It was high noon by the time John and I rode back into Glensdale. We had taken the time to cut down some trees for the carpenter and I did everything I could to work through the pain of bruised ribs. We needed room to make a stable for Basque, so it had worked in everyone’s favor. The Nivernais was beside himself to pull not only a wagon with two men on it, but a load of heavy trees. Reaching the city gateway, the guards seemed relieved to see the giant horse put to work and tame. The carpenter refused to take any more money for his services. He had taken off his hat and bowed to me and I threw up my hands, making it clear it wasn’t necessary.

Dammit, he does know who I am.

The church had been left alone, for once. Last time a priest came, Falco hired vandals to destroy it and my father had to replace the stained-glass windows. He was furious with the Viceroy over the matter when his spies had told him who had funded the rampage. Three days later, Falco marched into the church late one night when the priest would be there. I imagine Falco lunged at him like a feral dog. Ripping into the priest’s neck at the podium and dragging him back to his bedroom where I was still asleep in his bed. It was the first time we had bedded and the wounds where he drank from me still fresh.

“Look, Dante,” He woke me, and I turned to see a half-dead man shoved to his knees in the space between us. “I brought us a play thing.”

I had no words. There in spilled white sheets dotted red with my own blood, I watched him grow excited to have be bear witness to this sin. That could have been me, it was me. My stomach twisted. I then realized what the mistress had said was true. He only beds you, so he can be closer to his true love, La Dame d’Croc. Other than that, he’s a glutton for human blood and torturing his play things like dog chewing on a bone.

“Are you watching, Dante?” Falco dug his fangs deep into the priest’s neck where blood was still pulsing from the original wound. His eyes locked with mine and he suckled. The man’s face wrenching in pain and my heart leapt to my throat. Falco pressed harder, ripping open the priest’s jacket. Play thing. His hand slid down the man’s chest, smudging blood across it. Pulling away from his neck, Falco let him drop to the floor as blood dripped from his chin. He had drunk until the priest’s heart ceased, devouring his life without any regret, any compassion. “Did that not excite you, my dear prince?”

Shuddering, I shook the sour memories from my mind. No way in hell he’s getting his hands on John.

Dragging the shattered remains of unwanted pews to the wagon, I urged myself to come back to the present. Basque became the talk of the town after how calm he had returned. He needed no guidance, no attendant to keep him standing still despite the bouncing and loud bangs coming from the wagon. The local merchants all took turns to meet the new priest and mutter under their breaths. Jealous, they all wished they had bought the blasted beast when Duke Chapman was pushing him onto them.

My ribs stung, my breathing labored, but the work had to be done. John was taking it easy, wiping and cleaning the pews. By the time I returned with the first round of new pews, he had mopped the entire cathedral floor. Besides the webs lingering in the vaulted ceilings and rafters, the rest of the place had changed into a place of light. For the first time in ages, it looked like a thriving place of worship.

“I take it from the look on your face I do good work.” John was lugging out a bucket of dirty water, tossing it across the ground. “Did you get Basque some hay yet?”

“Yea. The carpenter was spoiling him while we loaded the pews.” I lugged the first pew into the church and set it into place. “How’s your back doing? If the buzz buttons seem to be working, I can get more.”

“Did we use them all this morning?” He motioned to help me carry in the second pew.

“Yea. I wasn’t sure if they would help so I bought only a few.” Grunting, I grabbed the far side and we hobbled into the church, lining it up with the existing rows. The whole way my ribs lit up with a sharp pain. I sucked in air, holding it in a failed attempt to lessen the searing pain. My teeth clinched, leaving my jaw aching as we shuffled to place the pew on the floor.

“See if the herbalist has anything for your face, first.” John flopped on the pew, flinching when his back hit the wood and forced him to lean on his knees. “It looks like it hurts.”

“It’s more swollen than painful.” I sat down, my ribs stabbing with pain with each breath. “It’s my side that’s killing me.”

John’s eyes widened, “Let me see.”

Glaring at him, I caved and lifted up my shirt to expose the angry shades of red and purple painting the muscles across my ribs. “They’re bruised, it’ll just need a week or two.”

He puffed out his cheeks, the look in his eyes angry. “Falco.”

I started to push my shirt down, but he gripped my arm, still glaring at the mark as if to sear it into his memory.

“John, it’s fine.” His fingers tightened on my arm before releasing me.

“Don’t go anywhere without a sword.” He pulled himself off the pew, his back to me. “I’m glad you chose to carry Grandpa’s broadsword today; you earned the right to do so. I don’t care if he’s the Viceroy of Glensdale. You fucking run him through next time.”

He walked off and disappeared into the office. The bang of the door echoed through the church; it was the shout of anger John couldn’t scream out loud. He was upset with Falco, but also at himself. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t insisted coming here. If he only knew I blamed myself for not being prepared, not hesitating to fight back, not letting him get dragged into my own past. Leaning back, I steeled myself to rise to my feet. It was time to see Madame Plasket again. The office door still shut tight, the authoritative solidity of it was like seeing John’s back seconds before. He would be fine for now, and I slipped out of the church.

Petting Basque on the shoulder, I snuck him another handful of sweet potatoes. Snorting with satisfaction, I left him there, confident he wouldn’t wander off. I couldn’t bear riding him just yet. I took the long walk to the line of apothecary and item shops. It wasn’t far from the church and far gentler to the aching and throbbing in my side.

Inside the pungent shop Madame Plasket sat on her stool shaking a jar of mysterious liquid. Her eyes watched me; an expectant look on her face made me feel as if I were late. I grabbed the basket of buzz buttons from the shelf, dropping it on the counter. She lifted an eyebrow at me. Placing her jar down, she reached across the counter, grabbing my shirt before I could step away. Lifting my shirt, she gauged the marks and let go.

“I heard rumors.” Scoffing, she slid the jar to me. “Figured they were true, so I made you something special. More buzz buttons for the priest, then?”

“Where do you get your information from, Madame Plasket?” Picking up the jar, I opened it to smell it; menthol and peppers? “It seems you know more about me than I know about myself.”

“I may own and run an herbalist shop,” She smiled, sweet and menacing, “But you should know I am also in charge of making exchanges for the dark arts.”

Freezing, I closed the jar. I gauged her expression, weighed the what I knew of Glensdale’s dark underbelly. With a smirk on my face, I replied, “And why would the Assassin’s Guild want to help a runaway prince?”

“I already told you.” She grabbed an empty jar and filled it with buzz buttons. “Falco’s bad for business, worst for Glensdale and its King, and has royally screwed us over more than once.”

“Why should I trust you?” I put the jar back on the counter, wary of its contents and purpose. “Don’t you have the means to take care of him yourself? Why ask me?”

A loud cackle burst from her, “If we kill a client because of disfavor, we’d go out of business. Besides, there’s no crime in being charitable to the new priest in town and winning favor with him and his servant, no? Or better yet, aid our prince whose in need. You need training? Supplies? We can aid you in many ways without breaking contracts.”

“You haven’t answered me.” Palms flat on the counter, I lowered my voice, “Should I trust you?”

Sighing, she patted my shoulder, “If I wanted you dead, Dante, I would have gotten you and the priest with poisoned buzz buttons.”

“R-right.” My blood ran cold, “Or even the ointment.”

“Now you’re using your head.” She slid the two jars back to my side of the counter. “Rumor has it, if the priest impresses your father, he will allow The Church to bring nuns into the city for the first time in ages. I want you two to re-establish a sanctuary for The Church. We need that support if we are to bounce back from the damage Falco’s done while you were playing farmhand in the woods.”

“Then I suppose I need to get back to work.” Placing the jars in my satchel, I started for the door.

“Dante.” I halted. “Don’t let him get the dagger or we’re all good as dead.”

There was no need to answer. I had done my part once before. Pushing into the street, I paced down the road. It was so quiet now compared to over a decade ago. The merchants used to shout and call out to passing crowds from decorated stalls. The street was bare and silent despite the pleasant weather and it made my skin crawl. Viceroy Falco had broken the citizens, fear filling the atmosphere. Instead, customers dove in and out of shops, rushing to stay inside rather than outside. No one wanted to be on the streets, it wasn’t safe with Falco back in town.

A flash of midnight blue and golden embroidery flapped in the wind, calling me into a textile shop. Inside I found a round man sleeping in a chair. Rolls of fabrics and rugs piled around him as he snored with his mouth gaping open. Clearing my throat, he woke, alarmed. Crushing the bottom of his palms into his eyes, he blinked to see who had entered his store. Using the sleeve of his shirt, he wiped the drool from his chin and his face flushed in embarrassment.

“E-excuse me, sir,” He wobbled to his feet, shorter than I had expected him to be. “It’s been slow today.”

“It’s ok. I’m here to buy some fabric for the church.” Scanning the room, I saw a few options, but not the ones I had come to get. “I was wondering if you had any La Nuit Dorée du Roi?”

He eyed me from head to toe, “There’s only one family who knows we carry that pattern.” Again, he picked apart my looks, my clothes, and his eyes paused on the scarred knuckles before declaring his thoughts out loud to me. “And you don’t look like anyone from King Traibon’s court or service.”

“I didn’t think King Traibon banned you from selling it to commoners.” Rubbing my forehead, I took another glance of the merchandise. “If that’s the case, I suppose anything close to it or similar color and pattern should suffice.”

“Papa!” The merchant billowed, his eyes still holding firm on me. “Are we allowed to sell The Golden Night of the King pattern to any who ask for it by name?”