Chapter 104

Achill recognized the king at a glance. When the old king passed away, Achill had once infiltrated a group of monks to pray for the old king. Initially intending to curse him, Achill chose to pray upon seeing the old king’s face, pale and thin like any ordinary old man. He vividly remembered the distinctive face of the king, marred by fire. Subconsciously, Achill’s hand moved towards the gun at his waist. Despite his lively and cheerful demeanor, Achill harbored the soul of an assassin, always ready to emerge.

The bishop nudged the revolutionary beside him, placing his hand perfectly on Achill’s hand as he reached for his gun. Caught off guard, Achill stared as the bishop stood up. “Your Majesty.”

The king didn’t immediately recognize Achill. Instead, he first noticed the handsome young man before him—tall, with a prominent nose and a bright smile, appearing affectionate towards the bishop. Most unsettling was the bishop smiling back calmly; the king had never seen the bishop smile like that at him.

A strong sense of jealousy gripped the king’s heart. He tightly gripped the reins, the rough leather creaking under his gloves.

The riverside was eerily quiet, the wind rustling through dry grass.

The king shifted his gaze from the bishop to Achill. Finally, he discerned something from those seemingly lively yet secretly ruthless eyes. Returning his gaze to the bishop, the king’s face showed calmness, though his body concealed the tension within.

“Very well.”

Indeed, everything was just fine.

The atmosphere was unusually tense. Even Achill, usually simple-minded, sensed it. He thought the king might have seen through him. Keeping close to the bishop, he called out, “Eugene…”

Achill’s familiar address to the bishop made the king’s eyes flicker. He abruptly turned his head towards the dense forest nearby. Simple jealousy was no longer enough to describe his feelings; it was as if he had suddenly fallen into a fire, cheeks flushed and neck burning with a searing sensation.

After a couple of discreet deep breaths, the king turned back. “Bishop,” his voice slightly hoarse, calmly remarked, “What a coincidence.”

Bill noticed the bishop’s surprise. He intended to greet them but sensed an aura of tension emanating from the king. Thus, he remained silent and added, “Bishop, are you on a pilgrimage nearby? Looks like the trip to Horse Island will be postponed,” he smiled, “Luckily, you didn’t really head towards Horse Island. The king was quite worried about you.”

The bishop turned his face towards the direction of the king, sensing the king’s unsettled mood despite being unable to see.

“Your Majesty?” Bill probed, but the king remained silent. Assessing the king’s demeanor, Bill helped by saying, “Your Majesty is inspecting the fiefdom.”

“Oh,” the bishop remarked, “Your Majesty is truly diligent.”

For some reason, Bill felt the atmosphere was somewhat awkward. He glanced at the king, trying to decipher his thoughts, but couldn’t discern what the king’s expression truly meant.

The king’s face was as frozen as ice, displaying unusual pride. His scrutinizing and disdainful gaze swept over Achill, without even a greeting. He pulled the reins and led the long line of horses toward the road.

Bill, barely catching up, almost fell behind the procession. He hastily bid the bishop farewell, “Goodbye, take care,” and hurried to catch up.

Achill watched the procession, and spat on the ground, “Such aristocratic airs.”

The bishop said, “He is the king.”

“But you baptized him. He’s your follower!” Achill muttered, “He’s so arrogant, just like his brother.” Achill restrained his frustration, “Do you still need to return to the capital? Do we really need to seek his pardon?” Achill’s emotions surged again, defiantly adding, “I’ll take care of him. We might not need to fight them.”

Compared to Barnett, Achill appeared almost foolishly simple-minded. He understood nothing, viewing politics as merely straightforward assassination.

“Let’s return to the capital,” the bishop sat down, “Inspecting the fiefdom is a major task. We can rest for two or three months in the capital.”

Achill also sat down, suddenly no longer wanting to receive the bishop’s baptism. He felt ashamed for momentarily feeling proud of being as noble as the king. Who was he kidding? He was just a farmer’s son. On a personal level, he wasn’t necessarily lower than those arrogant nobles.

Achill felt somewhat dejected, and even the aroma of food couldn’t lift his spirits. It was the bishop’s reminder of a burnt smell that made him hurriedly pick up the roasted wild bird from the fire.

“Damn it…” Achill chuckled bitterly. “Looks like I messed up.”

“It’s alright,” the bishop said calmly. “We have other food. Bread will suffice.”

Achill felt a bit comforted, feeling that Eugene hadn’t changed, despite his elevation to bishop—they were still good friends.

“I’ll toast some bread,” Achill turned the skewer with the roasted bird. “It should be edible inside. I’ll tear it open and sandwich it with bread; it’ll be quite good.”

The bishop agreed absentmindedly, his thoughts still on the king who had appeared suddenly and left in haste.

Blind to sight, the bishop couldn’t see the king’s expression, only imagining it through his voice, tone, and breath.

He sensed the king was furious. He expected the king to erupt in anger; he must have been jealous. Their actions might have caused misunderstandings with someone who had such an intimate relationship with him. He just hadn’t expected the king to leave abruptly.

Interesting indeed. So the king hadn’t specifically come looking for him; he was just inspecting the fiefdom near Clay. The bishop raised an eyebrow, wondering if it was such a coincidence. He had been out for just over a month, and the king’s sudden inspection of Clay, such an inconspicuous place?

Lost in thought, the bishop was still slicing off the burnt outer skin when he noticed the bishop’s face strangely turning towards the direction of the main road. Then, the rapid clatter of hooves filled their ears.

Achill didn’t react at all, but the king swiftly swung the bishop onto his horse, almost in an instant! The hood covering the bishop’s head fell off, revealing his dazzling golden hair. Only then did Achill realize what was happening.

“Hey—”

Achill held up the knife and the charred stick, shocked, pointing at the tall purebred horse. With one hand gripping the reins and the other around the bishop, the king turned back coldly, his gaze more terrifying than the scars on his face.

The horse galloped into the woods, trampling through layers of leaves, slowing down and stopping as directed by its master.

With one arm steadying the bishop, the king breathed heavily against the bishop’s neck. “Damn it, how dare you leave the capital without a word.”

“I told you,” the bishop’s breath was also heavy, his position on the horse too constrained by the king’s grip and the horse’s speed and bounce, “I told you I was going on a pilgrimage.”

“Don’t give me excuses.”

The king pressed his nose against the bishop’s neck, his every word spraying onto the bishop’s skin. “Do you know how worried I was?!”

“Worried?” The bishop smiled indifferently. “I don’t seem that fragile.”

“Cut the crap. You knew I didn’t mean that—”

Finally, the king pressed his lips against the bishop’s. In the moment their four lips met, the king’s longing and jealousy erupted uncontrollably. He kissed him fiercely, as if wanting to crush the bishop’s tongue and lips, and what thrilled the king was that the bishop kissed him back passionately. They kissed intensely on horseback, the king’s hand tightly around the bishop’s waist, their lips kissing with wet warmth.

“Eugene…” The king’s tone was bitter, almost mad. “Letting him call you that…”

The bishop breathed softly, with a warm, moist breath from their kiss, “Yes, he always calls me that.”

The king stared fiercely at the bishop. “I thought your alliance with the revolutionaries didn’t include this.”

“Who knows?” The bishop replied casually.

The king’s chest heaved. He was infuriated, almost in pain, face burning while feeling cold all over. “Eugene, don’t deliberately provoke me like this to make me uncomfortable. Tell me, do you have any special relationship with him?”

“I don’t want to answer.”

Desperately, the king urged, “Then that means no.”

The bishop remained indifferent, repeating, “Who knows?”

The king dismounted, lifted the bishop from his horse by the waist, and pressed him against a tall, broad-leaved tree, kissing him fiercely. “Eugene, are you deliberately teasing me?” He kissed him again. “I admit I am jealous, insanely jealous…” Another kiss followed. “I missed you. The moment I found out you were gone, I arranged everything and came rushing from the capital to find you. I guessed you might return to your hometown. Eugene, how well we understand each other. Tell me, tell me you have nothing to do with him…”

Despite the king’s imposing stature, fierce countenance, and impatient tone, it was clear to anyone that he was bullying the frail bishop, coercing him against the tree. Yet both bishop and king knew the truth; they both knew who held the upper hand.

The bishop could continue to toy with the king’s heart, but the king had already laid his heart bare. The bishop could twist it, crush it, and the king would suffer in sorrow and pain, which would satisfy the bishop.

The bishop calmly replied, “We do have a connection, quite the opposite, it’s very intimate.”

The king’s kisses froze, his eyes locked onto the bishop’s, but the bishop’s eyes were deep, hollow, unresponsive.

“How intimate?”

“Does it matter?” the bishop asked. “Or must you hear the details?”

“…,” the king gritted his teeth, his facial muscles twitching. “Fine, I’m curious to hear!”

The bishop hesitated, feeling strangely unable to speak. He cherished the feeling of overpowering great strength, the stronger the resistance, the more his interest grew. But the king was almost defenseless before him, showing all his weaknesses without reservation, like bullying a defenseless child.

The bishop’s silence tortured the king’s agonizing heart, floating in midair. He scrutinized the bishop’s expression, seeking answers from his face.

“God, my request isn’t unreasonable. I only ask the devil to pause for a moment for me…”

The bishop frowned slightly and decided to end this confrontation as he saw fit. “Sorry, that’s not my interest.”

The king’s gaze minutely scanned the bishop’s face, the furrowed brows, the emerald eyes, the slightly pursed lips… His tightly clenched heart slowly relaxed. His heartbeat quickened. Finally, in extreme tension, he regained awareness, feeling the wind, the leaves, and the sunlight overhead.

Resting his forehead against the bishop’s, his eyes softened yet remained resolute. Warm breath escaped his lips as he said firmly, “Eugene, you’re lying.”