Many of the images praised his exploits and his taste for young, beautiful men. William’s own transformation was featured in one of the panels to the right of the door, complete with his likeness dressed in the robes of a Dominican.
The Prince glanced at it and looked elsewhere.
“The Prince of Florence, your excellency.” Cato addressed the Roman in Latin, bowing deeply.
The room itself was completely dark, with the exception of two pillars of flame that flanked a short gold staircase ascending to an ornate throne.
The figure who sat on the throne was robed in purple, his head wreathed with gold laurel leaves. His eyes were closed, and he sat perfectly still, like a statue.
“You are dismissed.” The Roman’s voice was low, his accent ancient.
Cato bowed. “If I may, your excellency, I think that—”
“Now.” The Roman’s voice deepened, but still, he did not open his eyes.
Cato scurried to the door, still facing the throne, and exited with Gaius.
The Roman pointed a pale finger at the Praetorians, who lifted their spears in salute and departed through the door, closing it behind them.
William went down on one knee before the throne. It was only then that the Roman opened his eyes.
In appearance, he was handsome, with dark hair clipped close to his head and dark, fiery eyes. His nose was long and prominent, his cheekbones high, his jaw square. If one hadn’t known he was a vampyre, one might have marked his age at about thirty.
“My son.” The Roman adjusted his toga in order to bare his right arm.
William climbed the steps to the throne. The two vampyres clasped arms.
The Roman lifted William’s chin and kissed him.
“Father,” William whispered.
The Roman released his arm. “I was not expecting you.”
“I apologize.” William descended the steps to stand between the pillars of flame. “I should have sent word of my visit.”
“Notice is not required. Not by you.” The Roman gazed at him shrewdly. “But I perceive this is not a familial visit.”
“I’m afraid not. My visit concerns the Curia.” William withdrew a copy of the letter Father Kavanaugh had written to him. He held it out.
The Roman waved it aside. “Tell me.”
“For some time the Curia have been watching Florence. Now they are threatening me and have ordered me to surrender my pet.”
The Roman’s eyebrows lifted. “The Curia concerned about a pet? What madness is this?”
“The pet in question is a daughter of sorts to one of the priests.”
The Roman chuckled. “Ah, yes. The Church extols the virtue of chastity, but behind their walls there is no such practice. So you’ve taken the daughter of a priest. This is not without precedent.”
William averted his eyes and folded the letter carefully, placing it inside his pocket.
“It is always a pleasure to be in your company, Father. I have stayed away too long. But you are correct. There is more.”
“Proceed.”
William cleared this throat. “The pet is a pretext. I believe the Curia desires to weaken your authority, and to do so, they have targeted Florence.”
The Roman lifted his arms. “The Curia has desired to weaken my authority for centuries. Yet, here I sit. The solution to your problem is clear: remove the pretext and entrench your position.”
William lowered his gaze. “Yes, Father. But if the Curia is successful in this matter, what is to prevent them from additional demands? Or an unprovoked attack?”
The Roman regarded the gold signet ring of Rome, which he wore on his right hand. “I grew tired of petty squabbles years ago. That is why my lieutenant oversees such matters.”
“I apologize, Father.” William tried very hard not to give expression to his agitation. “But I believe the Curia’s tactic is to make an example of Florence, in order to bring the other Italian principalities to heel. If they can transform Florence into Prague, without your intervention, what’s to prevent them from decimating the other principalities?”
“Our enemy has yet to move against an Italian city since we signed the treaty.”
William made eye contact with his maker. “Let not Florence be the first.”
“What is your recommendation?”
“I am approaching my last centuries. Father, I ask that you allow me to serve out my final years as Prince of Florence and that you defend us against the Curia.”
The Roman’s eyes searched William’s.
“Are you asking as the Prince of Florence? Or as my son?”
William’s fingers curled into fists. “Your son, if necessary.”
The Roman frowned. “I have not seen you for some time. Now you appear, begging favors.”
“Pardon, your excellency. I mean no disrespect.” William appeared contrite. “Florence is a jewel and one that many of my neighbors covet. I have traveled little during my time as prince.”
The Roman blinked. “You are a favorite of mine; it is true. As you say, Florence is a jewel. Are you certain your time is short?”
“You made me in 1274. My thousand years approaches.”
The Roman hummed. “Centuries come, centuries go. When one has forever, the marking of time seems immaterial. Since I have escaped the curse and you are my offspring, perhaps you will escape the curse also?”
William shook his head sadly. “You are the great exception, Father.”