‘My dear bishop, my dear bishop, the queen’s mother wishes your presence.’ The young servant lady spoke in a soft-pitched voice as she knocked against Arcadius’ front door. The religious leader’s residence was a modest townhouse nestled behind the royal cathedral. It was out of sight but within proximity to the comings and goings of Vasier’s most important.

A man of few words, he emerged stern and fully dressed. ‘Lead the way.’

Their journey crisscrossed through the castle keep, to the private gardens of the royal family that surrounded a discreet little chapel. It was a relatively recent addition, awaiting the paint to dry, yet it exhibited itself with doors wide open and the sound of jubilance from within.

Outside, the queen’s guards lined the connecting paths, postured as a display of intimidation towards Bishop Arcadius as the servant escorted him into the chapel and before the less-than-pleased Venessa.

His arrival permeated a sense of high-class hostility as they offered their usual fly-by pleasantries. Whereupon Venessa’s clerks and maidens began complimenting her on the structure’s exquisite interior craftmanship, as though to drown out the bishop’s lonely voice.

He then responded with absolute silence. A blank slate of a statue, he looked down upon Venessa with blood-shot eyes that burnt with cold killer intensity.

The former regent, caring little for any perceived act of ill will, savored her statement of status before instructing her underlings to leave.

Only the bishop remained.

‘You’re a hard man to pin down,’ said Vanessa to Arcadius as she swirled her jewel-encrusted goblet over the chapel bench backrest. Inebriated, she unwound herself from her usual hard-lined stubbornness to a more light-headed conversationist.

‘I am the shepherd to my people. If I am not among them, then I am not for them.’

‘Of course, my family are the custodians of their safety. If we’re among them, we can’t really look out for them. Hence the need for our newest addition. The royal chapel. Private, discreet, and with your blessing, serviced by the Church of the One True God and my brother, Gideon.’

‘Your brother is not fit to hold ceremony.’

‘We agree on that. Let’s call it for what it is. This is all a ploy to keep my brother from the Mansour throne. That doesn’t mean it has to be this painful for both of us. It’s a simple trade off, really. Proximity to the royal family for my brother’s dignity, and both our sanity.’

It was an offer that needed a half-second consideration as Arcadius dismissed it with further silence. He then diverted his attention to a shadowy figure that lurked in the background. ‘Sir Tristan, I haven’t seen you at mass?’

‘I follow the Church of Saints and the Divine Spirit,’ Sir Tristan replied.

Arcadius, a drift in his own world, arched his way around to the dais-less stage and placed his hands upon an imaginary podium. ‘I am aware. Yet even they decry your lack of tithing?’

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‘I pay my monetary burden in other ways. Such as the cathedral, which my church has generously donated to your service.’

‘And we are thankful.’

‘We are a very tolerant church. Treat others as we wish to be treated,’ said Sir Tristan.

‘Of course. But they have shown themselves less generous towards my church as they are towards the less desirables.’

‘You mean pagans,’ said Venessa, too lightheaded to give off any sign of offence.

Arcadius spoke with untainted intent, ‘We call them “heathens”.’

Sir Tristan then broke from sidelined obscurity to the center aisle. With his rich boy smile and overly educated arrogance, he said, ‘In Vasier, we like to think of them as allies of convenience. You see, we tend to not let faith be a barrier to our common good. I understand you’re rather partisan on the pagan issue, but that shouldn’t prevent your church from doing their part for the kingdom, should it?’

‘The Church of the One True God does its part for the destitute and impoverished of Vasier. Those who break their back for your kingdom, yet they receive nothing in comparison to the wagons of grain you’ve sent to Pragian. What is the common good if it ignores your own people?’ Arcadius asked.

‘The common good, if you’ve yet to realise it, is solely the queen and her reign. When one risks famine and death in protection of the common good, reciprocity becomes customary,’ Venessa replied with a smirk.

‘In time, Bishop Arcadius … Give and you will receive,’ said Sir Tristan.

‘Our values are not for sale, but co-operation is a matter of your commitment to the lord. If the queen and you agree to baptism under the Church of the One True God, I can rearrange my administration to suit,’ Arcadius retorted.

‘Not to worry, we’re already baptized,’ said Venessa, as though the matter was now closed, and she waved in her entourage for further festivities.

‘Yes, but you must commit to the lord our God under our terms,’ Arcadius replied with a smirk.

‘And these terms are?’

‘Follow the commandments of our lord to their fullest extent and receive access into heaven.’ Bishop Arcadius now smiled widely.

‘How is that different to the normal Church commitments?’ said Sir Tristan with his usual pretentious arrogance.

Arcadius approached the former regent and said, ‘There are the selective interpretations of man, and then there is the true word of God.’

His words echoed through Venessa as though trapped within a narrow canyon. She then felt as if she was in a hypnotic trance as Arcadius’ eyes became engulfed by translucent smoke. ‘How about we make this baptism tomorrow?’ she asked, sobering to the point of seriousness, and yet lacking full cognitive control.

‘How about right now?’ Arcadius suggested.

‘Now?’

Arcadius nodded. ‘Yes, it will not take long.’

‘Then make it quick,’ agreed Venessa as she placed her goblet in perfect balance against the angled bench seat. Her movement was rigid, and her face lacked emotion far beyond her usual stoic self.

‘As you wish. May I have your hand?’ said Arcadius, carefully feeding his arm into an interlocking grip across her sleeve, to expose her to his true corruption. For as the bishop touched her, he transfused his demon through her veins, unnoticed by all; the infectious spirit drew Venessa’s consciousness into its realm of darkness. Her free will exhaled through faint breath as sprinkled holy water turned her facial muscles limps. Her ears were deaf to all but his whispers that slithered fast-forward through time and space. Her bodily control was withdrawn into numbness until awoken by the sudden loss of gravity, and her soft legs degenerated into free fall, placing her firmly in Arcadius’ embrace. Her consciousness returned as she heard the words …

‘You are a servant to God. Raise a new,’ Bishop Arcadius commanded.

The spectacle left Tristan dumbfounded, for it looked like a genuine spiritual awakening. He therefore remained silent, awaiting a sign from Vanessa to impress her presence upon the room. However, the Venessa he found was subdued. She was shellshocked, struggling to rebalance herself to the physical world.