Two months had passed, and nothing new had been shared between us since the first week. John had asked about Paul’s last days and I had shared the bittersweet end. I didn’t tell him how angry and broken I had felt when he left me behind. Far as John knew, the scars on my knuckles were from working the field and not from the days I spent punching a tree to release the built-up rage and frustration. In return, he had shared snippets of his life with the Church and how Captiva City differed being a harbor town unlike the mountain villa feel of Glensdale. The stories of his studies along with his friends, Knight Valiente and Bishop Montgomery, added to a sense of jealousy growing deep within me. Closing my eyes, I imagined how it must have been to stand next to John with the screeching gulls, crashing waves, and salty breeze. He was busy poring over his books more often than venturing outside. Perhaps it would have been the same there as it were here, now that he was home.

I woke to the smell of breakfast. The same scent of the potato cakes Paul used to make me, and I hadn’t been able to recreate on my own. John was finishing at the old wood stove and placing two plates at the table. We sat and started to eat, but it was horribly quiet. A surging river of unspoken questions raged between us, neither of us knowing when to voice them. The tension and awkwardness growing with how we shuffled around one another in the small cabin. I couldn’t decide who was the greater stranger to the other; John towards me, or I to John. We had made friends so easily when we first met. It had seemed natural in how we talked to one another, unlike these past few weeks.

“When do you plan on going to Glensdale?” I broke the silence, staring at the last bite on my tin plate. “I assume you are preparing to take over the church there.”

“There’s still something I need to take care of before I’ll be allowed to take over the church.” John laid his fork down, folding his hands together and leaning his elbows on the table. “The Bishop of this region should be coming here any day now. Possibly even today some time.”

“Bishop Marquis?” Scooping up the last bite, I glared at him. “Last I recalled he doesn’t think kindly about daemons.”

“Yea, you met him before?” An eyebrow lifted, John’s curiosity peaking. “Or does his nastiness spread to every ear?”

“No, I met him when I was younger, a child in his eyes.” Leaning back in my chair, I smirked. “He had come to make sure we hadn’t burnt the church down while he was looking for a priest. I recall him calling me a ‘wormy red-eyed heretic’ and worse. Since Viceroy Falco was out on the battlefield, my father and I welcomed him. Anyhow, he’s greasy, fat, and rude.”

John laughed, shaking his head, “I can’t say I disagree. Unfortunately, I met him a few times during my studies and I don’t care for what he’ll be coming here to do.”

Giving him a confused expression, I pressed for an answer, “What will he be doing here?”

“Finalizing my priesthood.” His face reddened, and he looked off to the ground. “And if you are ok with it, I would like you to be my Barrière de Force.”

“Barrière de Force?” I tilted my head, trying to call his eyes back to mine. “Why would I need to be your Barrier of Strength?”

Is it because I’m all that you have left? Wouldn’t your knight friend be enough for this?

His eyes waned and locked with mine. “Every priest receives the branding of the Church across their backs. The person we choose to hold our arms should be someone who has helped us on our journey, and more importantly, will always aid us on our path.”

My heart sped up and my face flushed. Opening my mouth, it took a moment before my words would come out. “Of course. I’ve got to go weed the field, if you need me, come get me.”

The awkwardness had come rushing back between us, my chair screeching and out the door I had went. I didn’t want to look into those eyes anymore. My emotions tangled, my chest aching from the drumming of my heart. As my feet left the front porch, I heard the thud of John’s chair hitting the floor.

Did we both jerk up from the tension building between us? Had he wanted to say more to me before I rushed out? Or did I turn away because I couldn’t bear to talk further on the matter?

Shaking my head, I grabbed up the old bucket by the field and began to work my way through the rows. Most of the plants we had seeded were tall enough to recognize them, making it easier to pull weeds and unwanted plants. Crouched low, the dirt was warm and wet between my fingers as I pulled them up and dropped them in the bucket. With each one, my thoughts reeled with the fact I would have to watch that fat pig brand John. My stomach soured and I no longer cared if Bishop Marquis would recognize me as the missing prince of The House. Besides, I had seen the bribes passed from my father’s hand to the Bishop’s greedy fingers. My father was a clever man, not a under the table dealer and the whole meeting of the man had burnt in my memory.

Despite the practice of bloodeating, I still admired King Traibon as both the king and my father. He had been able to persuade the Lord Knight Paul to lay down his sword. The notion of living on gifted land and immunity from The House left the old man to live his days out in peace. Unlike Viceroy Falco, my father would seek out every means to not shed unnecessary blood. Deep down, the King of The Court had a softer side, though easily mistaken as corrupt or turncoat by those who followed Falco’s lead. He would bargain, and he always knew their answer before he even made the offer. Paul was getting old and he had a grandson, so he was given a secure place to be. Bishop Marquis wanted a life of luxury and therefore an easier prey to win over with gifts, money, and access to certain events.

Remember, Dante. The wake you leave can swing in your favor or bring about your destruction. You are the Prince of Bloodeaters, and no one will deny you anything, but your enemies will use everything you hold dear against you. He would remind me of this every time we were alone.

Sweat dripped off my chin, strands of my hair slipping out from under the hat and sticking to my face. Grunting, I lifted the filled bucket and marched out of the field and behind the old shed where the compost pile was located. It served as fertilizer for the fields, but I had to start building it back up once more after using so much of it to prep for the new seeds. Tossing the weeds on top of it, I dropped the bucket at my feet.

They’ll burn the mark of the church across his back and he’ll be sworn into their ranks forever. Celibate and unable to turn off his path. Breaking his vows after this would be a crime worthy of eternal imprisonment or death. I can’t be letting this…

Leaning an arm on the shed, the weight of what would unfold brought my nerves to an unbearable level. John would be Glensdale’s next priest, where Viceroy Falco slaughtered his previous predecessors, where the crimes fell on the deaf ears of the corrupt Bishop, and where my past would be biting at my ankles.

Why can’t I tell him? Am I really going to stay silent about it all, about how I watched Falco feed viciously on the last priest as I stood watching at his bedside? Am I worthy of the title of Barrière de Force? Worthy to have you as my keeper, John? Am I man or a monster?

My stomach twisted and my breakfast slapped across the compost pile. Wiping my mouth, I shook it all off; the thoughts and the nausea. Grabbing the pitchfork, I turned the pile, hiding the weeds painted in my shame and guilt. Stabbing the pitchfork into it, I gripped the bucket up and made my way back to the field. Noon was approaching, which meant it would become a greater burden to work under the sun. Squatting down, I went back to the hypnotic chore of weeding, desperate to lose the thoughts eating at my soul.

A horse’s neigh broke me from my trance. Looking up, through the trees, the gaudy white and red robes adorned by gold embroidery was loud against the deep brown backdrop. Bishop Marquis. Another horse followed close behind, his thin and stringy servant with no braids carrying the branding iron. My eyes locked with the black symbol, a cross made of flourishes and a cardinal rose at the intersection. Muscles tightened in my body and I slammed a weed into the bucket. I approached them, wiping my hands against one another, knocking them free of black dirt when I caused the Bishop’s horse to pause.

“Good Lord, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a large one.” His pumpkin-shaped head paled, and he yelled over his shoulder, “Jonas, look at’im. He’s tanner than any farmer I’ve ever seen, even on the coast of Terahime where no snow reaches.”

“Yes, Bishop Marquis, he is rather… large.” The tiny man tightened his grip on his reigns. “But are we sure this one belongs to Father John?”

On that note, I dropped to a kneel like so many servants had done for me. “Welcome, Bishop Marquis. Father John is inside working. Thank you for travelling out so far to bless John with the mark of priesthood and giving him your blessing to create a clergy in Glensdale.”

I could feel his eyes glaring down at me. He snorted, wiping sweat from his face and flicked it across me, “Pretty words for a daemon, you’re quite educated. Have we met before?”

I flinched, swallowing back my annoyance, “No sir, I have been here on the farm and never went to Captiva City with John.”

“I know that much.” His tone came forth in an irritated spatter. “You sound so familiar, for a red-eyed heretic.”

Flashes of me kicking his shin and calling him a ‘pumpkin-headed slime ball’ rushed to mind. Smirking, I kept silent.

“Don’t they all sound alike?” Scoffed Jonas.

A great eruption of laughter came from the bishop. “So right you are, Jonas!”

“Bishop Marquis.” John’s voice cut through us all and I found him staring at me, his blue eyes bright with anger in the sunlight. “Stand up, you don’t need to go that far.”

“Now, now,” The Bishop waved his hand, “He was showing proper respect for me. I appreciate a well-trained daemon, Father John.”

“Last I checked, you only bow to royalty.” John’s tone brought me to my feet, my face red as I broke from his glare. “Now then, I have prepared a space inside. You’ll find my grandfather was adamant to have a large hearth which should be more than enough to heat the cross with.” I started for the field, but John grabbed my forearm, speaking in a hushed tone so I could only hear him. “I still have a few matters to discuss with the Bishop. Finish what you need to do, wash up and bring a fresh pail of water. I will not go through with this without you there, Dante. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” We locked eyes for a second and he let go, allowing me to leave.

“And don’t ever bow to anyone like that again.” The heat in John’s stare sent chills across my spine.

Squatting down next to the bucket, I watched all three of them disappear into the house. I ripped out the next weed, crushing it in my fist. John had put the final decision in my control, it wasn’t just his decision anymore. Another crushed weed dropped into the bucket and I turned to the adjacent row, my back to the cabin. With each pluck of a plant, I grew more frustrated. Never in my life had I felt so raw, so exposed as I do around him.

How could John put it on me whether he finishes the last rite to become a Priest? Or is this his way to see if I really meant what I said all those years ago? Does he think I would back down from helping him achieve his dream?

I had run out of weeds, the bucket overflowing this time. Smashing them down, the bitter smell was a passive rebuttal to my harsh handling. Reaching the compost pile, I threw the bucket against it, anger erupting in anticipation of what waited for me on the other side of the cabin door.

Dammit!

Neglecting the scattered weeds and broken bucket, I stomped across the field and back to the water pump. Gripping the handle, I gritted my teeth and fangs, typical result of a daemon losing its temper. The burning sensation was nothing compared to what the stone-faced John would endure soon enough. I held on and began pumping and filling the bucket. Scores of blisters painted my left palm, I ignored them until they started bleeding. Flustered, I washed up and grabbed the bucket of water, refusing to delay the inevitable any longer.