Historia de la Nación Chichimeca. In this text, he not only outlines the various happenings of the most important polity of the eastern Basin of Mexico (and 2nd most important part of the Aztec Triple Alliance), but delves further back in history to describe the social and political rearrangements in the Basin wrought by the arrival of the Chichimecs. Alva Ixtlilxochitl, along with his relative Juan Pomar, form the much of the basis of our understanding Texcoco, though more recently there have been some critical interpretations of their histories (see Lee's The Allure of Nezahualcoyotl).

There are certainly other works produced in the decades after the Conquest which can inform our understanding of indigenous life. There are more historically minded documents written in a combination of Nahua and European styles, such as the Historia Tolteca-Chichimeca. There are pictorial documents which are more focused on genealogy and territory, like the Codex Quetzalecatzin. There are various "relaciónes," surveys conducted by the Spanish to collect demographic data (but also cultural information) about various regions. There's the compilation of Aztec tribute found in the Codex Mendoza. There are pictorial and alphabetic works about nearby regions, such as the Relación de Michoacan and the Lienzo de Tlaxcala. There are, in other words, a plethora of non-Conquistador sources to draw upon, though their accessibility and availability to an Anglophone reader maybe limited.

Technology

This is probably the most uninteresting part of your question to me, in that it falls under a "not even wrong" rubric, so apologies if this section is short and somewhat brusque. There's a whole FAQ section of past answers you can read on this topic. Suffice to say, technology and civilization are not synonymous, and neither follows a straight line of development.

The example of the wheel, for instance, is usually tritely answered by noting that Mesoamericans were aware of wheels, we see them used in toys. The next step is to note the lack of draft animals usable to haul wheeled vehicles. A further step is to note much of Mesoamerica is composed of mountains and valleys, which are less than ideal areas for wheeled carts and other conveyances (being sure to note that Andean groups had draft animals in the form of llamas, but did not utilize them to pull carts despite a well-developed road system). A further note is to look explicitly at the Basin of Mexico, whose central lake system provided more advantageous transport by watercraft than by land, though this did not preclude a system of indigenous porters, the tlamemeh.

Going with an even broader view, we might note the Aztecs were about 2500-3000 years removed from the full development of staple food crop, maize. The equivalent time period in Afro-Eurasia using wheat would put us (following Tanno and Wilcox 2006 of wheat domestication being widespread in Mesopotamia by 8500-7500 years before present) would put us in the 6th-5th Millennia BCE, which generously puts us at the very early period of polity formation in Sumeria... and centuries before we see evidence of wheeled vehicles. Certainly there was no settlement in 5th Millennium Mesopotamia which could rival the megapolis of Tenochtitlan, nor even that of Teotihuacan a thousand years earlier. Perhaps the better question is why it took so long for complex states to form in Western Asia after the adoption of agriculture, relative to Mesoamerica.

Regardless, to put things more into context, here's a relevant quote from Hopkins (1973) An Economic History of Africa:

“Although the wheel is commonly regard as a symbol of economic progress, it is as well to remember that wheeled vehicle did not achieve a decisive advantage over other forms of transport until the industrial revolution, with the development first of the railway and then of the motor car. Before that time, the use of wheeled vehicles in Europe was inhibited by many of the problems experienced in Africa. In eighteenth-century Spain, for example, pack animals, especially donkeys, were by far the most important means of transport, though ox-carts were available and were used to a certain extent. The ox-cart carried three to our times as much as a large pack animal, but since it was costly to purchase and operate, and travelled at half the speed, it could not compete with donkey transport. Wagons did not become numerous in northern Europe until the sixteenth century, and even then they were used mainly for short-haul work. Until the roads were improved, pack animals remained the leading form of long-distance commercial transport on land. 'Long trains of these faithful animals, furnished with a great variety of equipment... wended their way along the narrow roads of the time, and provided the chief means by which the exchange of commodities could be carried on.' This statement could well apply to the Western Sudan in the pre-colonial period, though in fact it refers to England in the early eighteenth century.”

Add to this that mule-trains and porters continued to be major, even primary, methods of conveyance in Mexico well into modern age. The selection of something like "the wheel" to represent "real" civilization doesn't actually reflect the realities of use, and that is just one of any number of seemingly arbitrary indicators often used to show the primitiveness of Mesoamericans. So forgive me if I don't have much patience for this question which implicitly implies that Europeans -- using wheels, metal, crops, domesticated animals, and writing they did not invent, but borrowed from other peoples -- are superior to the peoples of a region which did independently invent many of those things. Why not ask why the Spanish had not invented universal schooling, steam baths, and public waste collection?

Warfare

This is another section I’m going to only briefly touch upon, because it has been covered extensively on this forum, including another FAQ Section.

Suffice to say that the idea of the Aztecs (and Mesoamericans, in general) fighting primarily to capture and not kill is a misconception. This is not to say capturing an opponent was not a valued goal, but we must recognize that the Aztecs did not conquer a large swathe of Mesoamerica by engaging in tactics detrimental to actual winning battles. As Hassig (2016) puts it, “capture was a significant goal, although one that is perhaps overestimated in the literature.”

Isaacs (1983) proposed making a distinction between wars of conquest and Flower Wars (xochiyaoyotl) based on primary source descriptions of the former which consistently show them as having “heavy slaughter of the enemy on the battlefield.” This perspective is consistent with actual descriptions of combat from the Spanish, who routinely describe tactics which preclude taking captives, such as barrages of arrows, slingstones, and atlatl darts. Likewise, the casualty rates of their Native allies (when mentioned) are indicative of deadly nature of warfare.

Often though, wars of conquest and expansion are conflated with Flower Wars, which are often portrayed as wholly ritualistic and based upon obtaining captives for sacrifice. Hicks (1979) examines how this view does have roots in primary sources, such as when Andrés de Tapia states Motecuhzoma told him they did not conquer the Tlaxcalans because “we desire that there should always be people to sacrifice to our gods"” or when Duran has Tlacaelel declare that region to be a “marketplace where “Huitzilopochtli] will buy victims, men for him to eat.”

Even as these sources state an overt aim of obtaining sacrifice, they also acknowledge the usefulness of continuing to maintain military activity outside the normal constraints on timeframe place by the necessity to plant and harvest crops. Per Tapia, the other reason to not conquer the Tlaxcalans was to maintain a “place where our youth could train themselves,” and Duran says one benefit is “the sons of noblemen would be occupied in this way and military activity would not be lost.”

The consensus view of Flower Wars then, is that there were realpolitik aspects to Flower Wars. They allowed a powerful foe to be ground down in what was essentially a long-term siege, while wars of conquest gradually encircled them, isolating them from the rest of Mesoamerica. The Tlaxcalans themselves acknowledged this, complaining to Cortés that their conflict with the Aztecs had left them bereft of sources of cotton and salt. Hassig (1988) further notes that we see gradually intensification of Flower Wars until they shifted over to become wars of conquest, as was already starting to happen in the borderlands between Tlaxcala and the Aztecs.

Views on themselves

The central tension of the Mexica identity was that they saw themselves both as put-upon underdogs and as destined by divine providence for conquest and glory. Sahagún writes that, on their migration into the Basin of Mexico, “nowhere were they welcomed; they were cursed everywhere; they were no longer recognized. Everywhere they were told: ‘who are the uncouth people? Whence do you come?’” (Bk. 10, p.196). Yet, they were also a people who were promised greatness by their patron god, Huitzilopochtli, who said “they [would] spread out, establish ourselves, and conquer the peoples who dwell in the great world” and receive “countless, infinite, unlimited commoners who will pay tribute to you” in the form of “precious green stones, of gold, of quetzal feathers, of emerald green jade, of spondylus shells, of amethysts, of costly clothing” as well as “various kinds of feathers -- cotinga, spoonbill, trogon; all the precious feathers; and multicolored chocolate and multicolored cotton” (Chimalpahin 1997)

They were both a part of the wild Chichimec peoples, but also the inheritors of the great and refined Toltecs. They were a severe and austere people, but, as we see in the quote above, a people which valued rich and refined goods. Gradie (1994) writes about how the union between the Mexica and the Culhua merged those two heritages into a single lineage which was quintessentially dual-natured, both savage and civilized.

The Mexica were also great cultural chauvinists, particularly when it came to their language; Nahuatl pretty much means “clear speech.” As much as they saw themselves as reviled and denigrated by their neighbors, they rarely missed a chance to get their own jabs in. The Otomi, for instance, were “blockheads,” “vain,” and “greedy,” while also being “lazy, shiftless” (Bk. 10, pp. 178-9). The Matlatzinca were “presumptuous, disrespectful” people who drank too much and even though some of them spoke Nahuatl, “the way they pronounced their language made it somewhat unintelligible” (p.182). The Tlahuica, though they spoke Nahuatl and not some “barbarous tongue” were nonetheless “crude,” “pompous,” “untrained,” and “cowardly” (p. 186).

For as much as they looked down their nose at other groups, the Mexica were not hypocrites and held themselves up to the highest standards of morality, behavior, and appearance. Maffie (2013) has written extensively about how Aztec philosophy conceived of a righteous life as balancing on summit or ledge, whose slippery earth constantly threatened to drop the individual into the depths of filth and depravity. As such, the Mexica individual was to constantly being on-guard against their own flaws, constantly monitoring their own behavior, constantly striving towards fulfilling their obligations to themselves, their community, their gods.

So a “good father” is one who “exemplary; he leads a model life” by being diligent, solicitous, compassionate, sympathetic; a careful administrator of his household” (Bk. 10, p. 1). In return a “good son” is one who is “obedient, humble, gracious, grateful, reverent” (p. 2). Sahagún expounds for several chapters about the ideal behaviors of various social roles, which consistently exhort some permutations of being humble, diligent, and gracious.

So when the Aztecs speak about themselves as destined to conquer and rule, this is not simple arrogance (though yes, it is arrogance). Their destiny was not just ordained and all they had to do was wait for it to be delivered, they were expected to strive and struggle, to prove their worthiness. In the Aztec mind, they had proved themselves, and continued to prove themselves, as worthy of greatness.

Battock 2018 “La Crónica X: sus interpretaciones y propuestas” Orbis Tertius 23(27)

Duran 1994 History of the Indies of New Spain trans. Heyden

Chimalpahin 1997 Codex Chimalpahin: Society and Politics in Mexico Tenochtitlan, Tlatelolco, Texcoco, Culhuacan, and Other Nahua Altepetl in Central Mexico trans. Schroeder and Anderson

Gradie 1994 “Discovering the Chichimecas” The Americas 51(1)

Hassig 1988 Aztec Warfare

Hassig 2016 “Combat and Capture in the Aztec Empire* British Journal for Military History 3(1)

Hicks 1979 “‘Flowery War’ in Aztec History” American Ethnologist 6(1)

Isaac 1983 “Aztec Warfare: Goals and Battlefield Comportment” Ethnology 22(2)

Lee 2008 The Allure of Nezahualcoyotl

Maffie 2013 Aztec Philosophy

Sahagun 1961 General History of the Things of New Spain, Book 10: The People trans. Anderson and Dibble

Tanno and Wilcox 2006 “How fast was wild wheat domesticated?” Science 311(5769)

[mavrisfanfics]

[Request] - Ezio x Reader - Families

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Pairing: Ezio Auditore x (ex)Borgia!Reader

Words:1248

Warnings: Mentions of Incest because Cesare and Lucrezia. Oh, and death.

Notes: *cracks knuckles* I might need to modify this ask a bit but, let's do it! 

Also, I had to do some research on the Assassin's Creed Wikia about the history of the Borgias (in game) so I could figure out how it would have been to grow up in such a family. 

I didn’t proofread this again because I’m in the middle of a Global Game Jam (my college is a host), it’s 6AM and I’m in no mood to reread this. I should be sleeping but the floor is really uncomfortable and it’s hard to sleep in the school. Guess I’ll remain awake until the end of the Game Jam, although my group is pretty much finished with the game

Growing in the Borgia family wasn't easy. If there was a family in the world that represented corruption, it was the Borgia and she happened to be the oldest of her generation.

Maybe that made things easier for her, because for a while she was Rodrigo Borgia's only child, and that might have made her one of his favorite, followed closely by the second oldest son, Juan.

One of her most vivid memories was asking him why the family did the awful things they did, when she was a young teen. That's when he introduced her to the Templar's philosophy and when she swore to follow it and the family.

However, as the years passed, it became harder to close her eyes to the cruelty running through their veins, especially when she found out Cesare had killed Juan for his own purposes (it wasn't hard for her to put two and two together and interrogate some people). She realized being part of the family didn't mean she was safe from them and left.

For a long time, she ran through Italy, hiding from the family but constantly being found. She had no more purpose than that to survive and find a safe place, but it seemed impossible with the influence and allies of the Borgia reaching the smallest corners of Italy.

She thought of fighting back, but soon figured she was one woman against a country and a cult. She could do nothing alone.

However, she realized how wrong she was when she met the handsome Florentine Assassin known as Ezio Auditore.

They met by pure chance. She had been finally caught in Venice by a family friend and was about to be shipped to Rome to face the consequences of her choices when he came; an angel in white fell from the heavens on top of her captors and took their lives to save hers.

He sook information on the Borgia and what better opportunity that to ask one of their own? But unlike what he originally thought, he didn't need to torture her, threaten her, seduce her, or whatever he planned to do, to get her information. Instead her tongue gladly unveiled her knowledge on the subject.

After she told him all he needed, she asked if he planned to face her father alone, and warned him of how dangerous the Borgia could be. All he did was laugh, send a cocky remark her way and leave with a wink.

At first, she chose to ignore it. He'd be dead soon, she figured. So, she kept running.

And yet the news that she heard over the next few months picked her curiosity. Allies of the Borgia, powerful ones, falling, on by one. And if her memory served her right, whoever did it was getting closer and closer to Rodrigo Borgia. Once again, it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

Against her expectations, a single man was slowly mining the Borgia influence throughout Italy, severing one connection after another.

And she wanted to help.

It wasn't hard to understand the reactions when she arrived at Monteriggioni, claiming peace, offering her help. She was put on lockdown after she was unable to convince the now head of the family, Mario Auditore, that she wanted to help.

Yet, she insisted from her cell, day after day. Yet only various weeks later, when Ezio returned, was she finally released, after he vouched for her for the time she helped him in Venice.

However, he didn't take her offer to personally help, not at first. But after many months of helping around Monteriggioni and befriending Claudia, she was able to convince the family.

It would be only a few years later that she would meet her own father in the Vatican, only this time, instead of the Templar's Creed on her head, she carried the Assassin's on her tongue and a Hidden Blade on her arm.

To say he was disappointed was an understatement. The insults thrown her way while she and Ezio fought against him stabbed her heart, however she didn't let that stop her from being an Assassin. It was also the first time Ezio stood up for her, she remembered how furious he was at some of the ruder insults.

She left that day with Ezio and a heavy heart. Whether she liked it or not, Rodrigo Borgia was still her father and she still loved him, deep down. She thanked Ezio, afterwards, for not killing him.  

That battle forged a bond between the two Assassins that resulted in the golden band that now rested on her finger, the same one she was playing in as she tried to hold in the tears.

Rome rested at her feet under hers and the moon's watchful gaze. At the distance, the Castel Sant'Angelo reminded her of the of the images she'd never forget: Seeing Cesare kill Rodrigo and not be able to do a thing. If it wasn't for Ezio, she could have probably done something stupid.

"Amore?"

She turned to said Assassin, his soft voice doing wonders to her hurting heart.

"Are you okay?" He asked, taking a spot on the edge of the tower of the Assassin's hideout.

She shook her head. They remained in silence for a while.

"It's sad, you know?... See a single person destroy a family like this. Not only did Cesare kill my brother and my father, he also broke my sister." She spoke with a poison more venomous than the Cantarella Cesare probably still had in his system.

"I'm sorry" Ezio hugged her "I shouldn't have taken you with me this time"

"I insisted. And whether I came or not, father would still be dead." She hid her face on his shoulder. "If it wasn't for that stupid spoiled brat..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but she had no need to. Ezio shifted to look her in the eye.

"(Y/n), maybe you should go back to Monteriggioni, you are not fine-"

"Of course I'm not fine!" She jumped up and away from him and started passing around the roof, anger taking over grief "My younger brother killed my father in front of me and I could do nothing to stop it! And why?! Because Cesare is a fucking brat, that's what! I swear to God I'll be the one to kill him, for everything he did to the family and anyone else!" Ezio got up too and before he could say a thing, she interrupted him with an accusing finger. "And if you try to tell me to calm down or convince me to leave Rome, I'll kick you off this roof! I'll destroy that fool, if it's the last thing I do!"

Ezio showed a mix of worry and amusement on his face, which secretly amused her in turn. He hugged her and kissed her head, making her feel like melting.

"Just don't do anything stupid. You're an Auditore now, and in this family, we care for each other. And I love you too much to lose you." She hugged him back and smiled.

"I guess I was born on the wrong family then. But it's a good thing I did, otherwise I'd be your sister and not your wife."

Ezio was going to make a side remark on how that didn't stop Cesare but she kissed him before he could even start talking.

"Maybe there's one good thing to being a Borgia after all." She finished with a wink.

[neonlight2]

Chapter 5: The Sister’s Judgment

Masterlist

...

The air in the Spanish court was thick with intrigue. Juan and Cesare Borgia had each made their moves, proving their worth through war and cunning, yet Maria was not satisfied. She was a strategist, a ruler in the making, and a queen could not afford to make a choice without knowing all the pieces on the board.

She had seen how the brothers fought for power, but she had not yet seen them through the eyes of someone who knew them better than anyone.

And so, she requested an audience with Lucrezia Borgia.

The request surprised many—why summon the Pope’s daughter to Spain, a land still wary of Rome’s influence? But Maria was undeterred. She wanted to see the woman who had been raised alongside both Juan and Cesare, who had known them before ambition had hardened them. A sister’s insight would reveal more than any battlefield or courtly maneuver ever could.

It was weeks before Lucrezia arrived in Castile, but when she did, Maria knew instantly that she was not a woman to be underestimated.

Lucrezia entered the great hall with grace, her golden hair catching the candlelight, her gown of deep emerald reflecting the wealth and prestige of the House of Borgia. Yet beneath her delicate beauty, Maria could see something else—an awareness, a quiet intelligence. Lucrezia was not merely a pawn in the games of men. She was a player in her own right.

The two women met in Maria’s private chambers, away from the prying eyes of Juan and Cesare. Maria sat in a high-backed chair, watching as Lucrezia settled across from her, poised but curious.

“You are not what I expected,” Maria admitted.

Lucrezia smiled, tilting her head. “And what did you expect?”

“A girl shaped by the ambitions of men.” Maria sipped her wine. “Yet, you do not seem like a woman who allows herself to be ruled.”

Lucrezia’s smile deepened. “I have had little choice but to learn the game. A woman in my family who does not understand power is doomed to be used by it.”

Maria set down her goblet, leaning forward. “Then let us speak plainly. I have two brothers vying for my hand, each claiming to be the one who will secure my rule. But words are easy. I would know them as they truly are. So tell me, Lucrezia—who is the better choice?”

Lucrezia’s expression did not change, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

“You ask me to betray one brother for another,” she said. “That is no easy request.”

Maria smirked. “I never said I would make this easy.”

Lucrezia considered her for a long moment before finally speaking. “Juan is passionate, impulsive. He desires greatness, but he often overestimates his own abilities. He is charming, but charm alone cannot rule a kingdom.”

Maria nodded. “And Cesare?”

A pause. Then, Lucrezia’s gaze darkened slightly. “Cesare is dangerous.”

Maria raised an eyebrow. “More than Juan?”

“Far more.” Lucrezia’s voice was quiet, but firm. “He does not fight wars for glory—he fights to win. He does not play politics for favor—he plays for control. If you choose him, he will be your most loyal protector.” She exhaled. “But he will also be the one you can never truly own. He does not belong to any throne, Maria, no matter how much he claims otherwise.”

Maria tapped her fingers against the armrest of her chair. She had expected Lucrezia to favor Cesare, yet her words were a warning, not an endorsement.

Lucrezia tilted her head. “And tell me, Princess—what do you seek in a husband?”

Maria sighed, rubbing her temple. “Someone who will not challenge my authority. Someone strong enough to protect Spain but wise enough to know that it is my kingdom, not his.” She smirked suddenly, her voice turning dry. “It would have been far easier if I could have just married you instead.”

Lucrezia laughed, a genuine, musical sound. “Ah, but that would be far too simple. And we both know the world does not favor simple things.”

Maria shook her head, smiling despite herself. “No. It does not.”

She leaned back, considering what she had learned. Juan was passionate but reckless. Cesare was brilliant but unpredictable. Neither choice was without risk.

But she was no closer to knowing which risk she was willing to take.

Lucrezia watched her, as if reading her thoughts. Then, after a moment, she spoke again, her voice softer this time.

“You are stronger than they realize, Maria. Do not let either of them forget that.”

Maria looked at her, and for the first time in this game of power, she felt something unexpected.

Respect.

Lucrezia stood, offering a graceful nod. “I will leave you to your decision, Princess. But whatever you choose, remember—Borgia men do not love lightly. Nor do they let go.”

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Maria alone with her thoughts, the weight of the choice ahead pressing down upon her.

[neonlight2]

Chapter 4: Trials of Power

Masterlist

...

The challenge had been set. Princess Maria of Castile had made it clear—she would not be won by sweet words alone. If Juan and Cesare Borgia wanted her, they would have to prove their worth through action.

Neither brother intended to lose.

Juan’s Gambit

Juan moved quickly. He knew that the best way to impress Maria was through spectacle—glory won on the battlefield, the kind of victory that could not be ignored. Spain was still threatened by remnants of the Nasrid Emirate in the south, and while Maria’s parents had driven the Moors from Granada, there were still whispers of uprisings, of factions unwilling to yield.

Juan saw an opportunity.

Within weeks, he had rallied a force under the banner of Castile, swearing before the court that he would ride to the frontier and stamp out any sign of rebellion in Maria’s name. He wanted her to see him as a conqueror, a warrior worthy of a queen’s hand.

Before he left, he stood before Maria in the courtyard, clad in his finest armor, the sun gleaming off his polished breastplate. A crowd had gathered to watch him depart.

“Mark my words, Princess,” Juan declared, loud enough for all to hear. “When I return, it will be with the heads of your enemies at my feet.”

Maria, seated in her place of honor, regarded him with an impassive expression. “Do not make promises lightly, Juan. A man is only as strong as the victories he keeps.”

Juan smirked, bowing deeply. “Then you shall see how strong I truly am.”

With that, he rode off, his soldiers trailing behind him in a cloud of dust.

Cesare’s Strategy

Unlike Juan, Cesare had no intention of chasing glory on the battlefield—not yet. He knew that Maria did not just need a man who could fight. She needed one who could secure her throne before she even wore the crown.

So while Juan sought to prove himself with war, Cesare played the game of politics.

He met with nobles in secret, learning who among them harbored ambitions of their own. He bribed courtiers, whispered into the ears of Spain’s most powerful men, and uncovered plots that threatened Maria’s future rule. More importantly, he made certain that when the time came, Maria would not simply ascend the throne—she would command it without opposition.

One night, he requested an audience with her.

She met him in a quiet chamber, away from prying eyes. A single candle burned between them, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.

“You have not left to fight like your brother,” Maria observed, studying him. “Is this your way of conceding?”

Cesare smirked. “Juan plays at war. I play for the crown.”

She tilted her head. “And what crown is that?”

“The one that will be placed upon your head,” Cesare said smoothly. “A queen does not need a husband who can wield a sword. She needs one who can make certain she keeps her throne once it is hers.”

Maria leaned forward slightly. “And you think you can do that?”

“I know I can,” he murmured. “I have already uncovered three plots against your future reign. Men who whisper of replacing you with a cousin, a brother, even a distant French alliance.” He watched her reaction carefully. “But I have ensured their silence. They will not challenge you.”

Maria’s expression did not change, but something in her eyes shifted—interest, calculation. “And what is your price for such loyalty?”

Cesare smiled, but it was not soft. It was the smile of a man who had already decided what he wanted.

“You know what I want.”

Maria held his gaze, and for the first time, she did not look away.

The Reckoning

Weeks passed.

Juan returned from his campaign, victorious and full of pride. He paraded through the streets of the palace, his soldiers cheering as he presented Maria with the spoils of war—gold, banners stripped from fallen enemies, and even prisoners captured in battle.

He stood before her in the grand hall, triumphant. “I have done as I promised, Princess. I have won in your name.”

Maria regarded him, her expression unreadable. “A bold display.”

Juan grinned. “And proof that I am the man you need at your side.”

Before Maria could respond, Cesare stepped forward.

“And yet, while you were chasing battles, Maria’s enemies within this very court were sharpening their knives,” he said, his voice calm but cutting. “They did not fear your victories, Juan. They feared what she might become. I made certain they no longer had a choice.”

Juan scowled. “You scheme in the shadows while I fight in the light.”

“And yet, in the end,” Cesare said, turning to Maria, “which of us has done more to secure your rule?”

Maria sat in silence for a long moment, looking between them.

“You both have given me much,” she finally said. “And yet, there is still one thing neither of you have proven.”

Juan frowned. “And what is that?”

Maria stood, her gaze sharp and unwavering. “That I can trust you.”

The brothers tensed.

She smiled faintly. “And I will not make my decision until I know who among you is truly loyal to me—and no one else.”

The game was not over. It had only just begun.

[neonlight2]

Chapter 3: The Price of a Union

Masterlist

...

The great hall of the Spanish palace buzzed with conversation as nobles dined, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. But at the center of the gathering, an exchange far more dangerous than courtly gossip was taking place.

Princess Maria of Castile, heir to one of the most powerful kingdoms in Christendom, sat between the Borgia brothers. She had been courted before, had listened to men drape her in pretty words and promises of devotion. But she was no fool. Spain’s future rested on her shoulders, and she would not be won with empty flattery.

She took a measured sip of her wine before fixing Cesare and Juan with an expectant gaze.

“You both speak of union,” she said, her voice low but commanding. “But tell me, how exactly does a marriage to either of you serve me?”

Juan leaned in first, his golden charm on full display. “Princess, surely you see the benefits of an alliance with Rome. My father, Pope Alexander, holds the keys to Saint Peter’s throne. With his blessing, your rule would be indisputable. No rival, no claimant, no distant cousin would dare question your sovereignty if the Holy Father himself sanctifies our union.”

Maria studied him, unmoved by his bravado. “And what of Castile and Aragon? My people do not wish to be ruled by Rome. They serve their queen, not the Pope’s whims.”

Juan laughed lightly, unfazed. “Then let them have their queen. I seek not to rule over you, Maria, but beside you. Together, we would be the most envied sovereigns in Europe. Our children would bind Spain and the Papacy into a dynasty greater than any before it. Your enemies would become my enemies, and they would fall before my sword.” He grinned. “I am a warrior, after all.”

Maria tilted her head. “A warrior who has yet to win a war.”

Juan’s jaw tensed at the insult, but before he could retort, Cesare spoke.

“My brother offers you the Pope’s favor, but tell me, Maria—do you wish to be beholden to Rome?”

Maria turned to him, watching as Cesare leaned back in his chair, the flickering candlelight casting sharp shadows across his face. His voice was quieter than Juan’s, but it carried weight.

“You are strong,” he continued. “Stronger than most men I’ve met. I do not think you would suffer well under the demands of another ruler, be it a husband or the Papacy.” He let the words settle before leaning in. “But with me, you would have something greater than papal favor. You would have power—real power, not granted by a man in Rome, but built with our own hands.”

Maria considered him, swirling her wine as she did. “And what does this power look like, Cesare?”

He smirked. “It looks like a Castile and Aragon untouched by papal interference. It looks like an army trained to your command, one that bows only to its queen. You are your father’s daughter, Maria. You do not need Rome’s approval to rule. You need a partner who understands your vision—and who can make it a reality.”

Maria’s lips curved slightly, but there was calculation in her gaze. “And what of you, Cesare? You speak as though you are free to make such promises, but you are bound to the Church. A cardinal, last I heard.”

Juan smirked, seizing on the moment. “Ah, but that is Cesare’s greatest flaw, is it not? A man sworn to God cannot give you heirs, Maria.” He lifted his goblet. “Whereas I can.”

Cesare’s expression did not change, but there was a flash of something dark in his eyes. “Do not mistake my station for my ambition, brother,” he said smoothly. “If I were to marry the future queen of Spain, do you think I would remain a cardinal?”

Maria watched the tension between them build, the weight of their rivalry heavy in the air. She had expected them to compete for her hand, but she had underestimated the intensity of their desire—not just for her, but for what she represented.

Taking another slow sip of wine, she finally spoke. “Both of you offer much. And yet, neither of you have given me reason to believe you would be loyal to me.” Her gaze flicked between them. “Men seek thrones, they do not serve them. What assurance do I have that once I am queen, I will not become an ornament at my husband’s side, left to wither while he rules in my name?”

Juan scoffed. “Maria, you insult me. I would worship you.”

Cesare chuckled. “She does not want worship. She wants control.”

Maria turned fully to Cesare, intrigued. “And you would give me control?”

“I would give you something better,” he said. “I would make sure no one could take it from you.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken promises. Juan exhaled sharply, his confidence shaken but not broken.

Maria set down her goblet and stood, smoothing the silk of her gown. “You both have given me much to consider.” She turned to leave but then paused, looking over her shoulder. “But if either of you seek to claim me, you must prove your worth.”

Juan grinned. “Name it.”

Maria’s eyes gleamed with challenge. “I am not yet queen. But when I am, I will not rule a kingdom that is weak. Castile and Aragon must be secured—by force, if necessary. Show me which of you can be trusted to do what must be done. Show me who will fight for Spain as fiercely as they fight for me.”

And with that, she was gone, leaving the Borgia brothers staring after her—two wolves locked in a battle they had not yet won.

[neonlight2]

Chapter 2: The Game Begins

Masterlist

...

It was at a grand banquet held in the palace that the first true exchange between Juan, Cesare, and Maria took place. The candlelight flickered across the marble floors, the sound of soft music filling the air. As the guests mingled, Maria, draped in a gown of sapphire silk, caught the eye of both Borgias.

Juan, ever the showman, was the first to approach. He sauntered across the room with an easy grin, his tall figure standing out among the other courtiers. His charm was undeniable, and he quickly caught Maria's attention.

"Princess Maria," he said, bowing low. "The beauty of this night pales in comparison to your radiance."

Maria, who had grown accustomed to the empty compliments of suitors, raised an eyebrow. "Flattery, Signor Borgia? I did not think your kind to be so generous."

Juan laughed, his confidence unwavering. "I speak only the truth, Princess. A woman like you deserves nothing less."

Maria smiled, but there was an edge to her expression. "And what is it that you think I deserve, Signor Borgia?"

Before Juan could respond, Cesare appeared at her side, his presence as commanding as it was silent. His dark eyes studied Maria with the precision of a tactician, his posture stiff and measured.

"Forgive my interruption, Maria," Cesare said, his voice smooth and deep. "Juan's charm, though abundant, does not quite compare to the offer I have."

Maria’s gaze flickered between the two brothers, her lips curling into a subtle, knowing smile. "And what offer is that, Cesare?"

Cesare stepped closer, his voice a whisper meant only for her ears. "A union of strength, one forged through power, not mere flattery. Spain needs more than a puppet king. You need a ruler who will stand at your side, not behind you."

Juan’s smile faltered at Cesare’s words, and he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "And I suppose you think that you are that ruler?"

"I believe I am," Cesare replied, his voice quiet but filled with quiet assurance. "What good is a throne if it is not supported by the right man?"

Juan, who had always relied on his bravado, clenched his fists but kept his composure.

[neonlight2]

Chapter 1: The Royal Intrigue

Masterlist

...

The grand palace of the Spanish court glittered with opulence as King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella’s presence filled the room. The heat of political maneuvering was palpable; the air was thick with tension and whispered secrets. Guests from across Europe had come to witness the delicate dance of diplomacy, but at the heart of it all, two brothers, Juan and Cesare Borgia, were drawn into a dangerous game they had never before expected.

Juan, the eldest Borgia son, with his bold, boastful manner and sharp sense of entitlement, had always been accustomed to the spotlight. His beauty and charm had made him a favored son, but with that position came his arrogance and a deep belief that he was deserving of the highest honors. But there was another element that he craved—a woman’s affection—and not just any woman, but the woman who was set to become the future ruler of Spain: Princess Maria of Castile.

Maria was unlike any woman Juan had ever known. She was intelligent, strong-willed, and fiercely independent. She would one day inherit the Spanish throne, and her marriage would be of the utmost political importance. Yet, despite her royal status, Maria was a woman of passion, someone whose heart was as wild as it was beautiful. Juan saw an opportunity in her and believed that through marriage, he could secure Spain for the Borgias—an alliance that could crown him not only as the future husband of the queen but also as a ruler in his own right.

Cesare, on the other hand, was not one to indulge in romantic distractions. His focus had always been on power, on building an empire that could rival the greatest of monarchs. But when he saw Maria for the first time, something stirred within him. She was not the fragile, compliant woman that many European courts expected of their princesses. No, Maria was a force of nature, and Cesare could not help but admire her strength, her sharp intellect, and her poise. Yet, he knew that if he allowed his heart to be swayed by this princess, it would distract him from his greater ambitions. And still, he could not tear his eyes away from her.

The two Borgia brothers, so different in their approach, found themselves unknowingly locked in a contest for Maria’s affection—a contest that was not just about love, but about power.

[neonlight2]

Chapter 7: The Hunt

Masterlist

...

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long golden rays over the dense Spanish forests. The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth as the hunting party prepared for the ride ahead. Horses pawed at the ground, their breath rising in clouds, while hounds barked and strained at their leashes, eager for the chase.

Juan and Cesare Borgia sat atop their horses, their eyes drawn to the woman who rode at the head of the party beside her father, King Ferdinand of Aragon.

Maria of Castile was no passive observer. Clad in fitted riding leathers rather than a gown, she held the reins of her horse with effortless ease, her back straight, her gaze sharp as she surveyed the terrain. There was no hesitation in her posture, no doubt in her skill.

To many kingdoms, the idea of a woman riding in a royal hunt was unthinkable—an offense to tradition, a scandal in waiting. But here, in the lands of Castile and Aragon, Maria rode without question, her presence as natural as that of any man in the party.

Juan, ever eager to impress, guided his horse closer to her. “I must say, Princess, this is an unusual sight. Most women would remain behind, waiting for the men to return with their spoils.”

Maria did not spare him a glance as she adjusted her gloves. “Most women are not my father’s heir.”

Cesare, riding slightly behind, smirked. He had expected no less from her.

King Ferdinand, who had been silent thus far, chuckled at Juan’s remark. “You would do well to unlearn what most kingdoms do, Juan. In Spain, we do not judge a warrior by their sex, but by their skill.”

Juan blinked, clearly caught off guard by the king’s words. “Of course, Your Majesty. I meant no offense.”

Ferdinand merely gave him a pointed look before urging his horse forward, signaling the beginning of the hunt.

The Chase

The party rode deep into the forest, following the baying of the hounds as they picked up the scent of a stag. The thrill of the chase took hold as the horses galloped through the underbrush, the wind whipping against their faces.

Maria rode with ease, her focus unwavering as the hunt unfolded.

Juan, determined to prove himself, kept pace with her, maneuvering his horse to remain at her side. He leaned in slightly. “Tell me, Princess, do you ride for sport or for conquest?”

Maria’s lips quirked into a smirk. “Is there a difference?”

Juan laughed, but his amusement faded when Maria suddenly spurred her horse forward, leaving him behind.

Cesare, who had been observing quietly, matched her pace with effortless precision. “You enjoy making him chase you,” he noted.

Maria flicked him a glance. “Let him sweat a little.”

Cesare chuckled, but his attention snapped back to the hunt as the stag finally burst from the trees, dashing into a clearing.

Maria reacted instantly, drawing her bow in one swift motion. Her arrow flew, striking the stag cleanly behind the shoulder. The animal stumbled, but Juan, determined to claim victory, raised his own weapon and fired—his arrow landing just after hers.

The stag collapsed, its great body heaving before going still. A beat of silence followed before Juan let out a triumphant laugh, dismounting and approaching the kill.

“A fine hunt!” he declared. He gestured to the fallen stag. “It seems we have both earned this prize, Princess.”

Maria dismounted as well, removing her gloves with unhurried precision. “Did we?” She stepped closer to the stag, noting the placement of the arrows. “Tell me, Juan—do you truly believe this is your kill?”

Juan smirked. “My arrow landed as well.”

Maria knelt beside the stag, tracing her fingers lightly over its fur. “But it was already dying when you struck it. Mine was the killing blow.”

Juan’s grin faltered slightly, but before he could respond, King Ferdinand spoke.

“She is right.” He dismounted, walking forward with the assured presence of a ruler. “A hunter does not claim a kill simply because he was present. It is the first strike, the decisive blow, that determines the victor.”

Juan’s jaw tightened, but he bowed his head. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Maria rose, locking eyes with Juan as she smiled—calm, knowing, victorious.

Cesare, still astride his horse, watched the exchange with interest. Unlike Juan, he did not bristle at Maria’s success. Instead, he looked at her with something far more dangerous than jealousy.

Respect.

A Lesson in Power

As the hunting party returned to the palace, Maria rode alongside her father, their conversation quiet but weighted.

“You were testing them,” Ferdinand observed.

Maria smiled faintly. “And they did not disappoint.”

Ferdinand nodded. “Juan sees only glory. But Cesare… he sees power.”

Maria glanced over her shoulder, her gaze landing on Cesare, who met her eyes with a knowing smirk.

“I know,” she murmured.

And, for the first time, she wondered if she had finally found a man who did not fear the idea of a woman ruling beside him.

[neonlight2]

Chapter 10: A Kingdom of Their Own

Masterlist

...

The road to Rome stretched long before them, a winding path of dust and promise. The journey was slow, the heavy Spanish escort ensuring Maria’s safety, but within the confines of her carriage, the world was quiet.

Cesare rode beside her in the enclosed space, the candlelight casting flickering shadows against the velvet curtains. For the first time since her choice had been made, they were alone.

Maria studied him, her fingers lightly tracing the embroidered edge of her cloak. “Do you imagine it, Cesare?”

He turned his gaze to her, dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Imagine what?”

“Our future.”

Cesare exhaled softly, leaning back against the cushions. “I have imagined many things. But the future? That depends on what we decide to make of it.”

Maria tilted her head. “And what would you make of it?”

Cesare was silent for a moment, considering. Then he smirked, tilting his head toward her. “That depends, mi princesa— do we intend to rule with war or with whispers?”

Maria smiled faintly. “Both, if we are wise.”

Cesare chuckled, reaching for the goblet of wine between them. “Then tell me—where shall we rule? Will you remain in Spain? Will I remain in Rome?”

Maria’s fingers tapped lightly against her knee. “Spain is mine. But Rome is yours.” She met his gaze. “And if I am to be by your side, I must understand your world.”

Cesare swirled the wine in his goblet. “Then you must see the Vatican, the courts, the corruption. The games my father plays, the enemies that slither through the halls. You must know who can be bought and who must be burned.”

Maria smirked. “I imagine you prefer the latter.”

Cesare’s lips curled. “It is cleaner.”

She laughed, a rich, knowing sound. “Then tell me, will we conquer or make alliances?"

Cesare took a slow sip of wine, considering. “Alliances are fleeting. Conquest is permanent.”

Maria arched a brow. “Yet alliances keep you in power.”

Cesare hummed, as if weighing the truth of her words. “Then perhaps we shall do both. A war when we need one, a marriage when we don’t.” He smirked. “But there will be no other marriage for me.”

Maria studied him, intrigued. “No?”

Cesare leaned in slightly, the candlelight casting shadows over the sharp edges of his face. “I am no fool, Maria. I would not take a wife as sharp as you only to set her aside for another.”

Maria held his gaze, her expression unreadable. Then she leaned back, her voice softer, but no less dangerous. “And what of faithfulness?”

Cesare exhaled a quiet laugh. “You know my reputation.”

Maria smirked. “Oh, I have no delusions.” She traced the rim of her goblet. “But we will rule together, Cesare. And I will not be made a fool.”

Cesare studied her, his gaze dark and knowing. “Then we must have an understanding.”

Maria inclined her head. “We must.”

Cesare set his goblet aside, watching her closely. “Shall we be true to only each other?”

Maria was silent for a moment. Then, she tilted her head slightly, considering.

“To the world?” She smirked. “Yes.”

Cesare chuckled. “And in private?”

Maria’s lips curled as she leaned forward, her breath brushing against his. “We are not children to play at false purity.”

Cesare exhaled a quiet laugh, his eyes gleaming. “Then we shall rule as we please."

Maria clinked her goblet against his, sealing their silent vow.

A kingdom of their own, shaped by their hands.

And Rome would be their first step.

...

Rome was unlike anything Maria had ever seen.

Where Seville was golden and sun-warmed, Rome was a city of shadows and splendor, marble facades masking rot, grandeur intertwined with corruption. Every step within the Vatican walls was measured, every whisper a weapon.

Maria rode through its streets with Cesare at her side, their banners flying high as the people watched with curious, knowing eyes. The Spaniard princess had arrived— the one who had chosen the Borgia son.

When they entered the Apostolic Palace, the air shifted. Here, power was not wielded by steel, but by secrets.

Pope Alexander VI awaited them in the grand hall, seated upon his gilded throne, robes heavy with gold thread. His face bore the warmth of a father greeting his son, but his eyes gleamed with the sharp calculation of a man who had built an empire upon sins.

Cesare knelt before him, ever the favored son, while Maria only inclined her head in measured respect.

“Your Holiness,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.

Rodrigo Borgia’s lips curled. “Ah, Maria of Castile. *La princesa de España.*” He lifted his arms in mock benediction. “The House of Borgia welcomes you to Rome.”

Maria smiled, knowing better than to trust kindness in a viper’s den.

The Game of Diplomacy

The meeting with the Pope was a dance—words woven like lace, diplomacy wrapped in pleasantries.

Rodrigo spoke of alliances, of the strength of Spain and the power of the Papacy. Maria, ever the strategist, countered with measured interest, never offering too much.

“The Vatican must endure,” Rodrigo mused, sipping from a goblet of rich wine. “And endurance requires… cooperation.”

Maria smiled. “Cooperation is most fruitful when both sides gain.”

Rodrigo chuckled, eyes flicking to Cesare. “You have chosen wisely, my son.”

Cesare only smirked, swirling the wine in his goblet.

***

After the formalities, Maria was introduced to the rest of the family.

Lucrezia greeted her with warmth, eyes alight with curiosity. “I have heard much of you, princesa."

Maria inclined her head. “I imagine only half is true.”

Lucrezia laughed, taking her arm. “Then let us discover the rest together.”

Juan, still nursing his wounded pride, offered only a tight smile before excusing himself. Maria did not spare him a second glance.

And then, there was her.

Giulia Farnese entered the hall with practiced grace, her presence drawing attention like a flame in the dark.

The Pope’s mistress was as breathtaking as Maria remembered—cascading golden hair, eyes like liquid honey, lips that once whispered secrets against her skin.

For a moment, time folded in on itself.

Maria saw not the Vatican, nor the Borgia halls, but a summer long ago—a villa bathed in moonlight, hands tangled in silk sheets, hushed laughter muffled by the weight of desire.

Giulia met her gaze—and in that instant, recognition flared.

But neither woman spoke of it.

Instead, Giulia’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Princesa."

Maria mirrored it, her voice light, unreadable. “Madonna Farnese.”

Lucrezia, oblivious to the charged silence, beamed. “You have met before?”

Maria tilted her head. “Only in passing.”

Giulia’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Yes. Only in passing.”

***

Later that night, Maria found herself alone with Cesare in the candlelit chambers they now shared.

He stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, gazing out at the city that would soon be his.

Maria approached, her voice soft but amused. “The Pope’s mistress and I share a past.”

Cesare turned, brow arched. “Do you?”

Maria smirked, pouring herself a goblet of wine. “She was my first.”

Cesare exhaled a quiet laugh, stepping closer. “And does His Holiness know?”

Maria sipped her wine, eyes gleaming. “Not unless he was watching through the keyhole.”

Cesare chuckled, tilting his head. “And will this past be a complication?”

Maria smiled, trailing a finger along the rim of her goblet. “Only if I wish it to be.”

Cesare studied her for a long moment, then smirked. “You are dangerous, mi princesa."

Maria met his gaze, the city of Rome burning behind them. “And you love me for it.”

Cesare lifted his goblet to hers. “To old lovers and new empires.”

Their glasses clinked, sealing yet another unspoken vow.

[neonlight2]

Chapter 9: The Choice of a Queen

Masterlist

...

The grand hall of the Alcázar of Seville was quiet save for the flickering of torches lining the stone walls. The scent of burning wax and aged wood filled the air as Maria stood before her father, King Ferdinand of Aragon.

He regarded her with the eyes of a man who had seen kingdoms rise and fall, his expression unreadable. “You have made your choice?”

Maria lifted her chin. “I have.”

Ferdinand’s gaze did not waver. “And it is Cesare.”

It was not a question.

Maria smiled faintly. “You knew before I did.”

Ferdinand chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “A king must know the hearts of men. And I know my daughter. You would never choose a man who did not see you.”

Maria said nothing. There was no need.

Ferdinand exhaled deeply, drumming his fingers against the armrest. “Then it is decided.”

With that, he summoned both Juan and Cesare to his chambers.

The King’s Decree

The brothers stood before him, tension crackling between them like a blade poised to strike.

Ferdinand’s gaze flickered between them before settling on Cesare. “My daughter has chosen you.”

Juan’s face darkened, but he said nothing.

Cesare, ever controlled, merely inclined his head. “An honor, Your Majesty.”

Ferdinand studied him for a long moment. “You will return to Rome soon. Maria will go with you.”

Juan blinked, his frustration giving way to shock. “She will go to Rome?”

Ferdinand’s eyes cut to him, sharp as a dagger. “For a time, yes.”

Juan opened his mouth to protest, but Ferdinand continued, his voice firm. “She must see the world that she will one day rule beside her husband. She must learn its ways, its dangers.” His gaze hardened. “And you both must protect her with your lives.”

Cesare nodded. “Of course.”

Juan hesitated, but under his father’s stare, he swallowed his pride and inclined his head. “As you command.”

Ferdinand’s expression softened only slightly as he turned back to Maria. “Go to Rome. See the seat of the Borgias’ power. And when you return, you will not return as merely my daughter.”

Maria met his gaze, understanding passing between them.

She would return as a woman who had seen all the world had to offer. A woman prepared to take what was hers.

And Rome would be her first conquest.

[neonlight2]

Chapter 8: The Final Test

Masterlist

...

Maria of Castile had weighed wars and whispers, ambition and arrogance, strength and strategy—but now, she would test the brothers not with swords or politics, but with something far more revealing.

Desire.

Men’s tongues were easy to manipulate when loosened by wine, their hands even easier when tempted by beauty. Maria knew this well. And so, she devised her own test.

Her lady-in-waiting, Inés, was no ordinary servant. She was beautiful, yes—dark-eyed, golden-skinned, with a wit as sharp as Maria’s own—but more importantly, she was loyal. She had offered herself for this test without hesitation, intrigued by Maria’s cunning.

“I have seen men fall for far less than a pretty smile,” Inés had said with a smirk. “Let us see how your Borgias fare.”

Maria only smiled.

She would not wed a man who could not resist the easiest temptation.

The First Trial: Juan

Juan Borgia was predictable. Charming, reckless, ruled by appetite more than intellect. Maria had anticipated how he would respond, but she needed proof.

The test began after a feast, when the halls were alive with wine-soaked laughter and flickering candlelight. Inés approached Juan as he leaned lazily against a stone column, swirling his goblet, his confidence unshaken despite his failures in the hunt.

“Lord Juan,” she purred, lowering her lashes just enough to feign shyness.

Juan’s gaze sharpened, then warmed as he tilted his head. “Lady Inés, is it?”

She nodded. “The princess speaks so highly of you.”

Juan chuckled, straightening. “Does she?”

“She says you are a man of great skill.” She let her fingers brush lightly against his sleeve. “A great warrior.”

Juan’s smirk deepened. “And does she also say I am a great lover?”

Inés laughed, tilting her head. “Should she have?”

Juan’s hand slid to her waist, testing, teasing. “Perhaps she should find out.”

Inés allowed him to pull her closer, but only for a moment. Then she drew back, eyes alight with knowing. “Then come,” she whispered.

Juan hesitated only for a second before following her into the shadows.

He has failed.

The second trial: Cesare

Cesare was different.

Maria knew it before the test even began—knew it in the way he looked at her, the way his mind worked through every game she set before him.

Still, she needed certainty.

Inés approached him later that night, her golden hair spilling over her shoulder as she leaned close, speaking softly. “My lord.”

Cesare looked up from his seat, eyes sharp, unreadable. “Lady Inés.”

She smiled, lowering herself beside him. “You must be weary. So much war, so much weight upon your shoulders.”

Cesare studied her, silent.

Inés let a hand trail lightly against his wrist. “Let me ease your burdens.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the flickering candlelight between them.

Then, Cesare smiled. But it was not the smile of a man tempted—it was the smile of a man who had seen the game before it even began.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice smooth as silk. “Tell me, did Maria send you?”

Inés stiffened.

Cesare chuckled, leaning back. “Ah. I see.” He lifted his goblet, taking a slow sip of wine before setting it down. “Tell her she’ll have to try harder than that.”

And with that, he rose, leaving her in stunned silence.

The Decision

Maria met Inés in her chambers, listening without expression as her friend recounted the results of the test.

When Inés finished, Maria exhaled softly.

Juan had failed. Cesare had not.

She had her answer.

And so, with the night still lingering, Maria sent for Cesare Borgia.

She would tell him he had won.

...

Maria of Castile had made her decision.

She had tested strength, ambition, and restraint. Now, she would test something far more dangerous—control.

And so, she sent for Cesare Borgia.

He arrived swiftly, as though he had expected the summons. When the chamber doors closed behind him, the air in the room changed—thick with something unspoken.

Maria stood near the great gilded mirror, her back to him, undoing the pins in her hair. Golden strands tumbled down her back as she met his reflection in the glass.

“You passed my test,” she said.

Cesare did not move from where he stood by the door, watching her with an unreadable gaze. “I expected no less.”

Maria smirked, removing another pin. “You expected I would send a woman to seduce you?”

Cesare stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “I expected you would test me in ways no other woman would.”

She turned then, facing him fully. Her gown was undone at the shoulders, the fabric slipping ever so slightly, revealing a hint of bare skin beneath. It was a calculated movement—not an invitation, but a provocation.

She wanted to see if he was truly a man who could hold himself back.

“Tell me, Cesare,” she murmured, tilting her head. “Do you find me beautiful?”

His lips curved slightly. “Would you believe me if I said no?”

Maria laughed softly, stepping closer. The candlelight cast a warm glow over her skin, and she knew exactly how she looked before him—barely covered, effortlessly tempting.

She watched him carefully. Would he break? Would he take?

Cesare did neither.

Instead, he merely looked at her, his gaze steady, unwavering.

“You wanted to see if I would falter,” he murmured.

Maria took another step forward. “You say that as if the test is over.”

Cesare exhaled a quiet laugh, reaching out—but instead of touching her bare skin, his fingers only grazed the fabric of her sleeve, pulling it back up over her shoulder.

“You are playing a dangerous game, mi princesa," he murmured, his voice low.

Maria felt the heat of his breath, the closeness of him. And yet, he had not touched her as other men would have.

Not as Juan would have.

Not as a man desperate to own her.

But as a man who understood her.

She smiled then, slow and knowing. “I had to be sure.”

Cesare’s hand lingered for only a moment before he let the fabric go, stepping back. “And now?”

Maria studied him, the man who had bested every test, the man who had seen her for who she truly was—not just as a woman to be won, but as a ruler to be reckoned with.

“Now,” she said, voice like a promise, “I have my answer.”

[neonlight2]

Chapter 6: A Game of Cards and Virtue

Masterlist

...

The Spanish palace was quiet at night, the halls emptied of courtiers and servants save for the occasional flicker of torchlight against the stone walls. But in a secluded chamber lit only by a handful of candles, two figures sat across from one another, a deck of cards placed between them.

Cesare Borgia leaned back in his chair, one hand idly toying with the rim of his goblet, the other resting against the hilt of his dagger. Across from him, Maria of Castile shuffled the deck with practiced ease, her fingers deftly gliding over the worn edges of the cards.

“So,” Cesare murmured, watching her, “you summon me in the dead of night, not for whispered promises or secret alliances, but to play cards?”

Maria smirked, dealing the first hand. “I wanted to see if you play as ruthlessly at the table as you do in politics.”

Cesare chuckled. “A dangerous challenge, Princess. Do you know what they say of me?”

Maria’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Oh, I know quite a bit.” She lifted a card, examining it as if it held some deeper secret. “In fact, I had a rather illuminating conversation with your sister today.”

Cesare arched a brow. “Lucrezia?”

“The very same.” Maria flicked a card onto the table. “She had quite a lot to say about you. That you are cunning. That you are dangerous.” She tilted her head. “That you do not belong to any throne.”

Cesare smiled faintly, his fingers tapping against the wood. “And did that surprise you?”

“No.” Maria set down another card, watching his expression. “What did surprise me, however, was how much she warned me.”

Cesare studied her, his amusement giving way to something more calculating. “And what did you take from that warning?”

Maria leaned forward slightly. “That you are a man who does not give up what he desires easily. That, should I choose you, I will never be free of you.”

Cesare met her gaze. “And does that frighten you?”

Maria laughed, a low, rich sound. “You overestimate your own menace, Cesare.” She played another card. “Men have tried to control me before.”

Cesare placed a card of his own. “And I suspect they failed.”

Maria’s smirk deepened. “Miserably.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of the flickering candle and the shifting of cards. The tension between them was neither hostile nor affectionate—it was something else entirely, something unspoken and sharp-edged.

Then Maria, ever the one to stir the fire, tilted her head and regarded him with an amused glint. “Your sister also mentioned your social reputation.”

Cesare smirked. “Ah. That reputation.”

“Yes.” She pretended to look thoughtful. “The one that says you are… how should I put this? Less than chaste, despite your holy vows.”

Cesare laughed, a deep, rich sound that filled the room. “I was a cardinal in name, not in practice.” He picked up his goblet, watching her over the rim as he drank. “Is this your way of inquiring if the rumors are true?”

Maria shrugged, playing another card. “I hardly need confirmation. The way you carry yourself says enough.”

Cesare watched her, intrigued. “You do not seem the sort to concern yourself with virtue.”

Maria smiled, slow and deliberate. “Because I don’t.”

She let the words settle between them before leaning back in her chair, fingers idly tracing the edge of her cards. “You see, Cesare, I am not chaste either.”

Cesare tilted his head, intrigued. “No?”

“No.” She studied him, gauging his reaction. “Men, women… I take pleasure where I find it.” She smiled, sharp as a dagger’s edge. “Surely, you of all people would not judge me for that?”

Cesare’s expression did not shift—there was no shock, no judgment, only quiet interest. Then, slowly, he placed his cards down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “On the contrary,” he murmured, voice low, “I think it makes you even more fascinating.”

Maria held his gaze, letting silence stretch between them like a drawn bowstring. Then, she exhaled, amused. “I am fascinating.”

Cesare chuckled. “That, Princess, I do not doubt.”

Maria glanced at the cards, then back at him. “But the real question is… do you intend to win this game?”

Cesare smiled, picking up his next card. “I do not enter games I cannot win.”

Maria smirked, playing her final card. “Neither do I.”

She laid it down with a flick of her wrist, revealing her victory. Cesare blinked, then laughed, shaking his head.

“Well played,” he murmured.

Maria took a sip of her wine, eyes gleaming over the rim. “We’ll see if you still say that when the real game begins.”

Cesare tilted his goblet toward her in a silent toast. “I look forward to it.”

...

The morning light spilled into the Spanish palace, casting golden hues across the grand hall where Maria of Castile awaited her suitors. Dressed in deep crimson, she stood with a regal ease, her hands resting lightly at her sides, her gaze sharp as she watched Juan and Cesare Borgia enter the chamber together.

Both men carried themselves with confidence, but where Juan walked with the swagger of a man accustomed to admiration, Cesare moved with calculated grace, always watching, always assessing.

Maria allowed them to approach before speaking. “Cesare, leave us. I wish to speak with Juan alone.”

Cesare’s brow arched slightly, but he merely inclined his head, offering her a smirk before turning to his brother. “Try not to disappoint her.”

Juan scoffed. “You assume I ever could.”

Cesare said nothing, only chuckled as he left. Maria waited until the doors shut behind him before turning her full attention to Juan.

He grinned, stepping closer. “You send my brother away so quickly? I must say, I find it flattering.”

Maria gave him a slow smile. “Should you?”

Juan’s grin widened. “I would like to think so.”

Maria gestured toward the cushioned chairs by the window, an invitation laced with command. “Sit with me, Juan.”

He obeyed without hesitation, stretching out comfortably as she took the seat across from him.

“I have been thinking,” Maria said, tilting her head slightly, “about virtue.”

Juan blinked, then let out a short laugh. “A strange subject for the morning, Princess. But by all means, continue.”

Maria studied him, fingers tapping lightly against the carved armrest of her chair. “Tell me, what do you think of virtue?”

Juan smirked. “That depends. Are we speaking of virtue in a woman or in a man?”

Maria’s lips curled. “Is there a difference?”

Juan leaned forward slightly, his tone teasing but laced with something more arrogant beneath. “Of course. A woman’s virtue is her most valuable possession—her honor, her chastity, her worth. A man’s virtue, however, lies in his strength, his courage, his conquests.”

Maria hummed, arching a brow. “So, you believe a woman must be chaste, yet a man is free to take what pleasure he wishes?”

Juan grinned, as if enjoying the game. “Such is the way of the world, is it not?”

Maria’s fingers stilled. “And are you a virtuous man, Juan?”

Juan laughed outright at that. “Oh, Princess, surely you know better than to ask me that.”

Maria tilted her head, keeping her expression unreadable. “So you admit it—you do not practice the virtues you claim to value.”

Juan smirked. “I am a Borgia. Virtue is for priests and poets.”

Maria exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Then tell me, Juan… if virtue is for poets, what of chastity?” She leaned forward slightly, watching his face. “Do you expect it in your future wife?”

Juan shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Naturally.”

Maria let silence stretch between them, waiting to see if he would recognize the hypocrisy of his words.

He did not.

Instead, he leaned back, looking at her with something bordering on satisfaction. “A woman must be untouched, pure. It is a sign of her value.”

Maria stared at him for a long moment before smiling, slow and knowing.

“Fascinating,” she murmured.

Juan smirked, mistaking her amusement for approval. “I like to think so.”

Maria simply tilted her head, studying him. He was a fool—handsome, charming, but a fool nonetheless. A man who demanded tradition only when it benefited him, blind to his own hypocrisy.

And, more importantly, not a man she could trust.

Juan’s arrogance was dangerous, but not because of intelligence or strategy. No—he was dangerous because he truly believed in the double standard he preached. If she were to reveal her own indiscretions, her own fancies, she had no doubt he would turn on her. Not because he was virtuous, but because he expected her to be.

Maria rose, smoothing the folds of her gown. “Thank you, Juan. This has been… enlightening.”

Juan stood as well, grinning. “I do aim to please.”

Maria smiled, but it did not reach her eyes.

And that is exactly why you never will.