“He cannot best me in combat so he summons my army to take his place. Are you willing to give up your existence to feed his vanity?”
“Make no mistake.” Aoibhe aimed her dark eyes at the general. “He’ll have your head. Anyone who is a threat will be eliminated, and that means anyone above the age of youngling.” She pointed at the row upon row of soldiers. “That means all of you.”
“That is quite enough,” Machiavelli growled. He gestured to General Valerian, who was already positioning his soldiers so that they encircled the condemned prisoners.
“You may begin, General.”
The soldiers lifted their swords.
“There is still time to surrender,” William cautioned them. “Drop your sword and your life will be spared.”
He placed his back to Aoibhe’s so that they were both facing their executioners.
“I can’t believe I’ve lived this long only to end my life at the end of a Florentine sword.” She lowered into a crouch, watching for the first sign of an attack.
“Surely the Prince of Florence is not so stingy as to leave us without weapons.” William lifted his eyes to the throne.
Niccolò waved a hand at the general. “Give them each a sword.”
Two swords flew through the air, each caught handily by the captives.
“This is your last chance, Niccolò.” William’s voice rang out. “End this conflict before I diminish the army.”
“If I lose soldiers, I’ll make new ones.” Machiavelli nodded at the general. “Begin.”
Aoibhe lifted her sword with both hands, poised to strike. “Did you hear that, army? You’re no better than humans to your new prince. Each of you is disposable.”
The general barked out an order and the army advanced on all sides.
Chapter Fifty-six
William and Aoibhe were a whirlwind of movement, striking and blocking at every turn, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. For every soldier killed, another took his or her place. All the while, the new prince sat on his throne, watching his army shrink.
William knew there were too many. There were too many for him and he was an old one. Aoibhe was stronger than any of the soldiers individually, but taken together, they’d overwhelm her and then he’d have no one at his back.
He’d let Raven go without kissing her. Without persuading her he was keeping his promise to protect her and her sister, even though that meant sending her to his enemy. Now he’d never have the chance to look into her eyes and explain.
With renewed vigor, William went on the attack, forcing the line of soldiers to retreat.
Behind him, Aoibhe stumbled. She fell to the ground, her sword careening across the floor and coming to rest out of reach.
A line of soldiers advanced and one lifted his arm in preparation to take her head.
His blow was caught inches from Aoibhe’s neck by William’s sword.
A soldier saw the opening and ran up behind him, aiming for his head. Lightning fast, William turned, leaning backward to avoid the metal that flashed through the air, narrowly missing his throat.
He lifted his sword, but before he could strike, the soldier’s head flew from his shoulders and his body crumpled to the ground.
Gregor stood behind him, sword in hand.
It was then William saw an influx of his citizens, armed and battling with the soldiers who surrounded him. Beyond them, half of the army had already fallen back, disengaging from the conflict.
A female tossed a sword to Aoibhe and she was on her feet, swirling like a red-haired dervish.
“Down with the traitor!” William cried. “To arms, citizens of Florence!”
The loyal civilians cheered as he battled his way to the throne, taking the steps two at a time before standing in front of the one who had unseated him.
“Guards, kill him!” Niccolò shouted.
But the guards ignored his order, throwing down their swords. The metal clattered on the stone floor.
William paused as he stood over his former head of intelligence.
“You should have granted my appeal, Niccolò.”
“It was a calculated risk.”
Machiavelli looked out over the hall. The skirmishes had ended as everyone watched the scene unfolding at the throne.
“I have lived a long life, with some regrets.” He gazed at William’s sword bitterly. “I regret underestimating the citizens’ loyalty to you.”
“A mistake you will not make again.”
Machiavelli looked up at his prince. “I don’t suppose you can be persuaded to be merciful?”
William pressed his lips together. “I know no such word.”
Machiavelli’s head flew to the floor and a great series of cheers filled the hall.
William tugged the signet ring from the headless corpse’s finger and pushed the body aside. He replaced the ring on his finger and stood, arms raised.
“Citizens of Florence, the traitor is dead.”
Chapter Fifty-seven
“It’s fortunate the Curia have a prize being sent their way,” Aoibhe declared, standing with the Prince in the empty council chamber. “They would have marched on us for certain. The hunting parties wreaked havoc across the city, and Max killed three humans in Santo Spirito, leaving their bodies to rot.”
The Prince kept his own counsel as he surveyed the aftermath of the battle. They’d been able to regenerate much of the army—reuniting bodies with their severed heads and borrowing vampyre blood in order to effect the reanimation. The corpses and heads of those the Prince despised had been removed from the chamber and were now burning on a pyre outside the city.