“Your Holiness,” [Archcardinal] Lucretius began, leaning forward slightly as the dim candlelight cast a long shadow over his chiseled features. “There is troubling news from the heart of our stronghold, the Citadel.”
[Pope] Ennius Constantinus, dressed in white robes that contrasted against the opulence of the Court of Roses, met Lucretius's gaze with an unyielding intensity while they sat at the banquet. The echo of a distant harp could be heard from the court's grand hall, providing a surreal backdrop to their clandestine discussion. He nodded at his confidant, urging him to reveal the details as he tapped his ring to prevent anyone from eavesdropping.
[Pope] Ennius Constantinus nodded at his right hand – his brother by blood – again, giving him the sign to speak. On this diplomatic trip, this time at the Court of Roses, no one had been willing to put their men between the Necromonarchy and the Papal State. They would all much rather wait and pry the spoils from the decimated victors’ hands.
“Your Holiness, Lucianus Claudius... he caused some trouble with a [Bishop].”
“And?”
“The [Bishop] was your cousin, Your Holiness, [Bishop] Aristides.”
[Pope] Ennius was relatively young – only fifty – and with his classes and buffs, he would live much, much longer. To an ignorant observer, he would look even to be in his thirties. Despite his young age, he had been selected in the latest election because of his incredible political acumen. Even among the lineage of [Popes], no one had been this good at untying the internal knots of the Church’s hierarchy.
“Aristides is a fool—what did he do?”
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“He was apparently lending your niece, Adriana, some enchanted chainmail in order for her to punish her daughter."
One of the first things Ennius had been taught was not to exhibit any signs of perturbation on the outside. Yet, he pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling out loud.
“That fool, shadows take him! What did he expect?! Lucianus has one daughter! It’s a miracle that madman didn’t have him killed!”
“What?! He wouldn’t dare!” Lucretius looked horrified. The [Pope] looked reproachfully at his younger brother. Lucretius was thirty, but he had clearly received none of the political acumen of his family. The only reason Ennius had nominated him his [Archcardinal], the vice who was to be temporarily in charge in case of his sudden death, was because he feared someone might have assassinated him otherwise.
“Lucretius, you are privy to my plans, aren’t you? Why don’t you think about what I told you a long time ago about the Gens Claudia?”
“That they are not to be trusted?” Lucretius frowned.
Ennius sighed.
“Who gives the [Pope] his power, Lucretius?”
“Our Lord,” the pious man replied.
“Yes, but who guarantees that no one poisons the [Pope] in his lodgings?”
“I—I...”
“The heads of the Ancient Families. Only the members of our lineage can be chosen for this role, but it has happened before that a [Pope] had less power than the Families. Their Gentes are powerful, Lucretius. Lucianus? He has ties that shall not be trifled with—and the army is more loyal to him than it is to anyone else. He leads like a [General] and brings their lives back from the brink of death. The loyalty of most [Templars] rests with him.”
“What is to be done about Aristides, then?” Lucretius looked confused.
“Lucianus managed to obtain an heir from a barren woman whose condition I had personally ensured before arranging their marriage and then thrived on the same frontlines that slaughtered so much of his family,” the [Pope] sighed, “Our Lord must have plans for him—and we must not trifle with His divine will.”
“So, we do nothing?”
“I didn’t say that,” the [Pope] turned, a cryptic visage painted upon his face. “We wait...”
“One day, Lucianus Claudius and his cursed family will simply run out of luck. Plus, I just had an interesting idea.”