The walk to Glensdale took most of the morning. Not one word spoken between us as I trailed close behind John. I had tucked my hair up into my straw hat, wearing the brim low to cover everything but the tip of my nose and lips. This would be the first time I step foot inside the city walls since I left my title of prince behind. Shifting the leather straps on my shoulders, the pack was taut from the weight of John’s books and clerical items. Staring at his back, all I could see was the brand hidden under his black coat and the occasional twitch of his jaw muscle. He was still fighting the pain. I imagine sweat would drip into broken scabs like hot embers across his skin.

Where did he learn to hold so firm? He left an innocent boy and now is a man worthy of holding face in the worst of occasions. What happened in Captiva City, John?

City guards eyed us both, nodding a head in respects to John’s status as priest and spitting at my feet as I followed.

Had they always treated servants this way?

John paused, taking in the two- and three-story shops which made up the main street. It was setup for business owners to have their shops on the bottom, workshops on the floor above and even living space. I had frequented many of them at some point, relishing in luxury items and custom-made pieces of clothing and accessories. A grin crept forward, how silly it seemed now. At one point, I had spent late nights flirting with many of the daughters and sons of the aristocrats who insisted on showering their prince with gifts. Strangely, I don’t miss it at all.

“Which way to the church?” John raised his brow. “I was never good at navigating Captiva City, and well, I’ve never been here. You’re from here, you mind leading the way?”

“Y-yea.” I broke away from the hatter’s sign and stood beside him. “You’re lucky. In Glensdale, the main road dead ends at the cathedral. You should see the towers as the road curves to go uphill.”

“That’s good to know.” John was glowing, excited to be so close to the next step of his life’s dream. “Are you sure you can carry all of that, even uphill?”

I brushed my hand close to his back, and he jerked away. “We both know you can’t help me, so stop asking.”

“I hate when you do that.” He scowled, following me as I marched forward. “You don’t have to remind me it’s there; I can feel it just fine.”

I shook my head, “Be thankful I’m not the old farmer. I’m sure he would have given you a hearty slap across the back as payback for going through with it.”

“Ha!” He had sped up, walking beside me. “You’re right, I should be thankful that you’re far gentler with me.”

I gave him a knowing side-glance and I couldn’t stop the smirk on my face.

The road was peaking, and before us, the gothic cathedral came into view. It was dark, looming with jagged spires stabbing into the sky. The stained-glass windows were narrow and tall, unlike the ones I grew up seeing in the manor. It was more castle than church from the outside, the walls black under the curtains of ivy trying to scale its walls. John approached the heavy double oak doors, iron hinges decorative and stretching out to hold their weight. His hand slid across it, a look of longing on his face. He had worked so hard for this moment.

“Well, the doors seem to be in working order.” I gripped the large looping handle, tugging the door open. “A little stiff but some animal fat can fix that.”

Taking a step back, John waited for me to open both doors wide. John took in everything the old relic had to offer. Cobwebs stretched across like skewed curtains of lace, pews dust covered from lack of use, while the podium laid on its side on the pulpit. Light sparkled in, colors painting the ancient interior with worn-out tapestries frayed and dirt-layered floors. John smiled. This was his sanctuary. I flopped the heavy pack to the floor, plumes of dust rolling outward as the clatter echoed through the vaulted ceiling and its decorative rafters. Pigeons cooed, far from welcoming us into their home. John lifted an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged. We walked down to the podium where he stood it back up. A frown took hold on his face.

“Is, is this blood?” His eyes locked on the splatter across the wood his hands still gripped. “The black stains here, and across the floor?”

Falco never bothered to clean it up after… Swallowing, I whispered, “Yes.”

“Bishop Marquis said–” I placed my hand over the stain, catching his attention.

“The Bishop lied. Whatever that fat bastard says is a lie. He’s paid off.” A weight fell off my conscience. “Every priest who has come here, has been met with death.”

John searched my eyes, “You knew. This whole time, even that day when I…”

Turning away, I couldn’t bear to see the anger building in those blue eyes. I marched through the pews flipping the fallen ones upright. His glare burnt into my back, but I ignored him. He needed to know the reality of being the priest of Glensdale. Regardless, I had made a promise to him and the old farmer knew the dangers of his grandson’s dream. Neither I nor the old man had the heart to tell him back then, making me responsible for his life and the reason why I trained under the Lord Knight.

John, we couldn’t tell you no. I wanted to see you succeed and so here I am as your sword and shield. Let me cut you a path.

An old broom laid in the floor of one row and I slid in to grab it. Turning to sidestep back out, John stood there, fists tight. I tightened my grip on the wooden handle, unsure of his expression. Muscles flinched on either side of his jaw before he spoke.

“Would it be too much to assume you were there when the last priest died?” It stung knowing he could see through me.

Was it always this easy for you to read me?

I shook my head, letting him know he wasn’t wrong. “I saw. Not here, but what followed.”

“Saw what, Dante?” I tried to step pass him, but he pushed me down on the pew, leaning over me as his fingers dug into my shoulder. “Tell me, who did it?”

We were nose to nose, “I think you know this part.”

“Do I?” John leaned further in, whispering into my ear. “Le Chien Enragé.”

I shoved him back into the aisleway, pulling myself out of the row. Without another word or look, I went to sweeping the floors in silence. John marched to the bags, his frustration loud in each step. He was so bullheaded, but so was I. Lugging the pack over his shoulder, he hissed before carrying it to the back room slamming the door. It echoed like a million shouts of anger beating against my soul. Again, as the farm had taught me, I let myself fall into a state of nothing. Sweeping, shoveling the piles of dirt out the door, and straightening the rows of pews consumed me. Grabbing up the broken ones, I dragged them to the back, stacking them in a dark corner. Every action echoing and clattering within this cursed place.

I was never much of a carpenter, but you have a real knack for it. The old farmer’s voice had a way of sneaking up on me, the past seeping into the present. Glad one of us can fix a chair, or we’d have our asses in the dirt.

Smiling, the memories warm and a fresh welcome. Pausing, John hadn’t left the back room, then again it was where all the records were kept. He would be poring over them, something I am sure Bishop Marquis wouldn’t bother to check for evidence of the Viceroy’s crimes. There, in the handwriting of his predecessors would be the unspoken truth and facts to back what I had let loose. I dragged the last broken pew to the back, dust rising and falling from the impact. Turning, I decided it would be best to shove the working ones to the front.

“Well now, this one came with a helper.” Viceroy Falco’s voice sent a chill across me, I had stopped two rows from the doorway, my back to him.

Not now, not when John’s upset, vulnerable, and I’m…

“This ought to be double the fun.” He was cooing, the same manner he did before taking one’s life on the battlefield.

“I can get my keeper, Father John, for you, sir.” My voice was dry and cold.

His steps echoed, the heat of his body hovering behind me. “Do you not look your superiors in the eye when you speak to them, servant?”

Biting my lip, I feared he would recognize me, though we were now the same height. “No sir, I am forbidden to look anyone but my keeper in the eye.”

Would he believe that or find it insulting?

Scoffing, he shoved me, “Summon the priest.”

Marching down to the office, I pulled my brim low, shielding my face. If he figures out who I am, John will be at a greater risk. It definitely insulted him to know I denied him a glance.

Pausing in front of the door, I walked in without knocking. Shutting the door behind me, John gave me a bewildered look. Books laid open and haphazard across the dust and cobwebs of the desk and cot. Sitting up straight, he opened his mouth, but I spoke before he could.

“Viceroy Falco is here.” He paled. In a matter of minutes, he had found the reason and cause of the deaths. “He wants to see you.”

Stiff, he rose to his feet and gripped my arm, whispering, “Will you stay close?”

“Did I not promise to be your sword and shield?” I gave an angry glance.

He bit his bottom lip, slapping books closed and shoving them under the cot.

“Are you ready?” We both felt the weight of uncertainty.

Brushing off dust from the front of his coat, he whispered, “Not really.”

He nodded and I opened the door to find Falco hovering by the pulpit. “John, I present the Viceroy of Glensdale, Falco, the great war hero who pushed back The Court over a hundred years ago.”

Clapping came from Falco; he was leaning on the podium. “A servant who also knows daemon history, how impressive.”

John bowed his head, his braid flopping forward like an elegant golden rope. “It is an honor to meet you, Viceroy Falco.”

“Is it?” He was glaring at me and I stifled behind John. “Well, I must say none of the priests before you had a servant, or at least one who stayed so close with such a well-balanced head.”

“Thank you, Viceroy.” John put on a stone-faced demeanor; his fear gone. “I hope to be far more useful to Glensdale than my predecessors. I understand they didn’t meet your satisfaction or abandoned their duties.”

“You have been talking to Bishop Marquis, I see.” A slimy grin stretched across Falco’s mouth, his canines like fangs on a wolf. “I must admit, they didn’t meet my taste, per se.”

I gripped the back of John’s shirt, instinctive to memories of watching Falco feed and drain the last priest dry. He didn’t flinch but shifted his stance. “I’m not sure taste was on the request, but I can assure you the cathedral will be in working order soon.”

Viceroy Falco hopped off the pulpit and motioned for the office. “Shall we talk in private, Father John? I can’t help but notice I make your servant uneasy.”

“Absolutely.” My heart skipped; my muscles stiffened at his words. “Da–”

He had spun in time to catch the fear in my eyes and the gaunt expression. Don’t say my name, please don’t say my name.

“Danseur, take a break and watch the door of the office.” I swallowed, uneasy to leave him alone with Falco. “The Viceroy and I have matters to discuss and I don’t want to be interrupted.”

I stepped to the side, feeling helpless as I muttered, “Yes sir.”

“So obedient.” Cooed Falco as John led the Viceroy into the office. He took another glance at me. “But why on earth would you call him the dancer?”

John’s words trailed in the air as the door clicked shut. “Because I found him dancing with a cherry tree.”

It made me smile, soothing the anxiety building in my chest, but it didn’t last long. Agonizing, the minutes passing by with nothing but garbled conversation and the cold stone wall digging into my back. I stared at the office door, waiting as the light crawled across the pews as time crept onward. The door opened; my eyes wide. Lifting off the wall, my nerves tightened around every joint. John walked out, a nod to let me know all was well. Falco walked out with a fanged grin filling his face. He was still carrying on his conversation.

“Now, my dear priest, you need not to worry. We have never had a break out of the Madness here in the city.” He paused, glancing at me as if something nagged at him. “Even with my reputation. I am sure Monsieur Danseur has shared with you.”

Did he figure out who I was? Or is he assuming?

John stepped between us, obscuring his observant stare. “I would prefer to hear more of your reputation from you, Viceroy.”

Falco squinted his eyes and his lips tightened. “Another time, Father John. I have other matters to attend to before it gets any later.”

“Ah, a shame.” John was leading him down the aisle and out the door. “Let us continue our own work as well.”

Pausing at the doorway, Falco gripped John’s wrist. The move made me jolt, but then he dropped a heavy coin purse into John’s palm. “Let this be an investment. You have convinced me you are nothing like the others. Buy yourself a horse to make sure you can travel with ease between home and church. I look forward to hearing your first sermon.”

Blinking, John’s face reddened. “Viceroy, this is quite a lot of coin.”

Laughter filled the air, “See to it the church is in working order. I'm curious how different you and your Danseur are, compared to the others.”

With a careless wave over his shoulder, Viceroy Falco walked away joined by his waiting attendants across the way. John turned, ballooning out his cheeks. We could breathe again. Rubbing my forehead, I waited for John to join me in front of the pews. He grabbed my hand and slammed the purse into my palm. Bewildered, I watch him continue towards the office.

“I’ll entrust this to you.” With nothing more, he slammed the door.

“J-John?” Gripping the door, I found it locked. “Exactly what do you want me to do with this?”

There was silence before he shouted through the door. “Whatever is needed to make repairs to get the church ready for the King to see it.”

“The King?” My head banged against the door; things were becoming difficult. “How much time do I have?”

Another long pause, “A week.” I heard a book slam against the desk, he was pissed off. “I couldn’t convince him for any more time.”

With the door locked, John would be safe without me standing guard. Marching out of the church, I pushed the main doors closed. Evening was creeping in and I didn’t have much time left to secure a horse or make an order with the local carpenter. I could fix the pews, but not in enough time to clean the blood stains and replace tapestries. There was also discussion needed tomorrow to replace the décor with something fitting for my father to see. At least I knew my father’s taste and could gain John approval Viceroy Falco hadn’t planned on us achieving.

But did Falco recognize me? And why did John shut himself in?