He rolled his eyes. “Not you, too. It’s bad enough that the priest calls her that.” He sighed and waved a hand. “Fine, get it out of your systems now, so you can both behave.”

For the next twenty minutes, Carwyn and Beatrice thought of every needling joke about royalty, Romans, and incest that they could. By the time they pulled into the park, all three of them were laughing.

“B, I swear, if you call her a cougar to her face, I will buy you a car.” Carwyn snickered. “A house. Maybe an island. Something ridiculously extravagant, just so long as I can see the look on her face.”

“Hush!” She giggled and turned to Giovanni. She cleared her throat. “Okay, we’re done.”

“Are you sure?” He cocked an eyebrow at them, which threw both of them into fits of laughter again.

“Okay, okay, we’re really done.” She gasped and grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the iron gates, lit by a thousand tiny lights.

“Yes.” Carwyn coughed. “And I promise not to mention any Greek plays.”

“How many times must I state that she is not my mother?”

Beatrice and Carwyn barely controlled themselves by the time they entered the main hall. While more casual gatherings were held in the gardens, Livia had decorated the main hall of the castle for the party that evening. Candles and torches were everywhere. The room was draped in rich tapestries, and demure human servants darted about, offering wine or blood from their wrists.

Part of the way that Livia controlled the huge Roman population of immortals was her decree that feeding from live donors was only allowed at her parties or festivals. While most of the more prominent vampires ignored her, she had enough influence over the younger and weaker of the court that she was rarely defied. It kept the majority of the population under her thumb and relatively weak compared to the older minority. It also ensured her parties were very well attended, which fed her already gargantuan ego.

He heard Carwyn mutter under his breath. “Heaven help us, she actually has a throne now.”

Giovanni looked down the length of the room. Livia’s table had been set up to look very much like the head table at a fifteenth century feast. She was dressed in a burgundy dress that would have far outshone his wife’s—that is, if Beatrice had not paid a seamstress top dollar to butcher Livia’s gown and make her a costume that was more fitting for her personality.

“She does put on a good show—I’ll give her that.” Beatrice looked around the room, seemingly oblivious to the stares her costume drew. Giovanni knew better. His wife, in her own way, was making a statement to Livia and the entire Roman court.

She bowed to no one.

Grinning, he tucked her hand under his arm and walked toward the front of the room. The crowd parted automatically. Livia rose, all smiles as they approached. Only Giovanni caught the acid glint to her eye as she examined the remains of the priceless gown she had sent.

“Beatrice!” Livia smiled, her fangs peeking from the edge of her mouth. “What an... interesting ensemble. I’m so glad you both could make it.”

“Thanks, Livia. I just love my new corset.” Beatrice glanced down at her black leggings and leather boots. “I hope you don’t mind. I don’t really do hoop skirts.”

Livia forced a smile. “How American of you.”

Beatrice feigned naiveté. “Thanks!”

“And, Giovanni, your priest friend came as well, how amusing.”

“Always a pleasure, Livia.” Carwyn stepped forward, snagging a passing glass of champagne. “I do love spending time in your incredibly ancient and imperial presence.”

She only lifted an eyebrow at the dig.

“Not that you really have an empire, anymore. Thank heaven and the Gauls.”

Giovanni cleared his throat, but Carwyn only continued.

“And the Goths. The Vandals, too, I suppose. You have been sacked a lot, haven’t you?”

Giovanni broke in. “Beautiful party, Livia. Do excuse us while we say hello.” He dragged Carwyn away with Beatrice following. They both wore smiles.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Carwyn only laughed, drained the champagne and looked around. “Where’s the bar?”

An hour or so later, they had greeted all the appropriate people and left Carwyn chatting with Emil Conti, who he did get along with, surprisingly enough. The priest had also been instructed to keep an eye out for the presence of Ziri, the ancient wind vampire, in case he decided to make an appearance. Giovanni approached Beatrice from behind as she chatted with a younger group of immortals who had congregated near the fountain in the massive entry hall.

He snuck behind her and grabbed her around the waist.

“Tesoro mio,” he bent down and murmured in her ear. “What have you been doing without me for so long?”

She turned and winked at him. “Everyone likes my boots.”

He slipped his hand along the stays of the bodice she wore and over her smooth backside, teasing the back of her thigh. “I’m rather fond of them myself.”

He felt the frisson of energy rise between them and drew her away from the gaping vampires she’d been talking to, throwing them a wink before he tucked Beatrice under his arm. “Come with me; I want to show you something.”

“Come on, you can think of a better line than that.”

He chuckled, shuffling them past the guards, who nodded at him respectfully as they made their way through the labyrinth of a castle. Finally, he reached the tower rooms he called his own on the rare occasions he stayed with Livia. He opened the door, slipping the latch closed behind them. A tall, circular staircase ran around up the sides and he pulled her upstairs.