“I would ask why,” the prince said, having regained his composure, “but I already know. I always figured that my brother would have me killed. I’m just surprised it took him so long. Did you come up with this exact plan or did he?”

“I did,” he said.

“Is that so?” the prince said with surprise. “Perhaps I need to re-evaluate you. It reminded me of one of my brother’s plots.”

“Forgive me. I have no excuses for what I’m about to do.”

“Not even one? Don’t you want to at least cling to some semblance of honor?”

“I won’t disrespect you by giving excuses. You offered to help me, and I’m truly grateful for that.”

“Grateful, you say. Did you even consider my offer?”

“I did, but…”

“What is there for you here? Because of the way my father led our kingdom, there is nothing in Calorin but schemes and secrets. Blood feuds, betrayals, endless war. I had hoped that my brother would bring a change, but I was wrong.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It’s obvious. Look at the Siege of Rove, which first started because of a border dispute. But the Royal Council knew that the people of Rove would never back down, so they kept pressing the issue. Then, they got the pope to express his approval for sanctions, and a border dispute turned into a holy war. Tell me, what part of that bodes well?”

Roel couldn’t say anything. He hadn’t known about the cause of the siege, but he wasn’t surprised. Having met Jocelyne and the other prisoners, it was easy to believe that they had been baited into a battle that they had no chance of winning. King Maxime had waged wars in a similar manner – he’d commit minor offenses to the enemy country to infuriate them, and if that failed, he’d ask the pope for his support.

“Well, Roel, what part of that is honorable? Or will you pretend to look the other way?” The prince was shouting at him now. “And don’t just tell me that same bullshit about the good of the kingdom. You paladins, the strongest force in the kingdom, are led by people who have no respect for your lives.”

“I…”

The prince suddenly turned away from him and broke into a run. For a moment, Roel was caught off-guard, but he quickly chased after him. He didn’t even need to call upon the Lord’s Favor to catch up to him; the prince was stumbling over tree roots and vines.

“Damn it!” The prince turned around and aimed at his head with the long tree branch he had picked up. Roel craned his neck to the side to avoid it, but the pointed end grazed him right under his left eye. The prince swung the branch again, but he grabbed it. His hand glowed golden, and he wrenched the branch out of the prince’s hands and knocked him down with an elbow to the chin.

The cut under his left eye was bleeding, and almost instinctively, Roel called upon his blessing. The cut glowed, the bleeding stopped, and within a few seconds, the cut was gone. That was the second ability of the Lord’s Favor – the power to heal one’s own wounds. That, along with the first ability to amplify one’s strength while shrouding parts of the body in an armor-like aura, made paladins near-invincible. The only stipulation was that only one of the abilities could be used at a time.

The prince despaired at the sight. “Fuck…fuck! Why is it people like you who are given all this power? If I had your strength…”

“It still wouldn’t be enough,” he said quietly. The only reason his cut had healed so quickly was because it was a shallow one. It was said that some paladins could regenerate lost limbs; he had no such power. The most grievous wound that he had ever received, a blow to the chest that he had taken at the Battle of Wetshard, had taken him three full days to recover from.

“Why did you try to run?” he asked. “You should’ve known it was useless.”

“Is that a serious question?” When he didn’t answer, Prince Ghislain laughed coldly. “I’m not just going to stand by and wait for my death. I’m not you.”

“I am the 58th Divine Paladin. My power is not insignificant, but it also isn’t remarkable. What else should I be doing?”

“Anything! Run, fight, it doesn’t matter! Spare me the self-pity. If you truly are as weak as you make yourself out to be, how do you explain your command at the Battle of Wetshard? No matter how much I think about it, I can’t make sense of it. How did someone like you manage to kill the 13th Divine Paladin?”

“Ganelon was careless, and the other paladins aided me.”

“You’re a frustrating man.” With a murmur of pain, the prince rose to his feet. Noticing Roel’s alertness, the prince said, “I’m not going to try to run again. It’s not worth the pain. But tell me, Roel, what are you planning to do after this?”

“What do you mean?”

“After you kill me. Will you just crawl back to Calorin and wallow around until the council sends you their next order?”

“Perhaps,” he admitted.

“I figured as much. That’s what I did for years.” The prince chuckled humorlessly. “I sat around, waiting for my father and my brother to order me around.” There was regret but also nostalgia in his voice. Neither of them said anything for a moment.

“Swear to me,” the prince said. His voice had hardened, and there was a steely-eyed look on his face. “After you kill me, you will leave Joseph alive. Without me, it should be easier for Joseph to escape. Protect him.”

“Is that your only wish?” he asked softly.

“My brother…no, never mind,” the prince said, faltering for the first time since he had met him.

“Are you sure?”

The prince mulled over something before speaking again. “Once, when we were young and planting yew trees together, my brother confessed his doubts about the Lord.”

He paused for a moment, and though he didn’t smile, there was something about the memory that seemed to warm him as he spoke.

“Not of the Lord Himself, but of the followers of the Lord. He said that if the Lord was watching over us, He’d be saddened by what they had done to His name. And when I shared this memory with Joseph the other day, I realized that the same must be happening to my brother. King Mathieu cannot possibly be the same brother who swore to protect me when I was younger. It’s wishful thinking, but they – someone on the Royal Council, I don’t know – must’ve forced him into becoming who he is now.”

The prince fixed his gaze on him, but it wasn’t a look filled with expectation or even desperation. There were a pride and dignity about Ghislain, he realized now, that had nothing to do with his titles.

“If I asked you to help my brother, you’ll just agree half-heartedly, won’t you? You’ll lament your own powerlessness and then insist to yourself that you did your best afterward. For whatever reason, you’ve convinced yourself that you’re incapable of affecting anything.”

“You see right through me,” he said, both surprised and ashamed by Ghislain’s accurate assessment of him.

“I see through myself. So, I won’t ask that of you. All I’ll ask is this: won’t you try a little harder?”

“That’s it? You would waste your last wish on your murderer? Is there really nothing else you would wish for?”

“There is, but…” He smiled wryly. “I’ve said it before. Seeing a man who has such little faith in his own life makes me sick to my stomach. So? Will you promise me these two things, or are you cruel enough to lie to a man who’s about to die?”

“No, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Looks like you are capable of making a firm statement.” Ghislain took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Well, make it quick.”

Roel didn’t move. He didn’t think the prince would ever look so tranquil, especially upon death. His body, taking advantage of his indecision, reached into one of his pouches and unsheathed a long dagger. The chirping of the crickets was deafening, and it was almost as they were protesting his actions.

This is it, right? he thought to the person he longed to talk to the most. This is the best possible world, isn’t it?