The King's Agent

She Holds the Key to His Future—and the Fate of the World

In the heart of Renaissance Italy—where art shapes power and secrets hide in plain sight—Battista della Paglia moves between courts as both connoisseur and thief, serving the ambitions of the King of France. His latest mission leads him beyond politics and into legend: a relic whispered to grant unimaginable influence.

Lady Aurelia has lived her life confined, her purpose guarded as closely as the truth of who she is. When a chance encounter with Battista offers escape, she steps into a perilous journey threaded with hidden meanings, sacred art, and trials that echo Dante’s descent through Hell, ascent through Purgatory, and reach toward Paradise.

As they follow clues embedded in masterpieces and navigate a world of rival kings, secret societies, and spiritual испытания, their alliance deepens into something far more dangerous: trust. And love. Yet Aurelia’s knowledge comes at a cost—because she is not merely part of the quest… she is bound to it.

Rich in historical detail and infused with a subtle thread of magic, The King’s Agent blends real Renaissance intrigue with a sweeping romantic fantasy—where every choice carries consequence, and the greatest power may be the one that must never be claimed.

Discover the journey. Uncover the truth. Begin reading The King’s Agent today.

Excerpt from the book

Here one must leave behind all hesitation;

here every cowardice must meet its death.

—Inferno

His hands quivered ever so slightly. Not with fear—he scoffed silently at the very notion—but with the exhilaration thrumming through his veins. His moment of triumph, of victorious possession, came upon him, and he would not deny its power.

Battista della Palla stood before the carved door, shoulders hunched, broad body curled inward, as he jimmied the minuscule, well-worn silver rod into the small, square lock well. Dark eyes stole a quick, sidelong glance at each end of the empty corridor. A few flicks of his leather-cuffed wrist and…click.

He hummed a contented sigh, pushed back the swath of wavy black hair from his face, and pushed over the arched swing shackle of the padlock. The heavy, intricately scrolled device dropped into his hands, and he palmed it into his satchel; such locks were a treasure worth filching. For Battista, their value lay far beyond the monetary; they were trophies of a hunt well served. With a last glance at the empty passageway, a waggle of dark, thick brows, and a twitch of a smile, he took a bow to an imaginary audience and slipped in.

Stepping into the largest private room of the palazzo, he tucked his small tool back into its pouch on his cuff. One lone candle burned low in the far corner, its pale-yellow light outshone by that of the three-quarter moon. The gray glow streamed through the four tall, mullioned windows on the opposite wall, checkering the room with squares of muted incandescence.

He had seen the inside of many a nobleman’s bedchamber, spent more than a bit of time in them, for here the privileged kept their valuables. Here, Battista did much of his work.

The fire burned low in the grate to his left. A meek blaze sparked upon the gold cloth of the pastoral tapestries covering the inside wall beside him. There, in front of him, at the foot of the curtained bed, stood the mahogany strongbox, rugged and rigid with its thick steel bands, incongruous against the flowing bed draperies.

Battista grumbled an irritated chuckle. Two more padlocks bound each band, ones equally as intricate and as valued as the first. He knelt before the large chest, knees cracking, leather braces stretching against flexing calf muscles, nettled mumblings unchecked. The duca di Carcaci guarded his treasures well.

What a shame I must steal one.

The passing thought came and went in Battista’s mind, one tinted with pale regret, brushed away with the impatient hand. He had attempted to acquire the piece through diplomatic and pecuniary methods. Offered the duke a handsome purse—more than generous—and with it provided the nobleman a chance to assist Firenze. But both opportunities had been summarily denied. Now Battista must do what he must, whatever it took for his beloved Florence. If such efforts wrought him a princely income in the doing, then so be it.