“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.”
“How old is she?”
“She is of age, my lord, as you can see.” Aoibhe’s dark eyes were shining. “I haven’t forgotten your prohibitions.”
The Prince took a moment to examine the young woman in the flickering candlelight. Her hair appeared silky and fell to her shoulders in honey-colored waves. She had perfect, olive-colored skin and her figure, although slight, was decidedly feminine.
She smelled delicious.
His eyes moved from the woman to Aoibhe.