The scent of a number of his kind came into sharp relief. Not a single one of the scents was familiar.
The Prince ascended to the roof just in time to see a crowd of ten men, wielding swords, sprinting across the rooftops in his direction. They were about a half a mile away.
He was unarmed.
Quickly, he surveyed the area in case they’d sent another group to flank him. But they hadn’t.
The Prince found the fact rather curious.
It was possible they were after someone else. Possible, but not likely. A group of armed beings running in his direction meant only one thing—assassination.
He faced them, his body alert, continuing to survey the area in case there were more.
The group leapt to the building next to the hotel and stopped.
Once again, the Prince found their strategy (or lack thereof) surprising.
“The Prince of Florence, alone and unarmed.” A man who appeared to be the leader of the group addressed him in Italian, brandishing his broadsword.
The Prince examined the group, searching for any familiar faces. He found none.
He straightened himself to his full height. “You have one minute to put down your swords and surrender, or I will destroy you.”
The group laughed, one of them moving to the edge of the roof to taunt him. “Are you mad? We are ten to your one.”
The Prince’s gray eyes lasered into his. “Do you have any idea who you are addressing? I’ve been in possession of this principality for centuries. Lay down your weapons or die holding them.”
The group laughed again.
Another man mimed a beheading, his broadsword whistling through the air.
When the laughter ended, the first man who’d spoken raised his weapon and with a shout crossed the gap between the buildings, flying toward the Prince.
The Prince remained still until the man was just above him. Then he stepped to the side, grabbing the man’s sword hand at the wrist and wrenching it. The wrist bones snapped like twigs beneath his fingers.
The man howled in pain and released the sword, crashing to the roof.
The Prince caught the sword with his left hand and spun, slicing through the man’s neck. The head flew into the air and then hit the floor with a sickening, wet thud.
He tossed the sword to his right, kicking the headless corpse aside. He turned his smile on the group. “Next?”
There was an instant of hesitation, but only an instant. A cry rang out from the remaining members and they surged forward.
The Prince waited until they were almost within striking distance before leaping high into the air. He executed a flip midair and landed behind them, quickly severing the heads of two men with a single stroke.
Again, he kicked the decapitated bodies aside, ignoring the rolling heads.
His attackers rushed him.
The Prince fenced and battled, leaping into the air to avoid the blades. In a few moments, he’d diminished the group by six. Only four remained, including the leader.
“Put down your swords.” The Prince paced like a lion, herding the men toward the edge of the roof.
The leader cursed, spitting on the ground.
“Vincenzo, see to the others.” The leader addressed the man next to him, gesturing to the corpses and heads that littered the roof, their blackish blood shining like tar in the semidarkness.
The leader attacked, hoping to give Vincenzo the opening he needed. The Prince evaded the leader’s strikes and kicked Vincenzo in the chest, forcing him to his knees before taking his head.
The Prince pointed his bloodied sword at the leader.
“Tell me to whom I owe the pleasure of your visit before I kill you.”
The leader gripped his weapon more tightly. “You’re still outnumbered.”
“Not for long.”
The leader jumped over the side of the roof, his two companions following after.
The Prince calmly looked down at them.
They landed next to the hotel, poised to fight.
He glanced around, ensuring there were no other raiding parties nearby. Then he flew to the ground, landing several feet away from the remaining attackers.
“Tell me who sent you and perhaps I’ll spare you.”
The leader and his companions moved forward in a line. “We don’t need your charity.”
“Then you, would-be assassin, are dead.”
The Prince ran toward them, driving his sword into the leader’s chest, skewering him through the heart. It was not a mortal wound but it felled the man. The Prince heard his heart stutter and grow silent.
The remaining two men approached him on the other side, coordinating their attack.
The Prince retrieved the leader’s fallen sword and fought the others simultaneously, swinging a sword from each hand.
The two fighters were stronger than the others. The Prince slashed and parried but he would not retreat, forcing them to take defensive positions.
All at once, he dropped the sword from his left and grasped the remaining sword with both hands. He leapt into the air and swung with a great cry, slashing through the necks of both men.