Cardinal Olivier walked Draka into the inner courtyard behind the cathedral. The apartments of the monks and priests and nuns enclosed it from public view. Trimmed grass and a few trees filled the open space around the stone walkway linking doors. Monks in traditional wool garb had their heads in books or were tending the plants in a variety of ways. There were a few red cloaked priests with their heads in books as well or moving between the buildings. A nun in black and white, her head covered by a white coif headdress nodded greeting as they passed.

  Draka returned it with a grin. It had been a long time since he had seen a traditional nun. He turned to Cardinal Olivier with a subtle point.

  “It has not changed since the nunnery’s inception,” the Cardinal made a wave at the apartments, then indicated a bench on the side of the walkway. “I’m glad you came to me first. If you have a moment…”

  Draka joined him on the bench.

  “There have been concerns that you are ill-prepared for your new station among the Bishopric. Also, concerns that you might interfere with our affairs unwarranted. I hope that you understand why we wish to remain separate of your command and control. We, of course, respect your stature as an instrument of the Holy Spirit, and your position as an Ascended Paladin. But now that you are also a Grande Prince, I do wonder what that will mean for this seat and our futures. I hope you understand that I have significant concerns, even if the Holy Spirit guides you.”

  It has been far too long since Draka heard the voice of the Holy Spirit giving him commands. He had been certain until he was granted True Sight that the Holy Spirit had been revoked from him, that he was going to be at a loss in his next battle for his failure to protect Maud’s father and brother. However, the silence still lingered.

  “It is within your power now and you wouldn’t be the first to take control of a Cathedral you occupy in order to influence the Church to the likeness of the Paladinate. I merely wish to understand what you intend. So, if I may, I will ask simple questions to know how to go forward.”

  Draka nodded. Why does everyone keep acting as if he were intending to be a tyrant? The mere thought felt like too much work.

  “Are you going to interfere with the Church within your lands?”

  Draka thought for a moment. Alright, let’s see how far I can push this.

  Draka nodded, making the Cardinal’s face harden.

  With a hint of irritation, “Do you intend to edit our liturgy?”

  Draka looked to the sky, then back at the Cardinal with a shrug.

  “Please,” the Cardinal was breathing heavily, “Yes or no.”

  Draka narrowed his eyes and pursed his brow. Sweat was beading on Cardinal Olivier’s brow. He laughed and shook his head.

  “Good,” Cardinal Olivier sighed in relief. “Are you intending to interfere with our usury?” No. “Housing?” No. “Charities?” No. “Mass schedule?” No. “Then, I don’t understand.”

  Draka chuckled at him and slapped his shoulder playfully. He hoped the Cardinal understood. The nervous smile that spread across his face told Draka that he did.

  “You were yanking my goat,” the Cardinal seemed relieved yet again. “Then I am to assume that you do not intend to exact your authority over the seat.”

  Draka nodded happily.

  “And as is customary among royalty, am I to assume that I will have a place in your court as an advisor for the Church and the Holy Diocese?”

  Draka thought for a moment. Probably wouldn’t hurt. He nodded. Cardinal Olivier beamed.

  “Good, good. I do have a few things I wish to address, then.”

  Draka’s own smile faded.

  “I have had word from Father Hagen that there are several Friars within the Princedom. I must confess that this is distressing news. Friars are unsanctioned priests and do not follow church tradi—” He read Draka’s expression fluently. Sunken, he said, “If we might compromise, then. I propose that you make it illegal for anyone but a sanctioned ordained Diocese to accept usury.” Draka nodded agreement to that, but the Cardinal was unfinished, “And that they be required to fall under the governorship of Father Hagen or his successor.”

  Draka shook his head.

  “The Sacra Carta clearly states that we are to conduct mass without interference by the Paladinate. And the Paladinate’s endorsement of Friars, many of whom have been excommunicated for their heresy, is in direct violation of that.”

  Draka rolled his eyes and stood. One of many things he will have to handle with pen and paper.

  Cardinal Olivier stood with him. “This is an outrage that will be reported to Sodiulakum. Until something is done to control those heretics, you will have no support of the Diocese. Not even against the corruption from the Abbey.”

  Draka’s widened eyes turned to him.

  The Cardinal nodded victoriously. “That’s right. I will recall Father Hagen and his monks to the priory until you see reason. See how useful your precious Friars are then!”

  Draka looked him over. Cardinal Olivier likely believed that he was reconsidering. He was waiting for the Holy Spirit to command him to smite the smug lobster. There was only silence. So, Draka shrugged and turned back to the chapel doors to exit.

  As he went, the Cardinal shouted after him, “One day the Paladinate will learn their proper place and accept the authority of the Diocese.”

  Over your dead body, Draka thought with a growl.

  Karl was waiting for him outside the Cathedral in the town square. He greeted Draka and pointed at the gated manor across the square. “The Baron is waiting in there for you, my Prince.”

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  Draka drew in a breath. They had already tethered the horses, so there was no getting out of it. He followed Karl through the gates into the Palais Rohan courtyard. Though the stables weren't inside the square, there was a wooden rail that their horses had been tied to. Vigora was easy to spot: the other horses of their band, though bigger and male, kept their distance from her as much as they could. She turned to see Draka with her ears upright. She didn’t like being tied without him anymore than he did.

  As he followed Karl, Draka found himself getting more impatient. They went up steps and were met at the door by a tall man with eyeglasses and a stiff upper lip. He bowed with an even stiffer back to Draka and introduced himself as Valmond, the House Steward. Then he dismissed Karl and had Draka follow him to a table set on the other end of the Hall where Christophe was waiting.

  Baron Christophe bowed to him, “Welcome to my humble house, my Prince.”

  Draka raised a brow. The gold molding framing the walls and mirrors, the marble pillars and floors, the sculptures along the walls, all seemed anything but humble. He raised a brow in recognition of the mahogany long table with a tarnished candelabra and long embroidered runner. Then his eyes moved with Christophe’s hands as he bade a woman in a flourishing gown and painiers that made her hips wider than the doorway she stepped through to come to him. She had a thin face with soft features and doe eyes that were a bit too far apart. She reminded Draka of a fish.

  “This is my wife, Clarissa,” Christophe said as she offered her hand to Draka in proper curtsy with the palm down.

  “It is an honor, my Liege,” Clarissa said warmly. “Welcome.”

  Draka took her hand and met her curtsy with the bow of the Holy Lands: right leg stretched back and across the bent left, her hand held loosely by his right while his left arm stretched outward with relaxed fingers, his head bowed as if to kiss her lifted fingers but never connects. When he straightened, she was swooning and Christophe was trying to loosen his collar.

  “My dear,” Christophe fumbled to draw her attention away from him, “I would like to speak with the Prince a moment before he is shown to his accommodations.”

  “Of course,” she was almost giggling like a child at him.

  Once Clarissa was no longer in the room, Christophe pulled the chair back at the head of the table patiently. Draka slid the chair next to it sideways and sat. Christophe hesitated for a moment, then sat in the chair he had pulled out. He seemed confused. Draka tapped his fingers on the table.

  “Wine, your majesty?” Valmond asked from between pillars with his hands behind his back.

  Draka nodded while keeping his eyes on the Baron’s confused expression. A glass goblet was set beside him and filled by an aproned girl barely half Maud’s age.

  The girl stepped around him and filled a matching goblet that was set for the Baron.

  Christophe’s lips began to move, but he second guessed whatever he was going to say. He was staring at the table and Draka’s tapping fingers.

  Good, Draka thought. Whatever ambitions the man had, he was second guessing now.

  “I…uh…hope that you find your accommodations pleasing during your stay here. I assume that we will not be staying long before crossing into Neues-Baden?”

  Draka regarded him for a moment, then looked to Valmond while indicating writing. Valmond was quick to call for pen and paper to be brought. Draka waited, staring into Christophe’s deterred gaze.

  Once he had paper, he wrote, “We won’t be crossing into Neues-Baden. I will need your fastest courier to be ready to carry a letter to Lord Mueller in the morning.”

  “What for?” Christophe shook at him after reading it, “He won’t agree to surrender, not after raising an army from across the kingdom. We must strike before the King’s army rallies under Lord Mueller’s command and seizes Kehl.”

  Draka blinked at him. He underlined what he had written.

  Christophe leaned toward him, “What we need to do is cross the Rhine and seize Willst?tt and Achern to draw them away from crossing the bridge in Rheinau. Of course, if we can gain support of the King before he does, we would prevent that altogether. I have contacts within the King’s court. Lord Gwen de Marnais. He would help win the King’s favor, I am certain of it. I doubt Mueller would risk war with all of Utrecht.”

  Draka bit his lip. Again, he underlined what he had written.

  “I will send word to Lord Marnais to help us get the ear of the King while my army marches on Willst?tt…”

  Draka stood, flipping the mahogany table with its embroidered runner and tarnished candelabra over in a single fluid movement. Christophe leapt back, flipping his own chair onto its back. Valmond gasped, the servant girl screeched, and three armored guards came trotting with their pikes in hand.

  Draka eyed the guards as he lifted his knife from his belt but rested his other hand on his sword. He raised a brow at them, waiting. One started to take a step to protect his Baron. The Baron climbed to his feet with a smirking glance toward the guards.

  “You may be Prince, but this is my house and I will not be…”

  Draka backhanded him hard enough that teeth ricocheted from sculpted busts and the wall behind them. Christophe fell to one knee, spitting blood.

  Draka eyed the guard. One step, he thought. Judging by the guards’ worried glances, they knew precisely what he was thinking. What he would do to them if they moved.

  “Christophe!” Clarissa cried from the other end of the hall.

  Christophe was trembling, struggling to rise from his knees. He waved for her to stay back.

  Draka lifted Christophe’s chin with the flat of his knife blade so that their eyes met, so he could see Draka’s resolve.

  “What do we do?” One guard whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Another answered.

  The one closest said, “Defend our House.”

  Draka lifted a glare to that one. He pressed the tip into Christophe’s throat just enough for it to sting but not bleed.

  Christophe waved a hand for the guards to stand down. His eyes rose to Draka from the blade at his throat, “I beg mercy for my insolence, my Prince. I had forgotten myself but I remember my place now.”

  Draka pulled the knife back from him and sat in his chair again. The wine and ink had mixed into a puddle that was slowly spreading from beneath the flipped table. Shards of broken glass littered the marble floor. He looked to Valmond for another paper and pen to write on. Valmond called for it over his shoulder with a voice crackling with fear.

  Christophe stood and spat blood. “Return to your posts,” He called to the guards, but his glare was fixed on Draka. They hesitated. He growled over his shoulder, “I said, go!”

  Valmond was trembling as he handed Draka the paper and quill. Another servant unfolded a table in front of him. Christophe, while Draka wrote, lifted his chair and eased himself into it as if his back had been bruised along with his ego. Clarissa and her handmaidens were gasping statues against the far wall.

  Draka stoically handed him the paper. He had written, “You will have your fastest courier ready at sunrise to carry my invitation for von Mueller to be my guest here under flag of truce. And the next time one of your guards or anyone else under your command threatens me, I will beat them to death with your severed head. Do we understand each other, Baron de Strasbourg?”

  Christophe finished reading it and swallowed so dryly that his plump cheeks fluttered. “Of course, your majesty. I shall do as you command.” Under his breath, “Not much of a Paladin, are you.”

  Draka crossed his legs and signaled for another glass of wine. A Cardinal may be able to refuse him without direct consequence, but his vassals don’t have that privilege. Hopefully, this will be the only time he has to remind one of that fact.