His dark eyes burned. “Ravenna.”
Time unraveled between them. Another hour of tracing each other’s bodies with shaking hands, words whispered as they chased after pleasure together. When Saturnino moved inside her, when he was close, she pulled his head down, their foreheads pressed together, and said, “Stay, stay, stay.”
He groaned, dragging both hands high over her head, and entwined his fingers with hers. He stared down at her, stripped of his armor, any trace of stone within him obliterated. He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly against the tears threatening to fall.
Saturnino, who had never let himself break.
Saturnino, who had spent nearly a century being untouchable, immovable, immortal.
The man above her was all human, and he came while breathing her name, in and out, staying as close and as deep as he could. Ravenna tried not to think of their time running out, the minutes and seconds slipping past her fingers.
But it was there between them, a slow, dying heart, one beat at a time.
Ravenna stared straight ahead at the back of the Medici family’s gilded carriage as she leaned against Saturnino, his arm a solid weightaround her waist. With his free hand, he held on to the leather reins to his destrier, his hooves clip-clopping against the cobbled path. Citizens lined both sides, waving red and white ribbons and blue and silver banners; they threw blooms, cheering and whistling as the progression made its way to Santa Croce. Everyone had come out in support of the tournament, thanks to Lorenzo de’ Medici’s influence.
“Do you think any of them suspect what will happen today?”
Saturnino’s breath tickled her ear. “No, Lorenzo has distracted them with free entertainment, food,anddrink for the duration of the tournament.” He paused. “We’re almost there, amore.”
Ravenna turned her head, her cheek brushing against his armor, polished to a resplendent sheen. “Will the pope already be there?”
“He will arrive after us,” Saturnino said. “The better to make a grand entrance.”
“Of course,” she muttered.
They made a turn, and the noise of the crowd rose when they arrived. People whistled and cheered, clapped, and stomped their feet. They were chanting something, but the gentle breeze sweeping up and down the piazza carried off most of the words. Finally, she discerned the name.
“Cavaliere Saturnino! Cavaliere Saturnino!”
Ravenna shifted in the saddle, arched a brow at the knight.
He winked at her.
Piazza Santa Croce was alive in a burst of color, hundreds of banners fluttering in the agreeable afternoon sun, representing the participating families and nations. A cacophony of languages swelled around them. Flags bearing family crests hung from windows and doorways, while flower bouquets scented the air with their delicate fragrances. Statues and sculptures decorated the square, depicting knights, saints, and ancient gods.
The elevated papal viewing box stood to her left, a lavish focal point of the piazza. Signor Medici had spared no expense. Gold and crimson draped the canopied platform, and hundreds of spring flowers decorated the beams in garlands of lily and violets.
The Luni family tent stood on the other side, draped in canvas painted in midnight blue, with guards standing on either side of the entrance. Saturnino clicked his teeth, pulling on the reins, and his horse veered to join his family as they emerged from their carriage. They gathered with Signor Medici, and together they disappeared into the tent—everyone except for Marco.
Marco watched their approach with narrowed eyes, his features grim and barely containing a simmering anger. Nerves skittered down Ravenna’s spine as a servant to the family came to help with the horses. Saturnino dismounted first, then turned, reaching for her. He lifted her off the saddle, then carefully set her on the ground, his hands lingering on her waist. He dipped his chin, his gaze intent on hers. His black hair brushed his armored shoulders.
“Once the joust has started, Marco will take you to the pope’s tent. There are steps leading to the back entrance. He’ll be heavily guarded, but don’t waste your magic on them. Marco will cut the guards down, giving you a clear path to His Holiness.”
Ravenna grimaced. “Does it have to be Marco?”
Saturnino returned it. “He’s an unholy terror with a sword. Ruthless.”
“Do you trust him?”
“No.” He paused, brows pulled into a tense frown. “But Idotrust his will to live, and you’re his only chance of that happening. He will protect that chance with everything he has.” Saturnino looked away from her, his jaw clenched. Frustration radiated off him in waves. Ravenna felt his terror, felt him weighing all outcomes. Silence stretched between them until he turned his head back to her. “I will swap places with Marco.”
Ravenna shook her head. “You are the better competitor, the pope knows that. He will have selected a champion to match your ability. Marco wouldn’t last long out there, and I’ll need as long of a distraction as you can give me.”
Saturnino pressed his forehead against hers. “Swear to me that youwill be careful, that you won’t hesitate to use your magic as soon as you break through his chain mail.”
She cupped his cheek. “I swear it.”
“Swear to me that you won’t take any chances, that—”
