She took this as an indication that she was stronger than she thought.

She threw herself into her work, volunteering for any and all overtime offered by Professor Urbano. She went on a few day trips with Patrick and Gina, visiting Lucca, Siena, and Pisa.

There were evenings when she thought she saw a dark figure moving in the shadows across the street. Or when she was sure he’d been in her apartment, while she was sleeping.

“You’re the shadow on my wall,” she whispered to the darkness one evening. But the darkness was always silent.

There were no signs of hunters, no more bodies found in the street or down by the river. Whatever battle the principality had waged, it seemed to have won.

Raven found herself relieved the Prince was safe. But beyond that recognition, she did not allow her mind to go.

Instead, she focused on work, on her friends, and on bringing flowers to Angelo’s favorite spot by the Ponte Santa Trinita, hoping that death had brought him peace.

Chapter Fifty-two

The Prince stood high atop the tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, staring down at the Uffizi Gallery. Tourists and locals congregated, sharing conversations and holding hands. Music could be heard in the distance. A few couples danced in the Piazza Signoria.

As his gaze flitted from figure to figure but failed to see the person he was looking for, his mood darkened. He tried to convince himself his longing was temporary—the result of sex and pleasure. But not even his coldest, harshest application of rationality could persuade him that he was unchanged by her.

“You’re brooding.” Aoibhe’s voice sounded at his elbow.

He’d scented her a moment or two earlier. Despite her advanced age and skill, he’d heard her land on the tower’s roof. He didn’t turn around, confident as he was in his assessment of her loyalty and threat level, especially now that he had saved her life.

“I never brood.” The Prince’s voice was cool as he continued to search in vain.

“Then why are you up here, glaring? The night is ours. There’s food and sport to be had, even for someone as dour as you,” Aoibhe said, gently mocking him. “From what I hear, the police have given up their investigation. They have no evidence, no prospects, and a shrinking list of suspects. You must be very pleased.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He scanned the grounds one last time before turning to face her.

“Come now, my prince. While I’ve never seen your vast art collection for myself, I’ve heard rumors. I just don’t understand why you chose to steal from the Uffizi now. Presumably, you already acquired the jewels of the Renaissance while you and Niccolò were enjoying the company of the Medici.”

William sniffed. “I moved in their circle for some time. Niccolò had a fraught relationship with them.”

“So I’ve heard. Could it be that he wrote The Prince for you?”

William offered her an indifferent look before gazing down at the gallery again. He saw a pair of lovers sitting on the steps of the loggia, kissing passionately.

“Where’s the Prince’s little pet this evening?”

“Out,” he rumbled.

“I’m surprised you let her out of your sight, given the way you were with her at Teatro.”

William opened his mouth to protest, but Aoibhe interrupted.

“Don’t bother lying. One might almost say you’re in love with her.”

“Love?” he scoffed. “You know our kind too little.”

“Ah, my prince. I know you only too well.” She moved closer to touch his face.

He sidestepped her. “What do you know of love?”

“Precious little. I’ve tried to forget my time as a human. It made immortality much easier. But there was a boy…” She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. “After the English lord raped me, the boy didn’t want me anymore.”

“This is your account of love?” William strode to the crenellations, placing his hands on one.

“Maybe the boy didn’t love me. Maybe the ugliness of rape killed his love. I was young and unable to fathom such mysteries.”

She tilted her head, regarding the Prince thoughtfully.

“One might say we have shared love, you and I. Our evenings together were certainly pleasurable. That’s love enough for me.”

“It isn’t enough,” he muttered, leaning forward on the battlements.

She stood next to him, following his gaze to the lovers who were kissing at the loggia. “The kind of love of which you speak is dangerous. It makes one vulnerable.”

Satisfied that the woman entangled in the embrace below was not Raven, he tore his eyes from her.

“We are all vulnerable in some way.”

“Then be vulnerable to me and make me your consort.”

The Prince growled. “You have your answer, Aoibhe.”

“Ah, but circumstances have changed. We both know there are those who are trying to overthrow you.”

“Who are they?” He crowded her.

Fear streaked across her face and she stepped back.

“I would tell you if I knew. I swear it. I think you know I have a fondness for you, my lord. I owe you my life. I pay my debts, which means I’m your ally, at least until I’ve repaid you in kind.”

“I am grateful for your allegiance.” He nodded stiffly.

“I suspect the traitors live among us, that they are intelligent and crafty but not necessarily powerful. They’ve been manipulating others into doing what they could not do—colluding with Venice to have you assassinated, using the ferals to breach the borders. You executed Ibarra, which was probably part of their plan.”

“Are you so sure Ibarra wasn’t a traitor? He’d never failed his tasks before.”

“Precisely. I took Ibarra to bed and questioned him in an intimate moment. He was loyal.”

“Then why didn’t you oppose his execution?”

“I’m fond of my head, my prince. I’d like to keep it.”

William’s body relaxed slightly. “I welcome whatever information you have to offer, Aoibhe, now and in future.”

“I will make enquiries, discreetly, and report my findings to you. I think it’s clear someone has been whispering to the hunters.”

“See that you don’t take anyone else into your confidence. We don’t know how many of them there are.”

“Of course. I suspect Max but he isn’t intelligent enough to mastermind a plot. It’s possible the Venetians approached him, but I doubt it.” Aoibhe placed her hand on the Prince’s sleeve. “Whatever vulnerabilities you have, they are small in number. I saw you fight the hunters. Their weapons had no effect on you.”

He gave her a half smile. “I believe your perceptions at the time were somewhat altered.”

“I was immobilized, not unconscious.” She stared at him for a moment, challenging him with her eyes. “I pride myself in never underestimating others. I’ve known you a very long time and even I underestimated you.”

His smile bloomed disarmingly. “I am an old one, Aoibhe. You know this.”

She shook her head. “I’ve known old ones. I was the lover of one in Paris before I came here. He could not do what you do. No one can. Why would a vampyre with so much power content himself with the city of Florence when he could rule Europe, or the Americas, instead?”

He freed his arm from her grasp.

“Perhaps because I’m not as powerful as you think.”

Aoibhe gazed on him with admiration. “An old Medicean trick—appear humble before the people, so as not to arouse their anger or jealousy.”

He dismissed her remark with a wave of his hand. “Evil has its own logic.”

“I’ve yet to meet an evildoer who’s as concerned as you are with protecting the innocent.”

“Pure pragmatism. We learned our lesson during the Black Death. If we feed on children, we’ll destroy our food supply.”

“Evil doesn’t care about such things and we both know it.” She shivered, glancing over her shoulder. “Besides, that wasn’t the innocence I was referring to. Since you are without your pet for the evening, why don’t you join me at my residence? You look weary and in need of diversion.”