The Prince (The Florentine 0.5)(9)
Author: Sylvain Reynard

“If they didn’t, the intelligence network needs to identify those behind the attack before there’s another incursion.” The Prince gave Niccolò a significant look.

Niccolò’s body tightened and his gaze flickered in the direction of the place where his colleague had lost his head.

The Prince surveyed the council members.

“There is a foreigner hiding in our city. It’s possible he’s already discovered his brethren failed in their mission and informed Marcus of that fact. Let us hope that is not the case.”

Niccolò’s expression grew even more troubled.

“My lord, if the Venetians suspect your death, such news is bound to spread. We’ll be inundated with incursions from neighboring principalities.”

“Not if they think you have taken control of the principality and amassed a great army.”

Niccolò bowed very low, trying desperately to contain his enthusiasm. “It is too great an honor, even in jest. What about Lorenzo?”

“I have other plans for Lorenzo.” The Prince placed his hands on the armrests of his throne. “But be warned, Niccolò. You will be prince in name only. Any attempt to seize power and you’ll find your head rolling across my floor. Do you understand?”

Niccolò appeared duly chastened. “Yes, my prince. I am humbled by your confidence.”

“I’ve always admired your intelligence, even when you were human. Our rivals know you by name and will fear you. But I know you are prudent enough to play your role until it is finished without delusions of grandeur. I’d be sorry to be mistaken.”

“I swear continued allegiance to the principality and to its prince.”

“Excellent.” The Prince nodded, dismissing him.

“Until we find the remaining foreigner, no one must know I survived the assassination attempt. No one beyond the Consilium.” At this, he gave the other council members a significant look.

“I’ll go into hiding while you, Niccolò, appear to take control of the principality. Spread the news far and wide that your army is at the ready should anyone decide to attack us.”

Niccolò hesitated.

“What of the Roman, my lord? We’d incur his wrath by instigating armed conflict in the region. And he won’t look on our deception kindly.”

“I shall send Lorenzo to the Roman immediately so that he may reveal our strategy. It’s possible the Roman will choose to intervene but I doubt it. He’s content to let the principalities in his kingdom defend themselves. That’s precisely what I’m doing.”

The Prince turned his attention to the entire Consilium.

“While we wait to see how the Venetians respond to our spy, we shall begin preparations for war.”

“What about allies, my lord?” Aoibhe rose to speak, bowing first.

“What need have we of allies?” Maximilian interrupted, standing.

The Prince ignored his interruption.

“We don’t need allies to wage war against the Prince of Venice. He’s arrogant and weak. We’ll use cunning and our superior forces as our allies.”

“What if the Venetians aren’t the ones behind the attack?” Aoibhe pressed.

“Then our intelligence network and our new head of security need to make haste in discovering who is. Or there will be a need for new Consilium members.” The Prince’s tone was harsh.

The Consilium members stood and bowed as the Prince strode down the aisle and out the double doors to the hall. But as soon as he was gone, they gathered in a small circle and began whispering.

Chapter 7

“How does it feel to be dead, my lord?” Aoibhe addressed him in English as she entered his private rooms near the Council chamber.

He was seated in a tall wingbacked chair, perusing a leather-bound volume of Machiavelli and listening to medieval music, which he found soothing.

“A better question would be how does it feel to be dead again?”

Aoibhe laughed.

“There are many kinds of death. The littlest of them is my favorite.” She gave him a heated look.

He lifted his eyebrows but said nothing.

“I see you have yet to go into hiding.” She regarded his lavishly decorated apartment with appreciation.

“I wished to retrieve a few items.” He pointed to some books and a couple of manuscripts that he’d placed on a nearby table.

“When was the last time you fed, my lord?”

“Why?”

“I have procured sustenance for you. Someone lovely.”

“This is irregular.” The Prince’s eyes narrowed. “To what do I owe your generosity?”

“I’m glad you’re still alive.”

The Prince took a moment to examine her features.

She was beautiful and strong and very, very ambitious. He wondered if she resented Niccolò’s elevation. At the moment¸ it seemed clear she wanted something; he simply wasn’t able to discern what it was.

“Thank you, Aoibhe, but I’ve a war to plan.”

She gestured to the book he held in his hand. “As you said, Niccolò is the master of the art of war. And besides, you’re dead.”

The Prince huffed impatiently. “What do you want, Aoibhe?”

She moved to stand before him. “I want to give you a gift. And I want to lie with you after you’ve fed.”

She placed her hand on his sleeve.

His gaze moved to her hand.

“We haven’t coupled in some time. Why the sudden interest?”

“Not sudden, my lord. You know you’re my favorite. I am always available for your pleasure.”

She leaned closer.

When he didn’t move, she pressed her lips to his. “She’s fresh and young and ready to be plucked.”

He smiled wryly. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? Plucking?”

“I believe the younglings use another word that rhymes with that one. I’m surprised you’ve not heard it.” She bowed and disappeared through the door, closing it carefully behind her.

When she returned, a young human woman was with her, her fragrance light and sweet. She was clad in a summer blouse and skirt and was blindfolded. From her movements and the way Aoibhe murmured in her ear, the Prince divined that she was under mind control.

He closed his eyes and inhaled.

“A virgin? I didn’t think there were any left in Florence.” He gazed skeptically at Aoibhe.

“It appears you were wrong. She walked into Teatro of her own free will.”