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My gaze greedily devours every line, every contour and curve, marveling at the way he’s managed to capture the tilt of my chin, the way my hair spills over my shoulders, the question in my eyes as they reflect upon Killian.

“It’s so…honest,” I say, the wonder of being sketched by Leonardo ringing clear in my voice.

Leonardo nods, seemingly pleased.

“Will you sign it?” I ask, remembering how he never signed theMona Lisa—a painting that, as of this day, he’s not yet had a chance to paint—but hoping he’ll agree to sign this.

He shoots me a curious look.

“Just so I won’t forget who sketched it.” I grin.

Luckily, he finds that as amusing as I’d hoped, and I watch as he signs the bottom right corner using the left-to-right style he’s known for.

“I will treasure this always,” I tell him, about to tuck it away when I notice the small interlocking circle design he’s added just below it. But before I can ask what it means, Cosimo announces the coaches are packed and ready to take him to Venice. Dinner is officially over.

55

“Tell me something.”

Killian looks at me, amused. “Okay,” he says. “What would you like to know?”

I hesitate, unsure if it’s because I’ve just said good night to both Leonardo da Vinci and Cesare Borgia after a lovely, multi-course meal that I’m so brash, or the one and a half goblets of wine in my belly, but I boldly press forward and say, “Why does everyone hate you?”

Killian flinches, runs a slow, deliberate hand over his jaw, looking truly perplexed. “I wasn’t aware that they did,” he says.

“Perhapshateis too harsh,” I say. “But you must notice how they all go out of their way to avoid you.”

Killian leans toward me with interest. “And exactly who isthey?”

My fingers find their way to his sleeve, where I tug at it playfully. “I don’t think it’s a secret that, after a four-year absence, not a single person at Gray Wolf celebrated your return. And I’m curious to know why. What exactly have you done?”

“Oh,” he says, feigning relief. “For a minute there, I thought you were talking about Cesare Borgia. I saw the two of you earlier, with your heads bent together, whispering like coconspirators, and it got me worried. He’s exactly the type of enemy I prefer not to have. You do know he’s the subject of Machiavelli’sThe Prince?”

“So I hear. And don’t change the subject. You said so yourself. Everyone at Gray Wolf dislikes you, but you never said why.”

“I don’t recall ever admitting such a thing.” Killian slides back in his seat.

“At the Hideaway Tavern. You said that while practically everyone on that side of the rock worships you, I’m your only friend on the other side of Gray Wolf.”

“Just because no one threw me a welcome-back party doesn’t mean Arthur wasn’t pleased by my return,” he says. “And as far as I’m concerned, he’s the only one who matters.”

“Stop trying to dance around it.” I frown. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Fine,” he concedes. “But that doesn’t mean I can give you a reason. You should probably go straight to the source and ask them.”

“And what if they’re unwilling to tell me?”

“Ah.” He tilts his seat back on two legs and regards me from under a slanted brow. “So you have asked around.” His head bobs. “Good to know you’ve been inquiring about me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I roll my eyes. “I’m a curious person, that’s all.”

“Look.” He sets his chair forward again. “I don’t know what you want from me, Shiv. But have you ever heard that old saying, ‘What other people think about me is none of my business’? Well, that’s pretty much my motto. I don’t give a shit what people whisper about me in your gilded hallways. It’s all projection—more about the opinion holder than the subject in question. Which, in this case, is me. And if I’m not worried, then you shouldn’t be, either.”

“It’s just—” I stall for a moment, then decide to push on. “There are so many secrets at Gray Wolf, and it’s impossible to unravel them all. It’s even harder to know who to trust.”

“If I were you, I’d trust no one,” he says. “As for those secrets—maybe they’re not for you to unravel.”

“But I’m tired of it,” I protest. “I mean, why won’t anyone just say what they mean and be straight with me?”