Chapter 105

“I am lying?”

“Yes,” the king’s demeanor was not smug or pleased with himself. His tone was gentle but firm, showing no signs of backing down. “Eugene, you are lying. You and he are not close at all.”

“It seems you really want to hear the details.”

“No, I do not want to hear.”

The king did not confront like he was going to battle but instead chose to retreat once again. He gazed deeply at the bishop. “Whether it’s true or fabricated, it would break my heart.”

The bishop felt a strange sensation.

The king’s voice was enchanting.

The bishop had noticed this since their first meeting, but now, he felt the king’s voice was tantalizing his ears, conveying an affection deeper and more magnetic than before.

It wasn’t the king who had changed, it was him…

As they stood in silence, the king lightly kissed the bishop’s lips for a brief moment. Then, the king turned away and whistled, his horse approached. The king lifted the bishop onto the horse, held the reins, and embraced the bishop from behind, guiding the horse away from the forest.

“Initially, I thought you went to Horse Island, so did you arrange to meet him in Clay?”

The king’s tone was soft yet serious, indicating he was discussing official business now.

The bishop did not want to explain anything to him, feeling somewhat annoyed by his own change, and asked in response, “What are you doing in Clay?”

“I’ve already told you, inspecting the fiefdom,” the king said, lowering his head to sniff at the bishop’s neck, “and also, searching for your traces.”

The bishop remained silent, his brow furrowing slightly.

“To be honest, I was really annoyed and hurt just now. He looks good, seems physically strong, and smiles like a fool. I thought you wouldn’t like him, but who knows,” the king mimicked the bishop’s tone and chuckled, “You’re a strange little devil. I couldn’t fathom your thoughts.”

The king spoke with a sweet and gentle tone about the time the bishop had been away, how much torment he had endured due to missing him. Despite believing the bishop capable of traveling anywhere on this continent, he still worried for his safety, sometimes plagued by nightmares of the bishop lying weakly in his arms…

At this point, the bishop’s expression changed slightly. The king continued to hold him from behind, unaware, still talking about how painful his time had been, especially seeing the bishop so intimate with the revolutionaries just now; it was as if he had made a round trip from hell.

“I feel like there’s a fire burning in my body, it’s really painful.”

The king expressed his suffering, seemingly trying to please the bishop.

The bishop knew exactly what was going on and found the king somewhat ridiculous. He even thought about dismounting to give the king a good beating, a thorough one without holding back, to ensure he didn’t misunderstand the flirting as playful teasing.

“Really,” the king heard the sound of disordered footsteps, sat upright, and said in a very dignified tone, “you really tortured me, but I’m willing to endure it, so I don’t feel tortured.”

Achill and the king’s guards found the two of them.

The king dismounted first, then helped the bishop dismount, pointing to a small group of guards, “You come and escort the bishop back to the royal city.”

Achill quickly came to the bishop’s side. The king didn’t even glance at him, saying to his most trusted attendant, “You lead this group.”

Bill hurriedly said, “I’m happy to serve.”

The king turned to the bishop. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he bowed slightly, “I hope you have a safe journey.”

In front of everyone, the king showed respect for the bishop, pulled the reins and prepared to leave, but was stopped by the bishop, “Please wait.”

*

Bill looked curiously at Achill. He was sure he didn’t know Achill, but for some reason he felt that he seemed familiar, “You are the bishop’s …”

Achill ignored him, staring at the king and the bishop speaking not far away by the river, he felt the king was very dangerous, this lame and ugly man had terrifying eyes that could scare him away, compared to the old king, he was clearly neither cowardly nor stupid, which made Achill feel threatened, after all, he was still a revolutionary who had not been forgiven.

“Do you want me to pardon all of them?” The king lowered his voice, but his tone was strong.

“Yes.”

“Do you think this is a reasonable request?!”

“Very reasonable.”

The king’s face darkened a bit. “Eugene, I must tell you, as Randes alone, I am entirely at your mercy. You can do whatever you want with me. But as Randes de Hacat, I will not make any decisions that compromise the interests of Lecy.”

“I never thought your love was some great thing,” the bishop retorted bluntly. “Do you think I want to manipulate you with it? Let me tell you, I’ve grown tired of that game with others long ago. I’m not interested in playing it again. Listen carefully, Randes de Hacat, I want you to pardon them because it’s the consequence of your own actions.”

“If they could have a prosperous life under your great Hacat family’s rule, would they become so-called revolutionaries? You forced them, left them with no other choice but to rise up against you. You can’t exploit them and deny them the right to resist. If that’s your rule, Randes,” the bishop’s tone turned icy, “I will destroy you like I would destroy anything that shouldn’t exist.”

The king fell silent for a moment, his tone gradually softening again. “Eugene, spare me the grandeur. Tell me, what do they offer you? Or what deals have you struck in private? That tall fool doesn’t seem capable of more than two hundred words. There’s nothing more for you to discuss with him. Let me guess, who did you meet in Clay?” The king stared at the bishop. “Barnett Field? The leader of the revolutionaries?”

“Such speculation has nothing to do with what I just said,” the bishop replied. “You must admit that failed rule is the root cause of all this.”

The king gazed deeply at the bishop. “I admit.”

Just as he admitted his overwhelming love for the bishop, he admitted that his father, grandfather… and even further back, had made improper decisions that led Lecy toward decline.

“But I will not pardon them.”

“Once I pardon them, the dignity of the royal family will be lost. Eugene, I am not Sharman. Those revolutionaries are insignificant to me. They chose to rebel, I chose to suppress. Their rebellion brought pain to many, my suppression will bring pain to them. I will send them all to prison, enumerate their crimes clearly. We have committed different sins, and each must pay their own price. No one gets pardoned, unless it’s to heaven or hell.”

“Well then,” the bishop said calmly, “it seems we cannot agree.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” the king said. “I cannot compromise on this matter.”

“You remind me of someone,” the bishop remarked.

The king’s gaze hardened and guarded, expecting the bishop to sting him again. He prepared to endure this pain, as if falling in love with the bishop required enduring its consequences.

But the bishop didn’t continue. He turned to leave, but the king grabbed his arm. The king’s heartbeat quickened somehow. “Eugene, who do I remind you of?”

The silent stillness quickened the king’s heartbeat. “Who? Who is it?”

“Someone…” the bishop’s voice trailed off, “very stubborn.”

“Do you think I’m stubborn?” the king asked.

“We’ve always stood on different grounds. Perhaps we were meant to be enemies.”

This statement was serious, and it left the king feeling puzzled and dissatisfied. “When have we stood on different grounds? We both want to conquer this continent, don’t we? We’re in a partnership, Eugene…” The king softened again. “Okay, tell me, what did they promise you? I can consider making a trade under certain conditions. Eugene, am I really not worth your trust? What did I do wrong? Enemy…” The king glanced subtly at the crowd not far away, except for the naive revolutionary and his attentive attendant. The king pulled the bishop closer, his expression and tone somewhat plaintive. “That word is too harsh.”

The bishop was somewhat annoyed. Why was he annoyed? Because the king didn’t agree to his request? What was there to be angry about? Was he expecting the king to bend to his every whim, to give up everything, even the king’s responsibility? How could he suddenly have such a petulant thought? It was like being infected with some kind of germ.

“Eugene…” the king called his name again in a low voice, “How about this, come with me to Clay, and let’s talk things through properly, alright?”

“No need,” the bishop refused, “I understand your meaning already. I’m returning to the capital.”

“No, you must come with me to Clay.”

The king grasped the bishop’s arm, “I cannot have you leave in anger.”

“I am not angry.”

“You can’t see your own expression right now,” the king said softly, “You’re angry, Eugene. I’m sorry, perhaps it’s my doing, but I have my reasons too. We have a disagreement on this matter, so we should sit down and resolve it slowly, shouldn’t we? You can try to persuade me again, you’ve always been eloquent, convince me, make me see reason, how about it?”

“You don’t have to keep using this coaxing tone with me,” the bishop frowned, “Don’t nauseate me.” He pulled his arm away and gestured towards Archel, who was crouching on the ground, and ran over quickly. Bill, out of some intuition and habit, also ran over swiftly.

“Your Majesty,” Bill said softly to the king, whose face didn’t look very good, his lips tightly pressed into a straight line, looking very concerned as he stared at the bishop.

Achill, in his typically casual manner, spoke up directly, “Eugene.”

Bill was taken aback, staring wide-eyed at this rather handsome young man, wondering how he could show such disrespect to the bishop! What exactly was the relationship between these two?

As Bill pondered this, the king’s expression became even more unreadable. He was certain of the bishop’s innocence regarding the revolutionary party, but that was only up to this moment; who knew what could happen next? Jealousy wasn’t something he could completely suppress with reason alone, and while he could remain objective and calm in any other matter, on this issue he knew he couldn’t.

“Achill,” the bishop also addressed him by name, a sign of their familiarity, “I will return to Clay with the king.”

*

Riding side by side, the king and the bishop were followed by Achill, who led the bishop’s horse. The king was regretful they hadn’t prepared a carriage for this journey, or perhaps if it were just the two of them, he would gladly have led the bishop’s horse himself.

A large retinue of guards followed behind, and the king found it difficult to engage in further “conversations” with the bishop, whether about their personal affair or the bishop’s request for leniency toward the revolutionary party. Both matters were best left unsaid in public, so the entire procession moved unusually quietly and slowly, accommodating the bishop’s pace.

The king occasionally stole glances at the bishop, observing his expression. Seeing the bishop’s calm demeanor, eyelashes lowered, made him feel like sighing.

He thought about what the bishop had said: perhaps the two of them were meant to be enemies from the start… It made him feel uncomfortable and uneasy.

What had caused the bishop to think this way? Besides passionately courting him, albeit initially using the wrong methods, he had never offended the bishop in any way. Why would the bishop think like this?

Apart from his peculiar temperament, had something in the bishop’s years surviving in darkness affected him?

Clay was the bishop’s hometown, a place the king had wanted to visit for some time. Upon arriving, he realized it was a poor village.

The appearance of the procession surprised the people on the streets of Clay. They looked up curiously but didn’t rush forward or shout, neither welcoming nor unwelcoming. The king felt like an alien dropped from the sky into Clay, a situation exacerbated by his failure to notify Clay’s lord beforehand.

What had Laisse become, the king wondered, wanting to see for himself.

Oss was the territory where the king had been the prince, very wealthy and peaceful, and Bill hadn’t seen such a poor territory for a long time, frowning along with the king.

“I’d like to go to the monastery,” the king said to the bishop.

Achill was a little nervous.

They had been out of Clay for just over an hour and were already returning, not knowing if Barnett had left.

What Achill did not expect was that with his expression alone, the king immediately deduced that the bishop and the leader of the revolutionary party had met at the monastery, and the king’s face turned a little cold, and the bishop replied: “Achill, you know the way.” ”

Achill looked up at the bishop. “Eugene…”

“Lead the way,” the bishop said. “As I said.”

Achill hesitated. Eugene was his good friend, but Barnett was like a father figure to him. The bishop glanced away. “Achill, go to the monastery.” His tone was completely commanding. Achill could only glance warily at the king, holding the reins of his horse. The king’s gaze held a hint of amusement, seeming somewhat disapproving of Achill.

The nuns had thought the bishop had left. The old nun was reminiscing about the bishop in his room, but to her surprise, the bishop returned. She hugged and kissed him, laughing. “Heavens, Eugene, how come you’re back? Oh, I must be dreaming…”

The old nun was happy for a moment before noticing the figure of the king standing by the narrow door behind the bishop. The king showed only half of his unharmed face. The old nun didn’t recognize him, touching the bishop’s shoulder. “Eugene…”

“Hello,” the king said from outside the door. “I am Randes.”

The king was dressed casually. The old nun only saw him as a stranger. “Hello.”

“Nun,” the bishop intervened for the old nun’s relief, “don’t mind him. You can leave.”

The old nun noticed the bishop’s serious expression and immediately agreed, going out to see the corridor crowded with people and the king’s injured face. She couldn’t help but exclaim, “God bless you,” to the king.

“God bless you,” the king unusually replied with restraint, signaling to Bill. Bill understood and knew the king wanted a private conversation with the bishop. He gestured for the guards to leave together. The old nun watched them in surprise, using her expression to inquire about their identities. Bill respectfully made the sign of the cross on his chest. “Please follow me.”

The bishop then leaned out and said to Achill leaning against the wall, “Go find Barnett and tell him that if he wants to change his fate, he should come immediately.”

“I don’t know where to find him…” Achill replied.

“Don’t worry, he will come to you on his own.”

After everyone outside had left, the bishop returned to his childhood home. He saw the king stroking the desk by the window.

“Is this braille?”

The king touched the indentations on the desk, which had been there for quite some time and felt smooth to the touch.

“Yes.”

The king gently placed his hand on top and whispered, “You’re truly resilient.”

A blind man learning to write touched the king’s heart with both sorrow and pride for the bishop.

The two remained silent for a long time. The bishop wasn’t sure what he was thinking. The king imagined the young bishop, an angelic child unable to see, navigating an unknown world in darkness, surely filled with resentment and discomfort…

“It’s nothing,” the bishop said, “I carefully considered what you said on the way here. I think it makes sense.”

The king didn’t fall into wild joy but became guarded instead. The bishop agreed with him and returned to Clay with him, definitely not surrendering just like that. The king felt as if he were preparing for battle, shaking his head with a bitter smile. Was love like this for others too? Yet he felt a strange sweetness and pride because only with someone like the bishop could he experience such a unique feeling.

The king unilaterally placed their relationship into love, his face becoming incredibly soft. “But? I think you have something to say.”

“But I don’t need to say it.”

The bishop moved his body to one side, coldly saying, “Barnett, you talk to the king.”