He’d forgotten what life was like in the Roman’s palace, but was reminded by the citizens who used the antechamber as their pleasure den. Vampyres drifted in and out of the room, fornicating and feeding on human beings and each other.
William’s sensitive ears pounded with music that emanated from the large central hall on the ground floor of the palace.
From time to time, a citizen’s eyes would stray to William’s, and he or she would beckon him. William merely shook his head, too disgusted to exchange words.
Eventually, Gaius drove the revelers away, ordering them to pursue their orgy elsewhere.
The Prince closed his eyes in relief.
Much ink had been spilled on the decadence of ancient Rome. But the decadence of vampyric Rome was surely a rival. How he longed for the order and dignity of Florence. How he longed to retreat to his villa and hold Raven in his arms, blotting out the stark depravity of his brethren.
These thoughts plagued him as the lieutenant kept him waiting, minute after minute and hour after hour.
The slight was intentional. However, the Prince was shrewd enough to hide his ire. When he was finally escorted into the audience room, just before sunset, he forced himself to greet the lieutenant with deferential respect.
Cato was an Italian and at least two centuries away from becoming an old one. Nevertheless, he dressed as the Roman himself, in the purple imperial toga of ancient Rome.
The Prince was surprised. Only the Roman himself wore purple, while his lieutenant was usually restricted to wearing white.
William’s eyes narrowed as he took Cato’s measure.
“Welcome, your highness.” The lieutenant inclined his head from his position on the throne. “I apologize for the delay. If we had had advance notice of your arrival, I would have arranged a more suitable welcome.”
“Thank you, lieutenant.” The Prince bowed his head perfunctorily. “Rome’s hospitality is always suitable. Florence is at grave risk, which is why I arrived unannounced.”
“I heard of the attempted coup.” The lieutenant gazed at the Prince appraisingly. “You appear to have survived it.”
The Prince stood tall. “I’ve come to see the Roman.”
“I’m afraid the king is not receiving visitors.”
The Prince frowned. “It is a matter of some importance.”
The lieutenant offered him an indulgent smile. “The Roman has delegated affairs of state to me. I perceive that you know this since I was visited by your own lieutenant some time ago. Perhaps if you were to communicate your concerns to me, I may be of assistance.”
“There is an issue with the Curia.”
The lieutenant’s gaze sharpened. “What issue?”
“An issue so great I have come to solicit the Roman’s guidance.”
“As I said, the Roman has delegated affairs of state to me. If you need guidance, I shall offer it. In consultation with the king, of course.”
The Prince paused, struggling to keep his temper. “Your wisdom is not in question, lieutenant. But the Roman and I know one another personally. I come not only as a subject but as a friend.”
Cato fingered the gold-embroidered edge of his toga. “The Roman has no friends.”
“It appears you don’t know me, Cato, but I know you. I know you came from Pisa in the sixteenth century. I know you have been a loyal subject to the Roman, and in return, you were elevated to lieutenant.
“But you are not an old one. Thus, you can be excused for not knowing that my friendship with the Roman began centuries before you were born.”
The lieutenant gave the Prince a long look, his eyes beady, his face pinched.
The Prince gestured to the door. “Perhaps if you were to consult one of the old ones of Rome, he or she could corroborate my connection?”
The lieutenant smothered a smile. “Come, let me offer refreshment.” He beckoned the Prince to sit in a nearby chair and began pouring blood into two ornate silver chalices that rested on a side table.
The vampyres saluted one another and drank.
“I know more about you than you might think, Florentine.” Cato’s expression grew accusatory. “You claim to be a friend of the Roman, but you haven’t visited the city within my memory.”
The Prince held the chalice loosely. “That is true, but our connection is of a unique nature.”
Cato leaned forward, his voice taking on a salacious tone. “I did not realize your acquaintance with the Roman was intimate.”
William pressed his lips together. He had mere seconds to decide if he was going to correct Cato’s characterization. But on reflection, he realized it might offer an advantage. “It could be described thusly.”
“Interesting,” the lieutenant murmured, sitting back on his throne. He seemed to peer over at the Prince with new eyes.
“I repeat, perhaps one of Rome’s old ones might corroborate my connection?”
“I am the oldest, next to our king.” The lieutenant preened.
The Prince hid his surprise. There should have been at least three old ones still in residence in the principality of Rome, in addition to the king. He had not heard news of their departure or of any foul play having befallen them.
Something very strange was going on.
He schooled his features carefully. “It’s clear the Kingdom of Italy is in capable hands. But my issue with the Curia is urgent. I must seek the Roman’s counsel.”
“Since you are an old one, you know that the Roman has had no dealings with the Curia since the treaty was signed. They pursue their goals, and we pursue ours.”