This is just a short story about what I imagine would happen after the series finale. It is angsty and contains incest and not historically accurate in the slightest, but it is simply my imagination.

The love I have for these two is unlike anything. Their love is so tragic, hopeless and beautiful it overwhelms me in the best and worst way.

Please leave your thoughts; it's nice to know what you think!

Lucrezia sat by the window in her room, gazing down at the bustling city that surrounded her palace. She could hear the sound of the birds as they flew freely over the landscape, diving and soaring in patterns that her eyes did not follow. She could hear the shouts of vendors at the market, trying to find the customers who would provide the money they needed to sustain their families. She tried to imagine being one of them – yes, she would be poor, powerless and inconsequential but she wondered if she would care. A year ago, she would have been disgusted at the thought. She loved being able to use her wit and her beauty to gain leverage, to gain power. Being a Borgia was synonymous with power. And wealth. A year ago that was all that mattered to her.

Now the Borgia name had become synonymous with murder.

She had always known her family utilised any means at their disposal to get what they wanted. She used to admire them for it, feeling proud to be part of a unit that would not accept any kind of threat to them. She was the most fiercely protected woman in the country and it made her feel worthy and safe and loved.

Love.

Cesare.

She sighed.

Was there a difference?

As she turned her face away from the window, she wondered if Cesare was right. Did impossible love turn to addiction? When he had said it, she did not think much of his words; she had been more focused on his body pressed against her back, his strong and loving arms around her waist, his words blowing breath into her hair and causing shivers to erupt over her body in a way not even Paolo could manage. Now she thought about it, she decided he was correct. The love she had for her brother was not the normal kind of love one had for their sibling. Indeed, she did not think the love she had for Cesare was normal at all, sibling, lover or spouse. Their love was unique and unprecedented. Special and sacred. Nobody had ever loved as they loved. If the average loving husband cared for his wife as she cared for Cesare, the city below her would not be bustling. It would be silent, for every man would be in his wife's arms and would hold her and whisper sweet promises into her ear as Cesare so often did with Lucrezia. But alas, she knew she was right. She could hear the heartbeat of Rome as its occupants went about their day. Their love, it seemed, did not consume their every thought.

Cesare consumed her.

Her eyes, as blue as the ocean, focused on the bed across from her and her heart skipped a beat. She could recall the night last week with perfect clarity. The look in her husband's eyes that said he didn't know her and the doubt that he ever had. The tears that dripped onto his bloodied face from her eyes as she held the formidable glass to his lips. The sound of Cesare's voice as he called her name from the doorway, first with apprehension then with alarm. Her heart only started to beat normally when she remembered the sheer panic in his voice. He had thought she had killed herself and he had sounded more panicked than she ever heard any man sound.

Perhaps she had died that night.

The old Lucrezia was gone. Never again would she be proud to be a Borgia. Alfonso's last words had made sure of that. Never again would she look at her brother with the same naïve eyes she once had. Never again would she love her Papa as she used to, before he married her off to the worst sort of man, an ungallant and cruel being with harsh hands and a harsher mind.

The only constant from her old life to her new was her brother. She would always love him, more than she had ever loved anyone or anything. More than she loved herself. And even though she hated herself for thinking it, she loved Cesare more than her darling Giovanni. She would die for both in a heartbeat, but if anything happened to Giovanni, Cesare would get her through it – she knew that for a fact. If, however, it was Cesare that ceased to be… She would not survive it. She was bound to him in a way that nobody would ever comprehend. Even after everything he had done, everything she had done, their love remained. It was not the pure love it had once been, she knew that. Years ago, he had loved her innocence and she had loved his strength. Now they were in love with the other's soul. Body. Mind. In love with the very essence of the other, for they were the same.

They were one.

Her constant.

Her reason for existing.

Her unholy addiction.

Yes, she thought, as she turned to the window once more, Cesare was right: impossible love turned to addiction.

She idly wondered if they would survive it.

I have already written the story; the next chapter is coming soon. I hope you enjoyed it!