The Prince (The Florentine 0.5)(12)
Author: Sylvain Reynard

“So it was Venice.”

“Yes, my lord. It seems Marcus was behind the assassination attempt personally.”

The Prince’s gray eyes glinted. “And?”

“One of Marcus’s advisors questioned our agent, wondering why Vincenzo hadn’t delivered the message in person. The spy answered as you’d instructed and Marcus was satisfied. It would seem the Prince of Venice is hasty in accepting news that is pleasing to his ears.”

“So it would seem.” The Prince stroked his chin thoughtfully. “How much time do we have before they attack?”

“It’s unclear. Our agents report that Marcus is keeping the news of your death quiet. He doesn’t want to compete with other principalities for your territory.”

“A wise move. Did our agents in Venice provide any information about possible spies here in Florence?”

“According to our agents, Venice has been unable to plant spies in our principality.”

“They don’t need to. One of our own sold the schematics of our security system to Marcus. I want the traitor found, Niccolò.” The Prince’s tone was threatening.

“Of course, my prince. Ibarra narrowed the list of suspects to Christopher and a few of his top people. No one else had access to the schematics.”

“I believe he mentioned that in his report. But I want you to perform your own investigation. Keep it secret from everyone, except me.”

Niccolò bobbed his head. “I should mention it was confirmed that Marcus sent twenty men to assassinate you. Which means there is one invader unaccounted for, as Christopher said.”

The Prince gazed at his head of intelligence with a harsh expression.

“I want him found. Immediately.”

“Yes, my lord. Although it’s not my place to say, I believe Ibarra has located the invader and will present you with him shortly.”

“For Ibarra’s sake, I hope that’s true. What news have we from Rome?”

“None as yet. Lorenzo took a courier with him, but neither have returned.”

The Prince tapped his fingers on his desk.

“I’m hesitant to do anything further without the Roman’s knowledge.”

“We could empower our spies to deal with Prince Marcus directly. His successor would likely be wiser than he and know better than to wage war against us. We could exact tribute from him.”

The Prince considered this possibility, albeit briefly.

“An assassination is too good for Marcus. I want to stand in that palace of his with my boot on his neck and force him to surrender.”

“Then, in my opinion, we are better situated to take a defensive position against Venice. Our allies stand between the two cities, and unless he persuades them to change allegiance, he won’t have their permission to march through their territories. This means he’ll have to travel by sea.”

“That was my thought as well, Niccolò.”

The Prince rose and retrieved a gold signet ring from a cabinet that stood nearby. He held it up so Niccolò could see the lily of Florence that was carved into the gold.

“Prepare letters to the allies who reside between us and Venice, informing them one of our neighbors to the north may decide to march against us. Explain that you’re writing on behalf of the principality, but make no mention of me or of your new title. Request that they deny travel rights to our enemies and hold strong to our alliance. Tell them they will be rewarded.”

“Of course.” Niccolò reached for the signet ring, but the Prince palmed it.

“I will affix the seal to the letters. Bring them to me when they’re ready.”

Niccolò’s dark eyes fixed on the Prince’s hand, undisguised longing stealing over his expression, but only for an instant.

His expression did not go unnoticed.

He bowed low. “I am eager to serve in all things, my prince.”

Chapter 10

In order to maintain the charade that he’d been assassinated, the true Prince of Florence remained hidden in the Palazzo Riccardi. From here, he oversaw the training and mobilization of the army and all tactical decisions, through trusted intermediaries.

He couldn’t venture outdoors in order to feed and so he had to rely on the stores of his private cellar. Moreover, he couldn’t leave the Palazzo to wander the streets of Florence for fear someone would pick up his scent.

He’d taken measures to ensure Niccolò and the other Consilium members did not attempt a coup d’état by tasking Gregor, his assistant, to watch them closely.

Theodore, one of his servants, was ordered to monitor the comings and goings of the Emersons and to keep tabs on the illustrations that were on display at the Uffizi. Although the Prince was not in the position to deal with the Emersons, he intended to do so before they left the city.

A few nights before the Emersons were scheduled to check out of their hotel, the Prince grew restless. He’d been confined to his quarters for days with limited entertainment.

(The Prince took no interest in television or the Internet.)

In a move calculated to conceal his identity from any of his kind whom he might happen upon, he clothed himself in the stolen habit of a Franciscan (minus the cross). He pulled the hood over his head, shading his face, and, as was the local custom with the Franciscans, he wore sandals.

For more than one reason, the Prince found his choice of garment humorous.

To complete the deception, he took a vintage from his private cellar and doused a piece of cloth with it. Then he pinned the cloth to the inside of his robes, with the hope of confusing anyone who came near enough to scent him. Of course, the Prince had no intention of allowing any of his kind to come that close.

After sunset, he left the safety of the Palazzo through the back door, walking slowly and humanly down the street and toward Gallery Hotel Art. He was fortunate that the Emersons were just exiting the hotel as he arrived.

He followed them to dinner at a romantic restaurant overlooking the Arno River, and afterward through the narrow streets that led to the Piazza della Signoria, finally pausing near the Loggia dei Lanzi as they sat down to observe the city after dark.

The Prince was almost puzzled by their choice, since he preferred to view the city from great heights, such as from the top of Brunelleschi’s dome. It would seem the Emersons preferred to be much closer to their fellow humans (and the ground) than he.

“I think if we sat here long enough, the whole world would walk by.” Julianne’s wistful voice rose to the Prince’s ears as she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder.