“He doesn’t speak much Italian,” I said as Tristan hesitated.
“He’s simple,” the count added with an offhanded shrug.
Antonio’s expression shifted in understanding. “Ah. Bene. Come.”
He reached for Tristan’s arm.
Tristan yanked himself free, eyes darting between us. “Where is he taking me?”
“Relax, Tristan. He’s just showing you to your room,” I said, suppressing a sigh.
Still looking wary, Tristan followed Antonio toward the back of the house.
“And I suppose you’ll be somewhere palatial,” he called over his shoulder.
I ignored him and ascended the grand staircase alongside Count Montego.
He wasn’t wrong. My room was indeed palatial, though the grandeur hardly impressed me—I had once stood inside the emperor’s palace in ancient Rome. Still, each era had its interpretation of opulence.
Here, luxury meant dark wood furniture, masterfully carved with intricate patterns. Rich tapestries lined the walls, their deep colors adding warmth and depth to the space. Heavy velvet curtains cascaded over tallwindows, casting long shadows in the fading light. At the center of it all stood an extravagant four-poster bed, its frame draped in yet more velvet and adorned with many pillows.
Another world, another version of wealth.
“We’ll only be here for two nights at most,” I said.
Count Montego waved a dismissive hand. “Stay as long as you like. Having guests so soon after my return from France is a most welcome surprise. Accommodating you is no trouble at all, I assure you.”
I inclined my head. “Thank you.” Crossing the room, I sank into an ornately padded chair, its upholstery softer than I expected.
Montego clasped his hands behind his back. “Can I get you anything before I depart? We’ll share a meal in about an hour.”
I considered my next move, then said, “Yes. I’m looking for a man by the name of Giovanni Zampa. Do you know him?”
The count’s face brightened. “Yes, yes! Giovanni Zampa lives just fifteen minutes from here. After our repast, you and your manservant may take my horses and ride to his home.”
I held up my hands. “No, no, we can walk.”
Montego scoffed. “Nonsense! No guest of Count Montego refuses my hospitality. I am an exemplary host, Signore.” He gave a modest bow before straightening with a smile. “It brings me great pleasure to share my wealth. Any man worth his salt does not hoard his fortune—he shares it freely.”
“Well, thank you again, Count Montego. I’m honored by your generosity.” I nodded as fatigue settled over me.
“You are most welcome, Signore Alexander.” With a graceful turn, Montego spun on his heel and left the room.
I barely had the energy to remove my boots before collapsing onto the bed. The plush pillows swallowed me whole, and within moments, I drifted into a light doze.
Lunch was a grand affair held in Montego’s lavish dining room. We were seated at a long table laden with an extravagant spread. His chef had outdone himself, preparing a feast of wild game stew, a savory cheese pie infused with herbs, and a rich, earthy hemp seed soup. And wine—an absurd amount of wine.
By the time I was ready to depart, my stomach was full, my body warm from the meal, and I was tipsy enough to feel pleasantly unbothered by life’s uncertainties.
Outside, a groomsman approached, leading a magnificent black steed toward me. The sight of the horse made something tighten in my chest—he resembled Tempestas, my warhorse from Rome. Nostalgia stirred, but I pushed it aside as I took the reins.
A moment later, another groomsman appeared, leading a mule.
For Tristan.
Tristan shuffled into the stables with a scowl, arms crossed. “Let me guess—you got to eat the good food.”
“An excellent meal,” I admitted, patting my steed’s neck.
