The bells of Santa Maria del Fiore rang out with imperial clarity.
Florence had not known such grandeur in generations. At least not since the twilight days of the kingdom, when the banners of Savoy still carried unbroken pride.
But today, those banners hung beside others; black eagles of Prussia, twin-headed eagles of Russia, and the unmistakable sigil of the House of Zehntner: the red lion standing upon the black death's head.
The Duomo overflowed with nobility. Cardinals in crimson robes stood side by side with Orthodox patriarchs and Protestant princes.
Generals sat shoulder to shoulder with bishops, and industrial magnates pressed shoulder to shoulder with the scions of fading republics. But none dared speak above a whisper.
Not in the presence of so much power.
At the altar stood Prince Umberto of Savoy, the Crown Prince of Italy, in a perfectly tailored white uniform, gold trim catching every beam of light beneath the dome.
