Bishop Moros did not wait for the prince's answer. His unnaturally bright eyes swept over his surroundings before settling on the commoners wolfing down their food. He gave an exaggerated sigh, his voice carrying a condescending pity and a smugness he could not conceal.
"Look, Your Highness. This is the power of faith." He pointed at the people eating, his face wearing a smile he thought benevolent. "When the nobles could not fill their empty stomachs, the Church put up real money. These lowly souls retain their human form only through the grace of the Holy Light. Compared with laws that perish with those who made them, don't you think this is the true way to rule?"
It was a boast, but also a warning. In the past, faced with such aggression from the Church, Prince Wilander would usually choose silence or a courteous concession to preserve an outward peace.
The prince instinctively looked to his side. Veylin gently swirled his wineglass, casting him a calm, assured look through the crimson wine. His gaze seemed to say: Let him dance. The stage is already set.
Wilander steadied himself, his tense shoulders relaxing. He smiled faintly, an inexplicable depth entering his expression.
"You are quite right, Bishop." The prince's voice was steady and strong, with a hint of mockery. "The Church's 'generosity' is certainly impressive. However, I have also heard an old proverb-an overly lavish supper often brings nightmares. I hope these poor people remember exactly what grace means after enjoying this banquet."
The smile on Moros's face froze for a moment. He narrowed his eyes, studying the prince who was usually so reserved and discreet.
Where had that courteous prince who always considered the greater good gone? The edge hidden in those words struck him as strangely out of place