After twenty minutes, everything had been set in order. The throne hall had been emptied of petitioners, leaving only the palace guards stationed at their posts. The grand chamber, usually filled with the murmur of voices and the shuffling of petitioners, now carried a solemn stillness.
At the head of the hall, the royal couple sat upon their respective thrones. Jasmine’s seat was tall and commanding, a symbol of her rightful rule. Alpheo’s, while finely crafted, was positioned slightly behind and shorter in height—a subtle but clear reminder that while he was her consort, she was the legitimate sovereign of Yarzat.
Alpheo sat with his chin resting against his palm, his expression unreadable as he fell deep into thought. His other hand drumd lightly against the armrest, his mind evidently turning over the implications of the priest’s presence. He had not spoken much since arriving, rely acknowledging the situation with a thoughtful nod before retreating into silence that accompanied a deep thinking .
Jasmine watched him carefully, her dark eyes studying his features. She knew him well enough to recognize when he was weighing sothing heavily. This was why she had summoned him—she valued his judgnt, and his insights had proven invaluable ti and ti again.
So she waited, patient and silent, allowing him the space to gather his thoughts.
After all, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the situation. If Alpheo’s suspicions were correct and this decrepit old priest was truly an enemy, then how was she to handle this so-called visit of courtesy?
There was a choice to be made. Should she receive him with the cold, asured distance befitting a foe—keeping him at arm’s length, wary of every word? Or should she drape herself in the illusion of piety, feigning the reverence expected when speaking to a man who held the reins of the divine?
Jasmine’s fingers tapped idly against the armrest of her throne, her thoughts circling like a hawk in search of prey. Whatever reason Elios had for walking unchallenged through her halls, he had chosen to co before her willingly. That alone ant sothing.
Alpheo suddenly exhaled sharply, lifting his chin from his palm. "The old bastard must have co to speak about our new subjects."
Jasmine turned to him, arching a brow. "What makes you think that?"
Alpheo’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Because it has been three months since the land donation was made, and yet he chooses to appear before us only now? What else could it be about?" He leaned back, fingers drumming idly against the armrest of his throne. "It must be must be about the tribesn west of our capital—more precisely, their religion."
Jasmine’s gaze sharpened. "Their religion?"
Alpheo nodded. "Of course. They didn’t exactly keep it a secret, did they? They raised their altars the mont they settled, worshipping their spirits in plain sight. It was only a matter of ti before the temple took notice."
Jasmine’s expression remained unreadable, though a flicker of curiosity crossed her face. "And what exactly do they believe in?"
Alpheo’s smirk faded slightly, his tone shifting into sothing more thoughtful. "I’ve read through the reports Aron sent —he’s compiling them into a book as per my request. From what I’ve gathered, they practice a form of spiritualism. They believe that all living things, once dead, return to so kind of collective spirit union." He gestured vaguely with one hand. "And they also worship the natural elents. They see them as deities—alive, sacred, and deserving of reverence."
Jasmine humd, resting her chin on her knuckles as she processed this information. "I see."
Alpheo scoffed lightly. "You can imagine how well that sits with the temple."
Jasmine tilted her head slightly, her gaze lingering on Alpheo. "Are you going to force them to convert?" she asked, her tone unreadable.
Alpheo’s lips curled into a smirk, a glint of amusent flickering in his eyes. He let out a short chuckle and leaned back against his throne, shifting comfortably as if the very notion was laughable. "Jasmine, I spent a great deal of effort making this settlent happen. Do you really think I’d throw it all away just because so eunuch bastards have sothing to say about it?"
Jasmine exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes at his crude words. "Must you always be so vulgar?"
He shrugged. "Would you prefer I speak like one of your courtiers, all sweetened words and empty smiles? "
She didn’t argue the point, though she gave him a pointed look before gesturing for him to continue.
Alpheo let out a breath, stretching his arms before settling back into his seat, his expression growing more thoughtful. "Look, we gave the tribesn a legal frawork, one that explicitly grants them the right to worship as they please. It was written down, stamped, and signed by your own hand. If the temple has a problem with it, they can cry to the gods themselves. Maybe the gods will care more than I do."
His smirk faded, his features hardening into sothing more serious. "But let’s be clear—if I force them to convert, I’ll have a rebellion on my hands before the ink even dries on any decree." His fingers drumd idly against the armrest of his throne, his voice losing all traces of humor. "And I refuse to see our efforts go to waste over sothing as pointless as what spirits they kneel to. ."
Jasmine studied him, the flickering torchlight casting shifting shadows over his face. She could see the conviction in his eyes, the weight of a ruler who knew exactly what was at stake.
"And what of the nobility?" she asked after a mont. "So among them are bound to take issue with allowing a people to worship in ways they see as... heathen.Don’t you fear alienating those that just recently reached for us?"
Alpheo snorted. "The nobility can complain all they like.
The crown’s strength isn’t asured by how well we bow to the demands of self-righteous nobles or priests who think they hold dominion over n’s souls. It’s asured by the order we keep and the strenght of arms we show." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking onto hers.
A beat of silence stretched between them before he sat back again, exhaling as if the discussion had already exhausted him. "As long as they pay their dues and fight for the crown when the ti cos, they can worship whatever the hell they wish."
Jasmine tapped her fingers against the armrest, processing his words.
She allowed a small smirk of her own to tug at her lips. "You certainly do know how to make friends among the clergy."
Alpheo chuckled, shaking his head. "If I cared about making friends, I would’ve beco a bard instead of a ruler."
Jasmine let out a quiet breath before straightening in her throne. With a small but firm nod, she gestured toward the guards stationed near the great doors of the hall. "Allow him in."
The guards imdiately moved to obey, their polished armor glinting under the flickering torchlight as they stepped toward the heavy doors. With a coordinated effort, they pushed them open, revealing the dimly lit corridor beyond. Outside, Brother Elios stood waiting, his posture straight despite his age.
Unlike before, the tall pole bearing the effigy of the Star of the Gods was no longer in his grasp. He had left it behind, entrusted to his pupils who remained outside.
The priest stepped forward, his robes plain and unadorned, his movents asured yet unhurried. His gaze, wise and knowing, swept across the grand hall before settling upon the two figures seated before him.
Alpheo leaned back in his throne, his expression unreadable, while Jasmine sat poised, watching the old man’s approach with careful scrutiny.
When he reached the appropriate distance, Elios paused, then bent into a deep bow, his hands clasped together as a sign of respect. His voice was steady but carried the weight of practiced humility.
"I give my thanks to Your Grace for granting this audience," he said, his words deliberate and unwavering. "It is a privilege to stand before you both."
Alpheo’s fingers drumd idly against the arm of his throne as he studied the old man before him. He had expected soone frail, perhaps feeble with age.
It was a strange thing to reconcile, looking upon a simple, unadorned priest and knowing that, if rumors were to be believed, a thousand n would die for him without hesitation.
Alpheo’s sharp eyes swept over Elios, taking in the careful way he carried himself. The old priest’s expression was calm, betraying nothing, his hands steady at his sides, neither fidgeting nor clenched in defiance.
Alpheo had faced warlords, rcenaries, scheming nobles, all of them easy enough to understand. They wanted power, land, and gold. But n like Elios? They wanted sothing far greater.
He wanted a state governed by a temple, he wanted to be the ruler of a state commanded by priests.
And for that , this man was his enemy.
And here, there was no Sutri Castle to be given
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