Chapter 6: A Game of Cards and Virtue
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.
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.
