Simonetta
ONE HUNDRED YEARS EARLIER
She wasn’t prone to theatrics, she didn’t so much as raise her voice. Her witch mother had taught her at an early age a better way to get what she wanted. Patience and silence.
She could still hear her mother’s voice, a whisper like silk over steel: “Remember, my treasure, men are easily swayed. Let your words be few, for they carry more power than you know. Scheme with precision, and above all, let patience and silence be your constant companions. In quiet, you control everything.”
Without fail, this approach had always worked.
Until now.
Which was why she was lurking in her lover’s secret room, half-covered in shadow and surrounded by treasures he’d been collecting for decades, using his power and influence in backroom dealings to acquire the priceless works of art.
Simonetta didn’t care about any of that.
What she cared about was his word. She had trusted his promises, his desire for her, his devotion. But her bastard of a lover had refused to acknowledge their infant son as his own flesh and blood. That he was the pope bore no significance.
In fact, it shouldn’t have.
Wasn’t he the most powerful man in the known world?
The shepherd of souls, the divine spokesperson of God almighty?
At his fingertips, he had the blind obedience of the masses, he had property, status, wealth.
Kings trembled in his presence, not to mention the scores of nobles who would kneel before him to kiss his purple robes.
Her lover had the power to claim what he wanted, the power to claim whom he wanted. He had claimed her, not just her body and mind, but the magic flooding her veins.
But he would not claim his child.
His own son.
There had to be some way to convince him to accept them both.
She was the daughter of fae nobility, and a powerful witch in her own right.
She had wealth, power, beauty, the pope’s heir.
There had to be a way to reason with him.
They could be a family. Unless, of course, His Holiness decided she wasn’t worth the bother anymore and had her killed.
Which meant that she would have to disappear. Leave the life she had built, her status and her lovely things, her name.
It was all so infuriating.
Simonetta scowled into the dim room, the only light coming from the lit candlestick she carried.
It was still and quiet, as she knew it would be.
The guard stationed outside had been taken care of the moment she held up a Moonhaze gemstone.
The sleeping stone had pulsed with purple light; the guard had slumped over in his stool and wouldn’t wake for an hour, perhaps more if she was lucky.
She didn’t possess a deep well of magic, not like her illustrious father, king of all fae.
Even he had acknowledged her existence.
A soft pattering noise came from somewhere in the room.
Simonetta paused, her arm aloft, the candle flickering. “Who’s there?”
The sound grew louder and she stiffened, her free hand slowly reaching for her necklace, fingers brushing the charms until she found the Sunspire, a crystal in the shape of a spiral.
She murmured a revealing spell under her breath, the words caught and twisting with the golden light emanating from the gemstone.
It brightened, almost hurting her eyes, and bathed the pope’s storage room in a hazy, golden hue as the scurrying drew closer.
Her gaze dropped to the source of the sound.
A rat stared back at her and then fled back into the dark.
With a huff of annoyance, Simonetta lowered her arm.
She walked farther into the room, the flame slowly returning to its normal size.
It was only a matter of time before His Holiness noticed she was gone from his bed, but she wouldn’t leave Rome without planning her revenge.
She needed to hurt him, to steal something from him in the same way he was stealing their son’s birthright.
What she wanted was a Vatican treasure that would safeguard the baby’s future.
She would do anything for her child. She would do anything to protect his legacy.
When he was born, she searched for any sign that he’d inherited her magic.
Sons born of witches rarely did, she knew that.
But it didn’t stop her from hoping. There was always a slim chance that he might be one of the lucky few who would.
But in the weeks following his birth, there was no sign of magic.
No sign that he’d become a wizard in his own right.
Though he’d enjoy a longer life, his talents were utterly human.
And her lover would leave him defenseless.
She wouldn’t allow that. Her attention flickered from one artifact to another—pieces of priceless papal jewelry numbering in the hundreds, diamonds, pearls, other precious gemstones, and several paintings created by the masters.
Simonetta slowed, coming to a stop in front of a set of five statues that had been carved centuries earlier by the fae sculptor Praxiteles.
Celestial stone. Tears of heaven. Her lover favored these priceless creations above everything else.
Simonetta slowly walked around them, transfixed by the exquisite detail carved into the stone.
The trail of her silk dress dragged behind her, but she hardly noticed.
She ran a finger over sinewy muscle, the curve of a woman’s softly rounded shoulder, the bow of a perfect mouth; the marble was cool beneath her touch.
She finished the circle, and once again came to stand in front of the set, her head tilted as she stared up at them, her mind whirring with one idea after another. At last, a plan crystallized in her mind.
A way to punish her lover for what he was doing to their son.
It was a bold and risky move, and if the pope should ever find out what she’d done, her life was forfeit, along with that of the little one she had birthed.
To say nothing of her father’s wrath for meddling in human affairs, for stealing five pietra magiche from his own lands, an essential component of her plan.
A moment’s doubt accelerated her heart rate.
Simonetta bit her lip, considering. If she succeeded, the humiliation she would bring upon her father would be severe.
But then she recalled the pope’s many promises whispered against her ear as he used her body, the long years spent in his shadow, a secret soiled by sanctimonious gossip.
And the most damning truth of all: the callous attitude he had displayed when he learned of the child they had made together. Her doubt disappeared. She made her decision, binding her fate.
Simonetta would steal the statues and transport them to her father’s dwelling, the enchanted forest, where her magic was stronger.
Once there, she would cast her spell.
Simonetta grinned to herself, wishing she could see the look on her lover’s face when he realized what she had done to him. But this was his fault, he had ruined everything between them. These statues belonged to her son now. They were his inheritance. His birthright. A way to safeguard his life.
A way to protect her witch mother’s name. “Medici,” she whispered, and then blew out the candle.