The newcomer approached from behind Obediah, shoulder-length red hair perfectly matching his sister's. His chin was narrow and his eyes hawkish—a sharp contrast to Lynn's more pleasant features—but there was no denying his relation to the Captain of the Flameguard.
The man ignored Lynn's comment, an arrogant grin pulling his thin lips into a line.
"You see, Obediah, I have it on good authority that the future king of our nation remains nearly Flameless. He's every bit as powerless as the rumors claim, I'm afraid. Is that not true, Your Highness? Pray don't waste our time with your honeyed words; we are not sycophantic lords seeking pleasantries."
Damian swallowed, his mouth dry.
Who is this man? A bishop related to Lynn and the former Captain Cromwell? And why does he have a bone to pick with me?
Forcing empty platitudes to his lips, Damian inclined his head politely.
"I apologize for somewhat embellishing the truth, Your Eminences. Forgive me, though, for I am at a loss. Bishop Obediah is familiar to me, but I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting."
"Oh indeed, where are my manners? I thought you might have inferred my name, given my striking resemblance to our lovely Captain of the Flameguard. Sister, would you do the honors?"
Lynn hesitated briefly. Her expression was wooden, her cheeks a touch paler than usual. Stiffly, as though forcing herself to undertake her duties, she swept her hand between the two men.
"Crown Prince Damian of Sidralis, please meet Bishop Titus Brightwell of the North Sidralian Holy Order of the Flame—and my elder brother."
Titus grinned wide.
"And as of this morning, I serve as a special detachment at Bishop Obediah's request, to see just how favorable the Angel has been to our future king."
"Your Eminence, is that truly necessary?" Damian asked, turning to Obediah. "Surely, as Crown Prince I—"
"—As Crown Prince, it is all the more important that we test your connection to the Flame!"
Titus cut the prince off. He took a step forward, his cheekbones standing out sharply as he clenched his jaw.
"Heir apparent or not, the future of Sidralis, and the future of the Holy Order depends upon a strong king favored by the Angel! It is clear that you are not that person."
"And do you speak for the entire Order, or just yourself, Titus?"
This time it was Obediah who replied, his voice sombre.
"Forgive me, Your Highness, but that is, indeed, the wisdom of the Archbishop and all Bishops of Sidralis. Though the Flame may have succeeded in banishing much of the darkness, the fact remains that the Deep is an ever-present threat in this kingdom. Just two days past, members of my flock were killed not a dozen streets away. The Order cannot turn a blind eye, unlike the Crown."
"Public order is not my duty, nor the king's! Do you truly seek to blame me and my father?"
"I speak the truth, plain and fair, Your Highness. It is my duty, and the duty of all Bishops, to care for every member of our flock—not just those in power. A shame that the opposite does not appear to be true."
Damian took a step forward, a seething knot of rage burning within his heart. The headache pulsing within his skull merged with the ridicule he felt rising in his stomach, resulting in a low and deadly hiss between his teeth.
"You would dare attack my father, holy man? Remember whose nation you serve, and watch your tongue."
"No, of course we—"
Obediah's hasty apology was silenced by Titus. The younger bishop swaggered forward, meeting Damian in the middle of the cathedral.
"Of course the Order blames your father! We blame the king and his entire lineage for ever allowing the Deep to gain such a foothold in this city. The day Tenebrae burns, I'll be dancing on their corpses. A true king would understand that. A true king would act, instead of cozying up to the enemy."
"You don't know the first fucking thing about being a king!" Damian spat, glaring up at the taller man. "And how dare you insult a man who still serves his country even from his deathbed?"
"Ah yes, poor King Xavier. A kingdom infected with the Deep, and run by a son who can't summon the Flame. How terrible a fate for a man to die from shame."
Slap.
The noise echoed in the cavernous, empty cathedral. Lynn gasped, a hand flying to her mouth; she took a step towards Damian and Titus—
"Hold, sister."
Titus held out a hand, and Lynn came to an abrupt stop. Her eyes darted between Damian and her brother, her entire body tensed like a cat about to pounce.
The bishop rubbed his jaw, where the imprint of Damian's hand had left a red mark.
Damian was breathing heavily, his other hand clenched, his vision dyed crimson with rage.
"So the little princeling wants to throw fists, eh?"
Titus leaned in close, his nose nearly touching Damian's.
"Show me what you've got then, Your Highness."