The soldier approached William warily, sword at the ready. William grimaced and removed the signet ring symbolizing the principality of Florence. He relinquished it without a word.

Niccolò smiled triumphantly, placing the ring on his own finger. “Stefan, leave for the Vatican at once. I’ll pen letters for the couriers when I’ve disposed of the former prince. The couriers will overtake you.”

“William, you promised we’d stay together.” Raven struggled against the soldier who had hold of her arm. Her mind spun wildly in several different directions, trying to think of a way she could stay in the city. She was furious with William for agreeing to her removal and for placing her and Cara in the hands of their enemies.

“William!” Raven pleaded, hoping she could change his mind even as she was dragged to the door. “How could you do this?”

His eyes never left hers as his lips moved silently. “Je t’aim.”

“If you love me, then help me,” she cried. “William!”

Raven and her sister were taken into the corridor and the large chamber door was shut behind them with a resounding crash.

Chapter Fifty-five

“Now that the minor problem is solved, the major problem remains.” Machiavelli stared down at William.

“Your problems are only beginning,” William responded. “Have you checked the borders recently? Tonight I scented an old enemy who somehow infiltrated the city.”

At this, the new prince straightened. “Who?”

William’s eyes flickered to Aoibhe and back to the new prince. “That is for you to discover.”

Niccolò lifted his hand, and a line of soldiers moved forward, surrounding William. “It is time for me to solve this problem.”

William turned, surveying the soldiers’ faces.

“Then let me offer you a fresh solution—I appeal to the Roman.”

Once again, silence rang out in the large chamber.

Niccolò scowled. “Your appeal is pointless. I am lord and master here.”

“The King of Italy allows principalities at his pleasure. When the Prince of Palermo insulted him, Roman soldiers marched on the city and executed him. Even now, Palermo remains under Roman control.”

“That was three hundred years ago. The Roman no longer interferes in the affairs of city-states.”

“When he learns of the circumstances of my death, he will make an exception.”

Something flickered in Niccolò’s eyes. “That is a bold claim.”

“One I am prepared to defend.” William rummaged in one of the inner pockets of his jacket and withdrew a missive.

A soldier carried it to Niccolò, who opened it. “I’ve seen this before.”

William’s eyebrows lifted. “How?”

“As head of intelligence I searched your rooms and found it. I don’t doubt its authenticity. Lorenzo delivered it himself from Rome. But just because you have a connection with the Roman, doesn’t mean he’ll trouble me.”

“You are not Lorenzo,” William observed quietly.

Machiavelli’s eyes glinted. “Indeed, I am not.”

“If you are intelligent enough to avoid a war with the Curia, you should be intelligent enough to avoid one with Rome.”

“The Roman is never seen and communicates only through his lieutenant. I was stunned he’d bother with you.”

“A sign of his regard for me,” William rejoined. “You’ve read the history of Florence. I was young when I killed the old prince, yet who supported my ascension to the throne?”

Niccolò pressed his lips together and said nothing.

William continued. “Neither of us want a war—not with the Curia, not amongst ourselves, and certainly not with Rome.”

“If you expect me to hand over the throne and submit to execution, you’re mad.”

“I’ll decimate the army before I succumb, leaving you vulnerable to an attack. News of my death will spread, and in addition to the Roman, you’ll be dealing with Tarquin of Venice and potentially Simonetta of Umbria. They’ve long envied this territory. Allow me to leave the city.”

“What?” Machiavelli’s tone was sharp.

“I will join the Roman at his court, praise your leadership, and live out my days at his side.”

Niccolò’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll go to Rome, secure his army, and march it here.”

“If I leave Florence voluntarily, I will have abandoned my claim to the throne. You can send messengers to the Roman stating that fact.”

“What assurances have I that he won’t decide to gift you with the principality, since you are his favorite?”

“I would have no reason to return to a city I fled, especially when I can enjoy the luxuries Rome provides.”

Machiavelli stared at William for some time.

“You are an old one. The Roman is older still, but he cannot live forever. If I let you go, there’s a possibility you’ll overthrow him. That would only increase my peril.”

“The Roman has escaped the Curia’s curse. He’s the most powerful vampyre alive and absolutely unassailable.” William leveled cold eyes on his rival. “All the more reason not to anger him.”

Machiavelli drummed his fingers on the armrest, apparently deep in thought.

“All I ask, Niccolò, is that I be allowed safe passage from the city and that Aoibhe be allowed to accompany me.”

She looked over at William, her face an expression of shock.

“Aoibhe is slated for execution,” Machiavelli announced.

“I’d rather speak on my own behalf than have either of you decide my fate.” Aoibhe glared at each vampyre in turn. “Your list of allies grows short, Nick. You have no Consilium and no friends. Send William to the Roman to live out his days, of which there are few, and allow me the role of lieutenant.”

“Lieutenant?” Niccolò sputtered. “You must be mad.”

“Who will guard your back? Stefan?” Aoibhe laughed. “If you exile William, I’m the oldest citizen of this principality, next to you. You need me. Or else you’ll find yourself with a reign the length of Lorenzo’s.”

“On second thought, I’d rather send you to the Roman. You can be a thorn in his flesh, just as you’ve been in mine.”

Aoibhe pursed her lips and exchanged a look with William.

Machiavelli gestured to the sentries who were guarding the two vampyres.

“I had hoped Lorenzo would dispose of you both. Now that he’s failed I have no choice. Executing the former prince may earn me censure from the Roman, but I’m willing to take that risk.

“If the Curia has decided to exert more control over the kingdom of Italy, the Roman will have larger problems to deal with. I will argue that you lost the principality due to carelessness.”

At this, he stood and extended his hand. “I, Niccolò, Prince of Florence, hereby condemn William of Britannia and Aoibhe of Hibernia to death for acts of treason. Execution will take place summarily by the Florentine army.”

“Are we not to be afforded a moment to speak in our own defense?” William challenged him.

Machiavelli

regained his seat. “There is no judge or jury here. I’ve already pronounced sentence.”

William turned away from the new prince to address the army, arms spread wide.

“Brothers and sisters, you know me. I am William and I’ve served the principality of Florence since the fourteenth century.

“For hundreds of years, I kept the city safe from the Curia, while other cities fell. I ensured food was plentiful and that ferals and hunters were kept out of the city. I protected us when the Venetians attempted to invade us.

“But years of peace and prosperity are insufficient for someone like Niccolò.” William gestured dismissively toward the throne. “He will only be satisfied with tyranny.

“Look to your swords, brothers and sisters. Look to those who serve with you. Will you give your sword and your life to this interloper? This tyrant who whispers sweet lies in the shadows while the true prince is fighting to keep danger at bay?”

A few echoes of support were heard.

“He cannot best me in combat so he summons my army to take his place. Are you willing to give up your existence to feed his vanity?”

“Make no mistake.” Aoibhe aimed her dark eyes at the general. “He’ll have your head. Anyone who is a threat will be eliminated, and that means anyone above the age of youngling.” She pointed at the row upon row of soldiers. “That means all of you.”

“That is quite enough,” Machiavelli growled. He gestured to General Valerian, who was already positioning his soldiers so that they encircled the condemned prisoners.

“You may begin, General.”

The soldiers lifted their swords.

“There is still time to surrender,” William cautioned them. “Drop your sword and your life will be spared.”

He placed his back to Aoibhe’s so that they were both facing their executioners.

“I can’t believe I’ve lived this long only to end my life at the end of a Florentine sword.” She lowered into a crouch, watching for the first sign of an attack.

“Surely the Prince of Florence is not so stingy as to leave us without weapons.” William lifted his eyes to the throne.

Niccolò waved a hand at the general. “Give them each a sword.”

Tags: Sylvain Reynard The Florentine Romance
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