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He is caught in a fog, and yet nothing in his life has ever felt so clear. The other world was a blur from the moment he woke to see her sitting above him - somewhere beyond the door there are servants and guards and Micheletto watching for danger. Somewhere along further halls is his father, celebrating and planning and never less than eerily omniscient, as he watches and remembers every move of his subjects and allies and enemies alike. Perhaps his mother too, enjoying that old familiarity of lovers long parted and reconciled.
But here.
Now.
There is Lucrezia.
And there is nothing but her. Nothing to see, or feel, or smell, or hear but her. Her hair, silky curls falling across his skin. Her breath, soft and shivering. The delicate rosewater from her bath, and the bone deep familiarity of the sweet, linen-like smell of her skin.
As they lie in a strange silence, sweat cooling on his brow, there's a tiny thread of thought that he should send her back, or turn back time if he could. But one shift of her head obliterates any consideration.
Cesare... she whispers against his cheek. And the heat rises within him, overwhelming. Blinding. There's is nothing but her.
Little sister, he replies, voice raspy, his hand rising to angle her jaw, turning to roll them onto her back, his lips meeting hers once more. Her body opening to his as she gasps and whimpers, and laughs again.
"Yes ... yes, ... more. Cesare..."
He is gone.
*
He wakes later, feels her draped across his body.
"Its time, my love," he says.
Her arm moves to tighten around him, her face burrowing into his shoulder. She makes a noise that could be protest or a dream.
But he brushes his lips against her temple. "It's time," he says again.
She sighs in defeat and lifts her head. Their eyes meet. "I wish I could stay."
"I know, my love," he says, and brushes one curl back from her face.
There is a final moment - her eyes locked with his, and he knows nothing, nothing on all this Earth, will ever be the same, will ever be worth half of anything without her.
He sees her gaze drop to his mouth and the world shifts and twists beneath him. His lips find her forehead, stay there. He feels his heart crack open.
"Go back to your husband before he wakes, sis."
He does not open his eyes. Not during the long silence that follows. Not at her shaking breath, nor as she slowly draws back and leaves his bed. Not until the door clicks behind her.
And somehow, finally, now, that other world comes back. Crickets in the gardens. The first of the morning birds near his windows. Soon the servants will rise.
The air around him turns cold. His skin rebels. His ears begin to roar as his stomach turns over–
she is gone -
–and he accepts the knowledge, at long last, of what he has done.