Lucrezia's letters from Cesare had become increasingly odd. Requests to send her love to la bella Farnese were met with a polite inquiry: with which fair lady she was implying him to be consorting? Nonsense. Giulia Farnese was their father's mistress, and had replaced their mother by their father's side at most Papal events. Cesare could not misunderstand her meaning.

As worrisome as the letters were, it was far worse when they ceased. Her dove, St. Cecilia, did not return. Had she been devoured by the aching void? Had all of Rome? Papa, Mama, Cesare?

She could not stand this torment any longer. The doors were closing, and she needed to make a choice.

"I beg your pardon," she said, standing in the doorway of the other girl's room, looking lost. "I believe I may be in need of assistance?"

Presumptuous to ask a stranger, but she was low on alternatives.