“My dear Bishop, my dear Bishop, the queen’s mother wishes your presence.” The young servant lady spoke softly as she knocked on the religious leader’s front door. Arcadius’s townhouse, a study in minimalist modesty, was tucked behind the royal cathedral. It projected no grandeur, no hint of importance, save for its proximity to the twin centers of worship and authority.

  From the dim interior, Bishop Arcadius emerged, his face marked by restless nights and unbroken discipline. His ceremonial garb hung like a second skin, stark and unadorned. Without speaking, he stared at the unassuming servant with eyes that exuded a predatory intent. Slowly, his hand reached toward her neckline, drawing a nervous pant from her lips before he gently traced the sign of the cross upon her forehead and chest. She trembled under the gesture, unsure whether to feel blessed or hunted.

  Cracking his neck, Arcadius signaled her with a single motion to “lead the way.”

  Their path wound through the palace gardens, where rows of queen’s guards lined the walkways. Their gleaming pikes formed a crisscross barrier, obstructing Arcadius’s approach toward the newly constructed chapel. From within, the sound of laughter grated on the bishop’s patience as he awaited the guards’ signal to pass.

  Upon his arrival, the atmosphere thickened with hostility cloaked in high-class pleasantries. Vanessa’s entourage greeted him with perfunctory smiles and hollow compliments on the chapel’s craftsmanship, their tone drowning out the bishop’s presence like buzzing flies. Arcadius stood unmoved, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the former regent. She met his cold stare with a smile laced with smug indifference, savoring the moment of dominance before ordering her underlings to leave.

  Now, only Vanessa and Arcadius remained.

  Swirling a jewel-encrusted goblet in her hand, Vanessa softened her tone, though the edge in her words remained. “Arcadius, engaging you is like chasing shadows at dusk—elusive and ever-shifting.”

  “I am the shepherd to my people. If I am not among them, then I am not for them.”

  “Of course,” Vanessa said, feigning agreement. “My family are the custodians of their safety. If we’re among them, we can’t truly look out for them. Hence, our newest addition—the royal chapel. Private, discreet, and, with your blessing, serviced by the Church of the One True God and my brother, Gideon.”

  “Your brother is unfit to hold ceremony,” Arcadius said bluntly.

  “We agree on that,” Vanessa said with an inebriated giggle. “Let’s call this what it is: a ploy to keep my brother from Mansour’s throne. But it doesn’t have to be this painful, Arcadius. It’s a simple trade—proximity to the royal family for my brother’s dignity, and both our sanity.”

  Arcadius’s silence hung heavy. He turned his gaze toward a figure, partially obscured by sunlight bleeding through pale-stained glass. “Sir Tristan, I haven’t seen you at Mass.”

  “I follow the Church of Saints and the Divine Spirit,” Sir Tristan replied smoothly, stepping into the light.

  “I’m aware. Yet even they decry your lack of tithing.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “I pay my dues in other ways,” Tristan countered. “For example, my generous contributions to the cathedral. A service to your flock, is it not?”

  “We are thankful,” Arcadius conceded with a slow nod.

  Tristan stepped forward, his tone embodying the polished tolerance of the aristocracy. “In Vasier, we believe in treating others as we wish to be treated.”

  “Of course,” Arcadius replied. “But your church has shown itself far more generous toward the less desirable than the likes of my people.”

  “You mean pagans,” Vanessa interjected, her lightheaded tone giving no sign of offense.

  “We call them heathens,” Arcadius remarked.

  Tristan’s rich-boy smile widened as he moved to the center aisle, his pretentiousness on full display. “In Vasier, we think of them as allies of convenience. Faith should not be a barrier to the common good. Surely, Bishop, your partisanship shouldn’t prevent your church from serving the kingdom?”

  “Faith is not a negotiation,” Arcadius replied. “Nor do I look upon your people and see the common good.”

  Vanessa interjected with a smirk. “The common good, if you haven’t realized, is the queen and her reign. When one risks famine and death to protect it, reciprocity becomes customary.”

  “In time, Bishop Arcadius,” Tristan added. “Give, and you will receive.”

  “Our values are not for sale,” Arcadius stated sharply. “If you seek my cooperation, first ask for the Lord’s blessing. That starts with the queen and her mother being baptized under the Church of the One True God.”

  Vanessa’s dismissal was swift. “Not to worry, we’re already baptized,” she declared, a finality in her tone as her hand summoned her entourage back. The unspoken rift between faith and crown widened with her gesture .

  Vanessa’s dismissal was swift. “Not to worry. We’re already baptized,” she declared, her tone final as she gestured for her entourage to return. The unspoken rift between faith and crown widened with her movement.

  “Yes,” Arcadius replied with a smirk. “But you must commit to the Lord under our terms.”

  “And those terms are?” Vanessa asked, her patience thinning.

  “To follow His commandments to their fullest extent and receive access to heaven.”

  “And how is that different from any other church’s commandments?” Tristan asked, his arrogance barely contained.

  Vanessa reversed her gesture, her curiosity suddenly piqued. Standing, she motioned for the bishop to approach. Arcadius’s smile widened as he stepped forward, bowing his head with mock humility. “There are the selective interpretations of man,” he said, “and then there is the true word of God.”

  His words seemed to echo unnaturally, as though caught in a narrow canyon. Vanessa’s breath hitched, her movements slowing as if she were in a trance. Arcadius’s eyes shimmered with translucent smoke, a faint, otherworldly light consuming her focus.

  “How about we make this baptism tomorrow?” Vanessa asked, her voice calm but distant, as though speaking from deep within herself.

  “How about right now?” Arcadius suggested.

  “Now?” she murmured.

  “Yes. It will not take long.”

  “Then make it quick,” Vanessa agreed, placing her goblet carefully on the bench beside her. Her movements stiffened, her face hardening into a mask of stoic calm.

  “As you wish,” Arcadius said, his fingers brushing against her sleeve. The moment his hand made contact, Vanessa’s veins bulged and blackened beneath her skin, the corruption spreading like ink through water. Unnoticed by all, the bishop’s demon passed from his body into hers, infecting her consciousness.

  Her mind withdrew into a suffocating darkness, her eyes rolling back as her free will exhaled in faint, erratic breaths. Holy water sprinkled upon her turned her face limp, her muscles slackening as Arcadius guided her gently into his embrace.

  “Shall the servant of God rise reborn,” he commanded. Vanessa’s body convulsed, her lungs tightening before loosening in uneven gasps. Her world dimmed, overtaken by the corruption now coursing through her veins.

  Sir Tristan, frozen against the chapel wall, could only watch in stunned silence. His stomach churned as Vanessa, uncharacteristically quiet, refrained from asserting her presence. For the first time, he felt like an unwelcome guest in a chapel he had thought was his own.