The carriage pulled to a stop before Pentref’s Royal Courts of Justice. A pair of knee high-boots stepped onto the cobblestone floor. A small cloud of debris was disturbed from his descent.

A teenage boy’s hand covered his eyes from the sun as he stared up in awe at the building’s majesty. He saw the blue sky above which mixed exceptionally with the white marble bricks that formed the very foundations of the courthouse. The scenery before him was almost artistic, like the architect’s had designed it intentionally with that very specific colour palette in mind.

Its entrance was a series of archways that opened to two wooden-metal doors. Atop of the court was a colossal spire that he thought should signify the height of aristocratic achievement, though he knew he was thinking too much into it.

A Caduceus ornamented the spire, an emblem of the Church of Cymorth. The two dragons of chaos entwined to form a double helix. A symbol of order, humanity, and creation.

Isten watched as men and women dressed in military clothes marched along a black painted wrought iron gate which blocked entry into the courts. It was patterned with cast iron spear-headed finials along two rows and closely repeated dog bars at the bottom. Gargoyle statues, with exaggerated traits of viciousness, stood guard at each end of the gate on stone plinths.

‘Wow! This is incredible! The architecture is magnificent, how did we even create this?’ Isten thought to himself, marvelling in its beauty.

Isten strode over, just before the entrance to the Royal Courts of Justice and looked up at the prodigious building. It towered over him not just in its size but also presence. Its structure eclipsed the sun, almost pushing the sky away from the earth with its colossal bearing.

“Come, Isten. It shan’t be long before trial begins. It would be best to find your family soon to get you situated.” Trulliad broke Isten’s stupor.

“Of course. Lead the way, Trulliad.” Isten replied.

Trulliad led Isten inside the Royal Courts of Justice. As they entered, a gentle breeze rushed through the building, causing Isten to shudder. Goosebumps formed on his arms from the cold.

‘It is still winter, I suppose.’ He thought.

“How come I couldn’t wear a coat today?” Isten asked, continuing his train of thought aloud.

“You are on display today, which includes your clothing. Your clothes must be pristine as some see it as a representation of who you are; and we can’t have you making a bad impression. Unfortunately, a coat is strangely not in fashion recently. Therefore, we did not dress you in one.” Trulliad responded honestly.

Isten rolled his eyes in response. “I suppose I will have to make do for now.”

The interior of the courthouse was just as impressive as the exterior, which caught Isten’s attention. His eyes wandered over to the vinyl paintings that lined the gigantic walls. A resin smell resonated from them, pervading the open hallway.

As he continued looking at the paintings while walking, he saw a simply dressed man in white robes and a mitre that stood before one of these paintings. Trulliad gasped when he saw him and bowed onto one leg. He quickly pulled on Isten’s clothing to join him on the floor, though Isten bowed to the waist.

“Greetings to the Holy Father, Pontiff Innocent! Praise God!” Isten and Trulliad praised out to him. The gentle old man turned around with a smile.

“Greetings to you, children,” he looked at Isten and saw his insignia on his doublet. “Ah, you must be Lucien and Morrigan’s recently returned child, right? Isten, I believe.”

Isten nodded in agreement. “I am, Holy Father. It is an honour to meet you.”

“If it doesn’t burden you, come and join me for a while. I promise to return you to your parents shortly!” Pontiff Innocent guffawed in jest. “There are some incredible paintings in here. I think you will appreciate them, just like I do.”

“Of course, Holy Father. It would be an honour to join you.” Isten responded, burying his nervousness deep within him.

Trulliad stood behind them and watched as the Pontiff Innocent led Isten around the grand hallway to view the magnificent paintings.

———

The malty smell of whiskey suffused the King room as Lucien poured two crystalline glasses. The only sound that could be heard was the trickle of oak whiskey that cascaded from the bottle. Two hands reached to pick up the drinks, and placed them down in unison onto the table, empty.

“We have been friends for many years now, Lucien. Why have you done this to me? This is an injustice that no man, especially not a King, should suffer. It is a betrayal of catastrophic levels, one only reserved for enemies.” King Brenin broke the silence, emotion tinting his words.

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“Indeed, it is, your Majesty. However, throughout my career as your Secretary of State, I have avoided coming into conflict with your advisor, Horyd Coeden, as much as circumstance would allow it. Unfortunately, our paths happened to intertwine in this particular fiasco. One that I would have much preferred to ignore.” Lucien lied, though his eyes presented sincerity.

“You thought not to inform this One before seeking retribution for a couple of Horyd’s mistakes. If you sought me out, then it wouldn’t be like you say, a fiasco. Nor would my reputation be struck so heavily by your betrayal - intentional or unintentional, for it matters not now.” King Brenin responded; coals simmered in his eyes.

“That was not possible, your Majesty. You know that I am a religious man. Horyd Coeden’s treachery placed me between a rock and a hard place. My loyalty to you, the Monarchy, the kingpin of society, in conflict with the Church of Cymorth, the cultural hegemony that stabilises it. It was his own actions that jeopardised our great nation. The Cymorthian enterprise. Our enterprise.” Lucien enunciated these words by rhythmically tapping his finger onto the arm chair.

“Horyd took a risk, an unsuccessful gambit that even you would not condone, least of all the rest of the Aristocratic families.” Lucien continued, weaving truths between lies. He poured himself a second glass of whiskey and drank it all in a single sip.

King Brenin shifted uneasily within his seat. He was beginning to feel more pressure of the situation at hand.

“And he gets what he deserves, that wretched fool. However, your failure to inform me of your capture of Horyd Coeden is at fault here. Time… How valuable time can be in situations such as this. Yet, I had none. No time to prepare against the ensuing tidal wave of backlash from the aristocrats. No time to distance myself from Horyd. No time to defend myself. No time at all!” King Brenin shouted irately.

“Horyd’s attack on the Church was too public, your Majesty. It wouldn’t have been too long after I caught him that some of our observant peers would have found out. They would have relished at the opportunity to kill him on the spot, saving none of your face."

"This situation had become far too complicated, and a show trial had to be inevitably initiated, for someone else would have done so in my steed. At least this way it will preserve some of your dignity. Our Intelligence Service has removed any incriminating evidence that trailed to Royal Family members.” Lucien argued diplomatically, attempting to make King Brenin see reason.

“How serious was it?” King Brenin asked, retreating slightly from his earlier position.

“Very grave. When you run an institution such as one of Horyd’s, you meet all members of society. Good and evil, powerful and weak, rich and destitute. A series of interconnected webs form that sticks to everyone that visits there. It follows them for the rest of their lives! Horyd’s web extended very far. Too far even. To the point that it is honestly appalling. He kept a very thorough record of whoever ventured in and out of his establishments.” Lucien responded sincerely, continuing to apply pressure on King Brenin.

King Brenin poured himself a second glass of whiskey, his arms shaking slightly from the stress of the situation. He was stuck between a rock and a hard-place, and Lucien was exerting his political strength to force him out of the equilibrium. He drank it and released a frustrated sigh.

“That damned fool. Not only did he take himself out, but he also almost blew the whole house of cards with him. And it was something insolently petty! The Church of Cymorth being corrupted! Bah! What cretinous justification for a violent assault on them!” King Brenin slammed his fist onto the arm chair in irritation.

“Everyone and their dog knew what game Horyd played. But the Church being corrupted, and coming from someone mired in depravity themselves, now that is imbecilic! They might have some power to press on him, but he was protected by me! The King! He had no reason to pull that stunt off! Ha, good riddance to that old fool!” King Brenin lampooned miserably. He was obviously affected on a personal level by Horyd’s actions.

King Brenin stared at Lucien, the coals still smoldering in his eyes. Lucien met his gaze and moved to fill the two whiskey glasses once more with the brown alcohol. They drank a third glass. The whiskey’s burn descended into their stomachs providing a sliver of energy to the two men to finish their conversation.

“You didn’t come here to justify your actions; you are not that sort of man. Speak, Lucien. What do you want?” King Brenin said heavily.

“Now, now, your Majesty. That is a rather unflattering evaluation of me. But quite accurate. Anyways, with the execution of Horyd, not all will be lost; particularly for you. I believe I informed your attendant, Horace, of a potential deal we can make.” Lucien smirked slyly.

“Out with it! I have little patience for your games now, Lucien. I am growing tired of your voice.” King Brenin berated.

“Cardinal Peace is dead. His corpse was found this morning burnt to char in Horyd’s prime establishment in Pentref. This charge will be pinned against him by the Church, I assume at the trial later today. However, this story is not solely a tragedy. It is a blessing for you as it your turn to elect a new Cardinal to take position within the Church of Cymorth.” Lucien said with a smile.

“What are you suggesting?” King Brenin asked sceptically.

“Afon Coeden, the Arch-Bishop of Port, is my recommendation to be elected as the replacement Cardinal. He will be easy to manage as he is loyal only to me and the Monarchy. While he is a staunch Traditionalist at heart, he is willing to convert to the Scholar of Theurgy faction to act as a window into their schemes.” Lucien replied.

“Ha! Are you admitting that even your pervasive influence hasn’t managed to extend into the top brass of the Church yet?” King Brenin jested.

“That is not an absolute. I have means to access anywhere in Cymorth, and by extension, most of the world. However, I will admit that I have not yet complete control of a Cardinal. They are too evasive. They disappear every five years to return to their isolated prayer in their conclaves.” Lucien responded.

“Too true,” King Brenin nodded. “Fine, I accept. It will appease the members of the Coeden family at least. It will also keep the balance of power between each family in order, for the time being.”

“Wonderful! It has been a pleasure, your Majesty.” Lucien got up and bowed before King Brenin.

“Shut up. Nothing is a pleasure with you, Lucien. You are far too clever for your own good. I am just lucky that you only try to work in the best interests of Cymorth, even if it doesn't seem like it at the time.” King Brenin lampooned Lucien once again.